#i feel like there's also too many fics about grief | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mononijikayu · 3 months ago

Text

pretending as always — ryomen sukuna.

"Sukuna." you whispered, your voice barely more than a breath. "Do you ever think about us? About how things used to be?" He didn’t answer right away, his gaze fixed on the ceiling as if the answer was written somewhere in the shadows. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, almost resigned. "Things change. People change." "I know, I know." you replied, your fingers tracing the outline of his hand resting on your waist. "But I miss it. I miss us. The way we were before… everything."

GENRE: alternate universe - modern au!;

WARNING/S: angst, toxic romance, hurt/no comfort, cheating, unhappy marriage, crying, hurt, sadness, pain, character death, grief, unhappy ending, depictions of broken marriage, depiction of grief, depiction of cheating, depiction of death, depiction of loneliness, mention of grief, mention of misery, mention of loneliness, cheating husband! sukuna, long suffering wife! reader;

WORD COUNT: 10k words

NOTE: the thought bubble says 'things change, people change.'; the playlist for this chapter alone was just so angsty. like from i'm not the only one to glimpse of us, i really went through it writing this. i decided to write only one sad fic because i feel like putting out casual, together and thirty nine almost at the same time was just really criminal of me to do. so i hope you enjoy this, though!!! i love you all <3

masterlist

kayu's playlist - side 900;

if you want to, tip! <3

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ANOTHER HUFF RELEASES FROM YOUR MOUTH. You don’t remember how many you’ve smoked today. But you were sure that it was beyond one pack. This was the only time you could be alone, to think for yourself. To have control. The control you’ve been craving for years and years, one that you will never truly have again. You didn’t need someone to see you out here, to tell you no, to worry about your health. You didn’t need that. Not right now. You needed to be alone. You needed silence.

You sat on the balcony of your lavish penthouse, gazing out at the shimmering lights of Tokyo. The city was alive, vibrant, a testament to the empire your husband, Ryomen Sukuna, had built. He was the man behind the biggest conglomerate in Japan—a titan in the world of business, feared and respected in equal measure. And you were his wife.

Once upon a time, you had been someone too. A doctor with a promising career, surrounded by friends, fulfilled by the life you had created with your own hands. Your days were spent saving lives, making a difference, and your nights were filled with laughter and tenderness with colleagues who had become family. You were driven, passionate, and proud of the work you did. But now, as you sat in the lap of luxury, the woman you once were seemed like a distant memory.

Now, you were just his wife.

It wasn’t that you didn’t love him—you did. You loved him more than words could express. Sukuna was everything to you, and being his wife brought a kind of happiness you hadn’t known was possible. Yet, there was a gnawing emptiness, a void that had grown over the years. As much as you loved him, as much as he adored you in his own way, you knew the truth.

Ryomen Sukuna was not a man who could be kept down, not even for you. He was a force of nature, unstoppable, always striving for more, always looking beyond what he already had. His ambition was a double-edged sword, driving him to unimaginable heights but also pushing him further away from the simple life you sometimes yearned for.

There were nights when he didn’t come home, when he was out sealing deals or attending extravagant parties where you were merely an accessory. You’d watch him from a distance, surrounded by admirers, his presence commanding attention wherever he went. He thrived in that world of power and influence, and you knew that no matter how much he loved you, that world would always be his first love.

You tried to be content with the life you had with him. After all, you had everything most people could only dream of—wealth, status, and the affections of a man who could have had anyone but chose you. But deep down, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you had lost yourself in the process. You weren’t the doctor anymore, the woman with her own dreams and aspirations. You were simply Mrs. Ryomen Sukuna, a title that came with its own set of expectations and sacrifices.

As the night grew darker, you wondered what it would take to feel like yourself again. Could you ever reclaim the life you had before Sukuna, or had you given up too much to ever go back? And if you did, would you lose him in the process? It was a question that haunted you, even as you curled up in the luxurious sheets of your bed, waiting for him to return home. You loved him. But sometimes, love wasn’t enough.

Your husband was a man to love—eccentric and electric, a living embodiment of wonder wrapped in the form of a man. His presence was magnetic, a force that drew people in, leaving them captivated by his every word, his every move. Ryomen Sukuna was a personality larger than life, his energy palpable, his enigma undeniable. He filled every room he entered, his laughter loud and contagious, a stark contrast to his own brother, Jin, who was quiet, composed, and unassuming.

Where Jin blended into the background, Sukuna demanded attention. Everyone who met him felt the spark, the electricity that seemed to radiate from him. He was unpredictable, always a step ahead, always thinking of the next big thing. His mind worked in ways that left others in awe, trying to keep up with the whirlwind that was his thoughts and ideas. Loving him was like holding onto a storm—thrilling, dangerous, and consuming.

But for all his vibrance and charm, Sukuna was still a man of cold realities. His work came first, always. No matter how much you wanted to be his priority, the empire he built was what he poured most of his energy into. He was often distant, consumed by the responsibilities that came with being the man at the top. Days would pass where you barely saw him, where his presence in your life felt more like a memory than a reality.

Yet, when he did give you his time, it was genuine and honest. Those rare moments were when you saw the man beneath the mask, the one who cared for you in his own complicated way. His touch was real, his words sincere, and in those fleeting minutes, you felt the depth of his love, even if it was buried under layers of ambition and duty.

There were nights, though, when he would come to bed, slipping under the covers beside you, and in those moments, he was truly yours. Those were the times you held onto, the nights where the world outside his office door ceased to exist, where the only thing that mattered was the feel of his warmth next to you.

His arm around your waist, his breath on your neck—these were the small, intimate moments that made the loneliness bearable. In the quiet of the night, Sukuna would pull you close, and for those few hours, he was just a man who loved his wife, not the untouchable titan he had become during the day.

But as the dawn approached, you knew he would slip away again, back into the world that demanded so much of him. Those nights were a bittersweet reminder that while he was yours, you would never fully have him. Still, you cherished them, holding onto the hope that maybe one day, the man who captivated the world would find his way back to you, not just in the shadows of the night, but in the light of day as well.

If you tried slyly, you could sometimes extract details about his life—small, fragmented pieces of the puzzle that was Ryomen Sukuna. A hint here, a passing comment there. But even after so many years of marriage, he wouldn’t budge.

He was a vault, his thoughts locked away in a place you couldn’t reach, no matter how hard you tried. There were times you sat across from him, watching his expressions, hoping to catch a glimpse of what was going on behind those sharp eyes, but he was impenetrable. You didn’t know what he was thinking half the time.

And as the years passed, you began to realize a painful truth: you didn’t know this man anymore. He wasn’t the man you fell in love with, the one who had promised you the world with that charming smile and infectious energy. That man was a memory, fading with every passing day. The man you were married to now was a stranger, someone who wore Sukuna’s face but carried a weight and distance that hadn’t been there before. He was no longer wholly yours, not anymore.

But when he was—on those rare occasions when he let you in, when the walls came down just enough for you to feel the warmth beneath his cold exterior—those moments were everything. His exterior remained hard, a shield against the world and perhaps even against you, but in the quiet darkness of your bedroom, he softened.

The bed you shared became a pure and sacred shrine, a place where the outside world couldn’t reach, where only you and he existed. In that space, the burdens he carried were set aside, and for a fleeting moment, he was just a man, your husband, the one who still held pieces of your heart.

The warmth of his body against yours, the way he would pull you close as if you were his anchor—these were the moments that reminded you of the love that still lingered between you. It was as if, in that bed, time stood still, and the distance that had grown between you disappeared, leaving only the two of you, as you once were.

And though those moments were few and far between, they were enough to keep you holding on, hoping that perhaps, one day, the man you fell in love with would return to you, not just in the night, but in every aspect of your life together.

You lay beside him in the dark, feeling the weight of the silence between you. His arm was draped over your waist, his grip firm but gentle. It was one of those rare nights when he was fully present, when the business world he ruled seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you. You turned slightly, your face inches from his, searching his eyes for something—anything—that might bridge the gap that had grown between you.

"Sukuna." you whispered, your voice barely more than a breath. "Do you ever think about us? About how things used to be?"

He didn’t answer right away, his gaze fixed on the ceiling as if the answer was written somewhere in the shadows. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, almost resigned. "Things change. People change."

"I know, I know." you replied, your fingers tracing the outline of his hand resting on your waist. "But I miss it. I miss us. The way we were before… everything."

His eyes finally met yours, and for a moment, you saw something flicker there—regret, maybe, or a trace of the man you once knew. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by that familiar unreadable expression.

"I’m still here. I always have been." he said, his tone matter-of-fact. "I never left. And you know that."

"Physically, yes, I know. But I just….It’s just." you murmured, a hint of bitterness creeping into your voice. "Sukuna, it’s like I don’t know you anymore. You’re not the man I married. You’re not the man who promised me the world. And I don’t know where he is. And I want him back.”

He didn’t flinch, but you felt the slight tension in his arm as he pulled you a little closer. "The world isn’t what it used to be. It won’t ever be what it was, you know that." he replied quietly. "And neither am I. And you know that too. But I’m still here. I’m still your husband.”

You sighed, feeling the tears prick at the corners of your eyes. "But when you’re here, like this… it’s different. For just a moment, it feels like nothing’s changed. Like it’s just you and me, the way it used to be. I wish we could stay here, like this, forever."

He didn’t respond right away, but you felt his grip on you tighten, his thumb brushing softly against your skin as if to reassure you. "This bed, our bed…." he said slowly, his voice rougher than usual, "it’s our sanctuary. It’s the one place I can forget about everything else. But you know I can’t stay here forever. Not when the world calls me, not when it needs me.”

"I know that." you whispered, your voice cracking slightly. You needed him too. You needed your husband. And he will never see it. Not even when he tries. "But I can’t help wishing you would. That maybe, just once, you’d choose me over everything else. Like you used to.”

He was silent for a long moment, his breath warm against your hair. When he finally spoke, there was a softness in his voice that you rarely heard. "If I could, I would. You’re the only thing that keeps me grounded, that reminds me I’m still human. But I can’t give you all of me. Not anymore. I have things to do too.”

You closed your eyes, letting the tears fall silently. "I just wish… I wish you’d let me in, Sukuna. I want to know what you’re thinking, what you’re feeling. I want to know the man I’m sharing this bed with."

He didn’t answer right away, and you knew he wouldn’t. Instead, he pulled you closer, his lips brushing against your forehead in a rare, tender gesture. "I’m here now, you know?" he whispered. "Let’s just… stay in this moment, just for tonight."

You nodded, unable to find the words to say anything more. You clung to him, holding onto the warmth of his body, the rare softness of his embrace, knowing that when morning came, he would be gone again—pulled back into the world that demanded so much of him. But for now, you had this, and it would have to be enough.

It sounds more romantic than it actually is in reality. What you shared with Sukuna was far from the idyllic love story others might imagine. It was a volatile existence, a solitary one. A lonely existence. There were no whispered secrets in the dark, no playful banter or stolen glances across the room. There were no soft gazes filled with unspoken affection, no tender moments that lingered long after they ended. With Sukuna, you got the raw, unfiltered version of him—a man stripped of any pretense or facade.

Sukuna was not a man of many words, and that held true even during the most intimate moments between you. He was silent, his focus intense, his mind seemingly elsewhere even as he was with you. There were no sweet nothings exchanged, no promises of forever whispered into your ear. He was a man of action, not words, and even less so when you were in bed together.

Yet, despite the lack of verbal communication, there was one thing he always maintained—eye contact. His gaze never wavered, never strayed from yours, and in those moments, you saw something in his eyes that you rarely saw anywhere else. His eyes were earnest, and that sincerity was the closest thing to vulnerability he ever allowed himself to show. It was as if, in those brief moments of connection, he was telling you without words what he couldn’t bring himself to say aloud.

But even that small comfort was fleeting, a temporary solace in a relationship that often felt more like a battle than a partnership. You loved him, but it was a love laced with pain and longing, a love that left you feeling more alone than ever. Because while his eyes might have been honest, they also held a distance that you couldn’t bridge, a reminder that even in his most vulnerable moments, Sukuna was still just out of reach.

So you took what you could get—the warmth of his body against yours, the rare tenderness in his gaze—and tried to ignore the aching loneliness that gnawed at you in the silence that followed. Because at the end of the day, you knew that this was the only version of Sukuna you would ever truly have. And for better or worse, you had to make peace with that.

You lay there in the quiet aftermath, your body still humming from the intensity of it all. But as the warmth began to fade, reality seeped back in. The silence between you was heavy, filled with all the things left unsaid. There was no gentle touch, no soft embrace to pull you closer. Sukuna remained beside you, but there was a distance, an unspoken barrier that kept you apart even when you were lying inches away from each other.

This was your life—a series of fleeting connections punctuated by long stretches of solitude. You had learned to navigate this existence, to find comfort in the small moments, even if they were far from the grand romance you had once imagined. But it was a lonely existence, one that often left you feeling hollow, as if a piece of you had been carved out and left behind somewhere along the way.

There was no pillow talk with Sukuna, no lingering in the soft afterglow. Not like it used to be, when you greeted the morning light talking and talking. The man beside you was not one for such things. He was not the type to reach out and hold you close, to whisper sweet reassurances that everything would be okay. He simply wasn’t built that way, and you had long since stopped expecting him to be.

Instead, there was just the raw version of him—the man who was silent in his love, who showed it in ways that were hard to decipher, in ways that often left you questioning if it was there at all. His love wasn’t gentle or easy; it was fierce, consuming, and at times, almost indifferent. But it was there, hidden beneath layers of responsibility, power, and the iron will that had made him who he was.

Sukuna’s eyes were the only place where you could see that truth, where you could catch a glimpse of the man beneath the exterior. Even during sex, when his body was moving against yours with a deliberate intensity, his eyes stayed locked on yours, never wavering.

There was something disarming in that gaze, something that spoke of an honesty he couldn’t express any other way. It was in those moments, brief as they were, that you felt a connection, a thread of intimacy that tied you to him, even if it was fragile and frayed.

But as much as you clung to those moments, they were never enough to fill the void. The bed, which had once felt like a sanctuary, now seemed more like a cold, empty place where two strangers shared space but not lives. You would turn to face him, hoping for something—a word, a touch, anything to bridge the gap—but he remained still, his mind already miles away, lost in thoughts you could never reach.

And so you would close your eyes, trying to hold onto the fleeting warmth of his body next to yours, trying to convince yourself that this was enough, that you could live with the silence, the loneliness, the distance. Because at the end of the day, he was still the man you loved, the man who had once promised you the world.

But that promise had faded, just like the warmth that now ebbed away in the cold, empty silence of the room. And as much as it hurt, you knew that this was all there would ever be—a man you could never fully have, a love that was always just out of reach, and a life lived in the spaces between what was and what could have been.

You cry a lot about how life has let you suffer this way. The tears come in waves, usually in the quiet hours of the night when the weight of it all feels too heavy to bear. You cry for the life you thought you would have, for the love that feels like it's slipping through your fingers, for the man who promised you everything but gave you only fragments. The pain of it all has become a constant companion, a dull ache that lingers even in your happiest moments, because you know, deep down, that things will never be what you once dreamed they could be.

You knew about the women. You’ve always known. The whispers that reached your ears, the subtle changes in his demeanor, the way he would smell of a perfume that wasn’t yours. You knew about the women he took to hotels, the ones he wined and dined in the finest restaurants, the ones he spoiled with gifts and attention that you used to believe were reserved for you alone. You knew about the strip clubs, the fleeting kisses at bars, the meaningless trysts that filled the void you couldn’t seem to reach.

But knowing and seeing were two different things.

The image before you feels like a knife to the gut, twisting with a cruel precision. She’s beautiful, laughing at something Sukuna has whispered into her ear. They’re sitting too close, his hand resting on her thigh as though it belongs there.

His expression is relaxed, the mask he wears with you completely gone. This is who he really is, you think to yourself. You could feel this bitter realization curling in your chest. You feel like you were going to be sick.

For a moment, your legs threaten to give way beneath you. The restaurant is dimly lit, the low hum of conversation and clinking silverware suddenly drowned out by the rush of blood in your ears. You’ve been here before. It’s one of his favorites—one you thought was yours too, where he used to look at you with that same easy smile.

Your heart hammers against your ribs, urging you to flee, to turn away before the pain can deepen. You take a step back, and then another, the darkness of the entrance swallowing you whole as you move further from the scene. It’s as if you’re in a dream, your body moving on autopilot, one step after another, until you’re out on the street, the cool night air hitting your skin like a jolt.

You keep walking, eyes unfocused, the city lights blurring into a haze of colors. The truth is, you don’t know where you’re going. All you know is that you can’t stop moving. Because if you stop, if you allow yourself to think, to feel, the walls you’ve built around your heart will collapse, and you’ll be left with nothing but the agony of what you’ve lost. Or perhaps, of what you never truly had.

You knew everything. And yet, you pretended as always, especially when he came home. Because he always did. No matter how many nights he spent in the arms of someone else, no matter how many times he broke your heart with his affairs, he always came home to you. And you clung to that, as painful as it was, because it was the one thing you had left—the knowledge that, for whatever reason, he chose to come back to you.

And you pathetically clung to that, as painful as it was, because it was the one thing you had left—the knowledge that, for whatever reason, he chose to come back to you. That he'll always choose to come back to you. And only you.

The sound of his key turning in the lock was your cue to slip the mask into place, smoothing out the cracks in your facade. You could hear the soft rustle of his coat as he shrugged it off, the faint smell of that foreign perfume clinging to the air. It was like a slap in the face, but you swallowed the bitterness down, forcing yourself to stay calm.

“Hey.” he called out, his voice casual, as though nothing were amiss. As though he hadn’t just spent hours with someone else.

“Hey.” you replied, keeping your tone light, as if you hadn’t been waiting in silence, wondering who he was with, what she looked like, if she made him laugh the way you used to.

He stepped into the room, his gaze brushing over you, taking in the sight of you curled up on the couch with a book in your hands. It was a scene of domestic tranquility, one you’d perfected over the years. You’d become a master at hiding the turmoil beneath the surface, at pretending that everything was fine.

“How was your night?” you asked, the words slipping out easily, as if they weren’t laced with the weight of unspoken truths.

“Busy.” he replied, moving toward you. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to lean into him, to savor the warmth of his presence. This was the part you held onto—the part where he came home, where he chose you, if only for a few fleeting hours. “Did a lot of meetings. It was dull. Like always.”

But even as he pulled away and headed to the bedroom, you couldn’t help but feel the coldness seep back in, the emptiness that settled in the pit of your stomach. You knew he’d be gone again tomorrow, off to chase whatever thrill he found in the arms of someone else.

Still, you clung to that tiny thread of hope, the one that told you he would return. Because as long as he came home, as long as he kept choosing you, there was a part of you that could pretend—pretend that it was enough, that you were enough. You knew that you were tearing yourself apart. Apart from this man. But you were stuck. You didn’t know how to get out. Not when you can’t bear separation.

It was a cruel cycle, one that left you feeling shattered and hollow, but one you couldn’t break free from. You pretended because it was easier than confronting the truth, easier than acknowledging that the man you loved was also the man who was tearing you apart. You pretended because you wanted to believe that, despite everything, there was still something left between you, something worth holding on to.

Because as much as he hurt you, as much as he used other women to fill whatever void he was running from, you knew one thing with absolute certainty: he loved you. He might have been distant, cold, and unfaithful, but that love was there, buried beneath the layers of deceit and betrayal. It was a twisted, painful love, one that hurt more than it healed, but it was real. And that’s what made it so hard to walk away.

He loved you, and it hurt you. It hurt because that love wasn’t enough to stop him from seeking out others, from indulging in pleasures that had nothing to do with you. It hurt because that love didn’t protect you from the heartache, didn’t shield you from the loneliness that came from sharing a bed with someone who was only half there.

But it was love nonetheless, a sick, unadulterated, gut-wrenching love you can never truly escape even if you wanted to. and you clung to it with everything you had, because without it, you weren’t sure who you would be anymore.

So you cried, and you pretended, and you waited for him to finish his shower, knowing that when he did, you would smile, you would act as if nothing was wrong, as if your heart wasn’t breaking a little more each day. Because you loved him, too, and that love was the only thing holding you together, even as it threatened to tear you apart.

The stairs creaked with every step, and you quickly wiped the tears from your cheeks, forcing yourself to take a deep breath. You knew the routine by now—how to mask the pain, how to put on a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. The sound of his footsteps echoed through the steps, and you braced yourself, slipping into the role you had perfected over the years. He’d gotten out of the shower and dressed.

Sukuna walked back into the living room, his presence filling the space like a storm cloud. He glanced at you briefly, his expression unreadable as he walked in front of you. You could still smell the faint scent of a perfume that wasn’t yours, the remnants of a night you knew all too well. It was as if he was mocking you. It was as if he wanted you to know. But you didn’t say anything. You never did.

“Did you have dinner yet?” you ask him, your voice steady despite the tightness in your chest. “There’s still some soba I made for dinner.”

He hums in response, reaching for your hand, his touch warm but somehow distant. “Maybe later, I’ll heat it up myself. Let me stay here with you for a bit.”

You nod, pretending to be satisfied with his answer, even though you know it’s a lie. “Okay, that’s fine.”

You make some space for him to sit beside you, but instead, he lowers his head onto your lap, his body stretching out along the couch. The gesture is familiar, almost comforting, but tonight, it feels like a weight pressing down on your chest. You feel the bile rise in your throat as he closes his eyes, humming softly to himself, as if this moment is as peaceful for him as it is tormenting for you.

You force your fingers to move, to edge along the tips of his fuchsia-colored hair, the strands soft beneath your touch. The motion is automatic, a habit born from nights like these, where you pretended that everything was still okay. But as you purse your lips into a tight line, trying to keep your composure, you feel the tears threatening to spill over, the pain clawing at the walls you’ve built around your heart.

Not now, you tell yourself. Not now. You can’t break, not here, not while he’s with you.

You swallow hard, pushing down the surge of emotions that threaten to rise to the surface, and speak in a voice you barely recognize as your own. “You worked hard.”

He opens his eyes, his gaze meeting yours in the dim light of the room. “So did you.” he whispers, his tone soft, almost tender.

His words, if they were meant to comfort you, only deepen the ache inside you. You bite down on the inside of your cheek, forcing a small, hollow smile as you continue to stroke his hair. Because that’s all you can do—pretend that this moment is enough, that his presence here is enough to make up for all the nights he’s been away, all the lies you’ve told yourself just to keep going.

He closes his eyes again, sighing softly, and you watch him, your fingers never faltering in their gentle rhythm. And as you sit there, with his head in your lap and the soba cooling on the kitchen counter, you realize that this is what you’ve become—someone who is willing to live in the spaces he leaves behind, someone who clings to the small moments he offers, even when they’re built on a foundation of lies.

“I missed you, Sukuna.” you whispered, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to keep it steady.

“I know.” he replied to you, in a tone that knows. A tone that reveals it all. He knew that you know, you weren’t a fool. You were too smart for it. And yet, here you are. With him, his lying, selfish self, loved by you. “I’m here now.”

You nodded, knowing that was the most you would get from him. “I’m glad you’re home.”

He didn’t respond, but you could feel the tension in his body slowly easing, his breathing becoming more relaxed. You knew this was as close as he would come to letting you in, and you tried to take comfort in it, even though it wasn’t enough.

You lay there in silence, your hand still resting on his chest, listening to the rhythmic sound of his breathing. You wanted to say more, to tell him how much it hurt, how much you wished things could be different. But you knew it wouldn’t change anything. He would always come home, but he would never truly be yours.

So you stayed quiet, pretending for him, for yourself, for the fragile love that still tied you to him, even as it slowly unraveled. You pretended that this was enough, that the fleeting moments of closeness were worth the nights spent alone, the tears shed in silence, the knowledge that he would never be wholly yours.

And in the dark, as you lay beside him, you let yourself believe the lie, if only for a little while. Because sometimes, pretending was the only thing that kept you going.

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EVERYTHING CHANGED WHEN YOU HEARD THOSE WORDS. The doctor's words echoed in your mind as you drove home, your knuckles white from gripping the steering wheel. "A few months, at most," he'd said, and you'd nodded, thanked him even, before walking out of the clinic in a daze. The sky outside seemed unchanged, the world continuing its indifferent spin, while inside you, something had irrevocably shifted.

When you finally made it home, you sat down, the weight of everything settling onto your shoulders like a heavy blanket. The familiar surroundings seemed distant, like you were seeing them through a fog. The elegant decor, the soft lighting—everything was perfect, just as it always was, but it felt like a set piece now, like something you were watching from afar.

You tried to think of what you should do next, what anyone would do with such news. Should you cry? Scream? But nothing came. Instead, a strange sense of calm washed over you, like the stillness after a storm. Maybe this was it—God's way of freeing you from this misery, this life you’d never truly lived.

A miserable existence, that’s what it was. A life spent in the shadow of Ryomen Sukuna, the man who was everything to everyone, and nothing to you. The man who had captured your heart and soul, only to lock them away somewhere deep inside, where they withered, starved of the love you so desperately needed. You’d given everything to be his wife, to play the part in the perfect narrative he’d constructed, and in the process, you’d lost yourself.

The relief that bubbled up inside you was unexpected, but undeniable. You wouldn’t have to suffer much longer. No more pretending, no more aching for a love that would never be yours. No more nights spent staring at the ceiling, wondering why you weren’t enough. Soon, it would all be over. You wouldn’t have to endure this life, this love, for much longer.

You decided then and there—you wouldn’t tell him. What would be the point? He was a man consumed by his empire, by his power, and you were just another piece of his world, another part of his success. Telling him would only disrupt the perfect narrative he had written for himself, and you couldn’t bear to see the indifference in his eyes when he realized that your story was ending.

No, you would continue to be his wife. You would play your part until the very end, letting yourself fade quietly from the narrative, just as you had faded from his heart. And maybe, when it was all over, when you were gone, he might feel something—a twinge of regret, perhaps. But that didn’t matter. Not anymore.

In the stillness of your home, a peculiar sense of peace enveloped you. The silence was heavy, but it was a silence of your own making, one that spoke of an end and a release. You had loved Sukuna with a depth that was both profound and consuming. Your love for him was a force that had shaped your days and your nights, driving you to care for him in ways that went unnoticed and unappreciated.

But as you faced the reality of your impending departure, a bittersweet calm settled over you. The weight of your unrequited love, the fatigue of constantly giving without receiving, was finally lifting. You had poured your heart into a relationship where your love was met with indifference and infidelity. You had tried to make him see, tried to make him understand, but in the end, the love you gave was never truly reciprocated in the way you had hoped.

Now, as the days dwindle and the finality of your situation becomes undeniable, you found a strange comfort in knowing that the end was near. The thought of liberation from a love that had only ever been one-sided was both heart-wrenching and soothing. You were tired of the endless cycle of giving and waiting, of hoping for something that would never come. And in the quiet of your home, you felt a sense of relief at the prospect of being free from this endless cycle of emotional exhaustion.

That night, when Sukuna returned home, you greeted him with a facade of normalcy. Despite the heavy burden of your knowledge, you smiled at him with a warmth that belied your inner turmoil. You continued to dote on him, serving him his favorite dishes with the same loving care you always had. Every gesture, every touch, every look was a continuation of the role you had played for so long.

You carried on as if nothing had changed, maintaining the pretense of a happy, loving wife. Your actions were deliberate, a final testament to the depth of your love and the extent of your sacrifice. You wanted to give him one last glimpse of the love he had taken for granted, to remind him of what he would be losing, even if he would never fully grasp it until it was too late.

You went through the motions of daily life, engaging with him, listening to his stories, laughing at his jokes. The facade was not just for him, but for yourself as well—a way to preserve a semblance of normalcy amidst the chaos of your emotions. You wanted to leave him with the memory of a wife who had loved him deeply, who had cared for him until the very end, despite everything.

In the quiet moments alone, after he had gone to bed, you would sit in the darkness, feeling the weight of your impending departure. You would reflect on the years you had spent loving him, on the moments of joy and sorrow that had shaped your relationship. And as you faced the end, you found a strange sort of solace in knowing that you would finally be free from the constraints of a love that had never truly been mutual.

The peace you felt was not without pain, but it was a relief nonetheless. You had loved Sukuna with all that you were, and now, as you prepared to leave, you took comfort in the knowledge that you would soon be free from the sadness and longing that had defined your existence.

Sukuna looked up from his plate, his gaze lingering on you with a mixture of curiosity and concern. He could see a flicker of something in your eyes that he hadn’t seen in a long time.

“You seem... unusually happy tonight,” he said, his voice carrying a hint of both surprise and suspicion. “Is something going on?”

You met his gaze, a faint smile on your lips that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “It’s been a long time since we had a dinner like this, just the two of us.”

Sukuna’s brow furrowed as he studied you. “Yeah, it has. We’ve been so wrapped up in our own worlds that it’s easy to forget what it was like before everything got so complicated.”

You nodded, your fingers nervously twisting the edge of your napkin. “I’ve missed this—being with you like this, without all the distractions and complications. It feels like a rare moment of normalcy in the chaos.”

Sukuna’s expression softened, but there was an edge of concern in his eyes. “You seem more at peace than usual. Is everything okay? You’ve been acting... different lately.”

You hesitated, the weight of your secret pressing down on you. “I’ve just been reflecting on things. It’s strange how time changes everything, how we lose sight of what really matters until it’s almost too late.”

Sukuna’s gaze grew more intense, his unease palpable. “Reflecting on what? You’ve been acting like there’s something you’re not telling me.”

You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to keep your voice steady. “It’s just... I’ve been thinking about how we’ve lost touch with each other. How we’ve let life get in the way of what really matters.”

Sukuna’s eyes searched for yours, trying to grasp the depth of your words. “Are you saying there’s something wrong? Something you’re not telling me?”

You looked away, your smile faltering. “It’s not about something wrong. It’s about realizing that sometimes, we need to appreciate the moments we have, even if they’re fleeting.”

Sukuna’s confusion deepened, his concern growing. “You’re scaring me. Why are you talking like this? What’s going on?”

You forced yourself to meet his gaze, your heart aching with the weight of the truth you couldn’t reveal. “I’ve just been feeling... reflective. It’s hard to explain, but I’m grateful for these moments, even if they’re all we have left.”

Sukuna reached out, his hand gently grasping yours. “Are you trying to tell me something? You’re acting like this is a goodbye.”

You pulled your hand away, the pain in your chest almost unbearable. “It’s not a goodbye. It’s just... a realization. I want to make the most of the time we have, to cherish these moments together.”

Sukuna’s face fell, his worry evident. “You’re making it sound like something terrible is happening. If there’s something you’re hiding, you need to tell me.”

You shook your head, forcing yourself to smile through the tears that threatened to spill. “It’s not about hiding anything. It’s about acknowledging that even when things are difficult, we can still find moments of happiness. I wanted tonight to be one of those moments.”

Sukuna looked at you with a mixture of sadness and confusion, his frustration clear. “You’re not making any sense. Why can’t you just tell me what’s going on?”

You stood up from the table, unable to bear the intensity of his gaze any longer. You smiled at him. And even at that moment, he noticed. He noticed it didn’t go up to your eyes. “I can’t. Not yet. I just needed you to understand that despite everything, I’ve always cherished our time together.”

Sukuna watched you with a heart heavy with concern and regret, as you walked away from the table. "Do you still want some wine?"

"No." Sukuna whispers under his breath. "I'm fine."

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

YOU WERE GOOD AT PLAYING ROLES. Sukuna didn't suspect a thing. You continued playing your part, showing up at events, smiling when required, and being the perfect wife that the world expected you to be. He remained oblivious, too wrapped up in his own world to notice the subtle changes—the way your laughter had lost its warmth, the way your eyes seemed distant, even when you looked directly at him.

He carried on with his life, his empire growing ever larger, his influence spreading like wildfire. And on the side, there was her—the woman he met in secret, the one who made him feel alive in ways that you no longer could. He didn’t care to hide it anymore, not really. He knew you knew, but in his mind, it didn’t matter. You were his wife, his possession, and that was enough.

The restaurant was bathed in a warm, subdued light, its cozy ambiance a stark contrast to the storm brewing in Sukuna's heart. He sat across from his date, his smirk easy, a deliberate mask concealing the turbulent emotions beneath. His eyes roamed lazily over the flickering candlelight, his drink half-empty, the conversation flowing smoothly. It was supposed to be an escape, a fleeting distraction from the complexities of his life.

The phone buzzed on the table, its vibration slightly jarring against the relaxed hum of the evening. Sukuna glanced at it, a shadow of irritation crossing his features. He almost ignored it, but a nagging instinct—something primal and insistent—prompted him to check. The screen lit up with an urgent message, and as he read the words, his smirk faltered, replaced by a sudden, unsettling pallor.

His hand trembled slightly as he answered the call that followed.

“Mr. Sukuna, I’m terribly sorry to interrupt your evening. There’s been an emergency. Your wife—she’s collapsed and has been rushed to the hospital. The situation is very serious. You need to come immediately.”

Sukuna’s mind reeled, struggling to process the gravity of the message. His heart pounded furiously in his chest, a cacophony of fear and disbelief. “What? No, that can’t be right. Are you sure? What happened?” His usual bravado turned into worrisome, strained whispers. “My wife was healthy when I left her at home.”

“Yes, I’m certain. She was rushed in a couple of minutes ago. The doctors are doing everything they can, but it’s critical. Please come to the hospital right away.”

The call ended abruptly, leaving Sukuna staring blankly at his phone. The realization of what he had just heard began to sink in, each beat of his heart echoing with a growing dread. Without a word, he stood up abruptly, his chair scraping loudly against the floor.

“Suku? What’s going on? Where are you going?” Her face is a mask of confusion and concern. “Suku–”

“I—I have to go. It’s an emergency.” His voice barely more than a whisper, laden with panic.

He didn’t wait for any further questions or explanations. His mind was a chaotic whirl of thoughts as he left the restaurant, the cool night air doing little to calm the storm inside him. The drive to the hospital was a blur, the city lights streaking by in a disorienting haze. Every turn, every red light seemed to stretch time, amplifying his growing sense of dread.

Inside the emergency room, the atmosphere was clinical and cold, a stark contrast to the warmth of the evening he had just left behind. The cacophony of beeping monitors and hurried voices created a symphony of chaos that matched his inner turmoil. He pushed past the reception desk, barely acknowledging the questions they asked him. All he could think about was reaching you, seeing you, and holding onto whatever fragments of hope remained.

“Sir, you need to wait here. We’re in the middle of an emergency procedure.” The nurse said firmly, as Sukuna tried to approach.

Sukuna’s eyes fixed on the form lying still on the gurney, a sight that twisted his insides with a profound ache. The resuscitation efforts were intense, a desperate dance between life and death. He felt a profound sense of helplessness, the cold efficiency of the medical staff contrasting sharply with his own emotional chaos.

“Please, I need to be with her. I have to—” His voice breaking, a raw plea. “Please let me through—”

“Sir, we need to focus on the procedure. You can’t be in the way.”

Sukuna was forced to retreat, his heart sinking as he slumped against the wall, his fists clenched in frustration and fear. The minutes dragged on, each second feeling like an eternity. He stared at the closed doors of the emergency room, the gnawing fear that he might lose you forever consuming him.

In the cold, stark hallway of the hospital, Sukuna felt his world unraveling. The veneer of control and dominance he had always relied on was gone, replaced by a gut-wrenching vulnerability he had never before experienced. He was left alone with his thoughts, confronting the painful truth that he had been given a chance to face his own failures and regrets.

Everything they could, they tried—but it wasn’t enough. He could see it in their eyes, in the frantic movements that were becoming more desperate by the second. He shouted at them, his voice rising to a roar, demanding they do something, anything. He wasn’t used to feeling powerless, wasn’t used to being afraid. But in that moment, as he watched you lying there, unmoving, unresponsive, fear gripped him in a way it never had before.

He couldn’t lose you. Not like this. Not now, not when he’d taken you for granted for so long. The realization hit him like a punch to the gut. You had always been there, always been his, and he’d never truly appreciated it. And now, as he watched the life drain from you, he felt something he hadn’t felt in a long time—genuine, bone-deep terror.

When the nurses finally stopped, when they turned to him with those solemn expressions, he knew. They didn’t have to say a word. He pushed past them anyway, falling to his knees beside your bed, his hand grasping yours, still warm but lifeless. You were slipping through his fingers. He didn’t want to free you — not yet. He needs you. He still wants you.

“Don’t do this, not yet.” he whispered, his voice breaking, something it never did. “You can’t leave me. You don’t get to leave me.”

But you were already gone. The silence in the room was deafening, and for the first time in his life, Ryomen Sukuna felt utterly and completely helpless.

Sukuna stayed by your side long after the nurses and doctors left the room, long after the machines were turned off, and the sterile, mechanical sounds faded into an unbearable silence. He gripped your hand tightly, as if somehow, by sheer force of will, he could pull you back from the brink, undo what had just happened. But the truth was inescapable—you were gone.

The world outside continued to turn, indifferent to the agony that churned inside him. Sukuna, the man who had always been in control, who had never feared anything or anyone, was now paralyzed by a fear so intense it consumed him. He had never imagined a moment like this, a moment where he would lose something so irreplaceable.

Memories flashed through his mind—moments he had dismissed, overlooked, or taken for granted. The way you would smile at him when he came home, the quiet dinners you shared, the way you had always been there, even when he hadn’t deserved it. He had grown so used to your presence that he never considered what it would be like without you.

He had thought he could live his life as he pleased, that you would always be there, in the background, silently enduring whatever he put you through. But now, with you gone, the enormity of his loss hit him with full force. It wasn’t just that you were gone—it was that you were gone because of him. He had driven you to this, with his neglect, his infidelity, his arrogance.

His chest tightened, and for the first time in years, Sukuna felt the sting of tears. He couldn’t remember the last time he had cried—if he ever had. But now, the tears came unbidden, a raw and overwhelming response to the pain that was tearing him apart. He had lost you, and it was his fault. There was no one else to blame, no way to undo what he had done.

He thought about all the things he would never get to say to you, all the apologies that would never leave his lips. He had always believed he had time—time to make things right, time to explain, time to finally show you that you mattered to him. But now, that time was gone, and with it, any chance of redemption.

Sukuna stayed there, holding your hand, until the nurses gently told him that he had to let go, that it was time to say goodbye. He didn’t want to—he wasn’t ready to. But he knew there was no choice. Slowly, reluctantly, he released your hand, feeling a cold emptiness settle into the space where you had once been.

As he walked out of the hospital, the reality of his life without you began to sink in. The thought of returning to his grand, empty house—one that had always been a symbol of his success, his power—now felt like walking into a tomb. You were no longer there to greet him, no longer there to fill the space with your presence.

And for the first time, Sukuna understood what it meant to be truly alone. All the wealth, the power, the women—none of it mattered anymore. The one thing that had truly mattered was gone, and he was left with nothing but the echo of his own regrets.

As he stepped into his car, the weight of your absence pressed down on him, suffocating in its intensity. He had never been afraid of anything before. But now, as he faced a future without you, he was terrified.

Sukuna sat in the driver’s seat of his car, the door still open as if he might somehow find the strength to run back into the hospital and reverse what had happened. His hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, knuckles white, and the first sob broke through his defenses, ragged and harsh. He slammed his fists against the wheel, the sound echoing in the empty garage, the pain in his chest mirroring the bruising force of his punches.

Each hit was a release, a desperate attempt to rid himself of the unbearable grief and regret that had settled over him like a heavy fog. Tears streamed down his face, blurring his vision, and he felt a profound sense of helplessness that he had never known. He had always been in control, always been the one to dictate terms, to manipulate situations to his favor. But now, as he sat there, he was powerless, unable to change anything, unable to bring you back.

In the midst of his torment, memories began to flood back—painful, vivid recollections that he had buried under layers of indifference and self-absorption. He remembered the way you would spend hours in the kitchen, cooking meals with a dedication that went beyond mere obligation. You had always taken care of him, preparing dishes that you knew he loved, ensuring the fridge was stocked with his favorite foods.

He could picture you now, in the kitchen of your shared home, chopping vegetables, stirring pots, your face focused and serene. The way you’d hum softly to yourself, the warmth of the kitchen contrasting with the coldness that seemed to have crept into his heart over the years. Every meal you made was a labor of love, a testament to the care and consideration you had for him, even when he had taken it all for granted.

And then there were the times you’d prepare extra food, stock the fridge with ready-made meals, knowing that his schedule was unpredictable, that he might be too busy to eat properly. You’d filled the refrigerator with care, making sure he would have something to sustain him, even when you couldn’t be there.

He should have noticed the subtle changes in your routine. The house had been unusually pristine lately, the surfaces spotless, the floors immaculate. It wasn’t like you to maintain such a high level of cleanliness without a reason. It was as if you had been preparing the space, ensuring that everything was in perfect order, as if you were orchestrating a smooth transition for him, even after you were gone.

The closets were tidier than usual, the clothes organized and neatly hung. He realized now that you had cleaned out your own belongings with quiet efficiency, not because you were preparing to leave in the conventional sense, but because you wanted to spare him the burden. You had sorted through your things, reducing the mess he would have to deal with, thinking ahead so that your death wouldn’t leave him grappling with the physical remnants of your life.

The laundry was always done, the baskets emptied and folded with a care that went beyond routine. You had taken care of it all, ensuring that he wouldn’t be confronted with chores and tasks that might remind him of the void you were leaving behind. The house had been more than just clean—it had been meticulously arranged to make his life easier, to ensure that the practicalities of your absence wouldn’t add to his grief.

In the midst of his grief, the realization struck him with the force of a revelation. You had been planning for this moment all along, your every action a carefully orchestrated preparation for the inevitable. You had thought of everything—how the house should be, how his daily life should continue without disruption, how he might cope with the void you would leave behind.

And yet, despite all your foresight, he had been so absorbed in his own world, so blind to your quiet efforts, that he hadn’t seen what you were doing. He had been wrapped up in his own needs, his own desires, oblivious to the depth of your sacrifice.

Now, as he sat there in the car, the weight of his regret felt almost unbearable. You had given him a gift of love so profound, so selfless, and he had only realized it in the harshest of moments. He had been given a chance to appreciate you, to see how deeply you cared, but it had come too late.

The house was prepared, the chores managed, the meals cooked—all to make sure that your departure wouldn’t add to his burden. And all he could do now was mourn the loss of someone who had loved him so completely, while he had remained unaware of the full extent of their care.

The realization hit him with a crushing weight. You had been preparing him—preparing him for a future without you. You had known, on some level, that your time was limited, and you had tried to make things easier for him, to ensure he wouldn’t be left entirely lost when you were gone. You had left behind a legacy of care and love, even in your absence.

The tears flowed more freely now, each one a testament to the depth of his regret. The sight of the empty kitchen at home, the pristine rows of shelves, the meticulously arranged pantry—all these things that once seemed so ordinary now felt like a poignant reminder of the love he had squandered. You had been his rock, his constant, and he had never truly valued it until it was too late.

Sukuna’s sobs grew louder, more desperate, his grief palpable in the confined space of the car. He felt as if he were drowning in a sea of his own making, surrounded by the memories of what he had lost and the realization of how profoundly he had failed you. The realization of your love, the sacrifices you had made, and the undeniable truth that he had only seen it all now, when it was too late, was a torment unlike anything he had ever known.

He sank forward, resting his head on the steering wheel, letting the tears fall harder than before, his body shaking with the intensity of his emotions. He wished he could turn back time, could undo the mistakes he had made, could tell you how much you meant to him. But all he was left with was the crushing weight of his actions, the echoes of your love, and the empty space where you once were.

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explorevenus · 7 months ago

Text

doll parts ♡ leon kennedy x f!reader

nsfw (18+) - minors dni or i will call ur mom. and also the cops

word count: 3.6k

description: leon may not take the best care of himself, but he certainly takes care of you. it's his favorite pastime.

tags/warnings: vendetta leon, established relationship, unhealthy relationship dynamics, dollification, daddy kink, oral sex (f receiving), mirror sex

a/n: this piece was commissioned by my lovely bestie @dollfacefantasy, who knows me so well in that she knew i was foaming at the mouth for an excuse to write dollification w leon >:3 AND it's based off of that one scene in euphoria where nate dresses cassie up LIKE GET OUTTA TOWNNNNN I WAS SO JUICED TO WRITE THIS !!!!!!!!!!!!

my masterlist ♡

my ao3 ♡

fic under the cut, thanks so much for reading and i hope u enjoy ;w;

-venus ♡

You were mad. You were so mad, all the time lately, and you were past the point of wondering if you had any right to be.

It was late, nearly half past midnight, the only sound in the dim house being the unrelenting patter of fat raindrops on the windows. Leon, too, was late, like he so often was. Of course, you weren’t allowed to complain or ask questions about his high paying job, or his whereabouts, or the secrecy, where all those injuries came from or why he didn’t return when he said he would for the hundredth time.

All your life, you thought relationships like this existed only in fiction, the trope of the distant workaholic who dismisses his partner’s concerns with nothing but his wallet and his sexual prowess, piling diamond encrusted bandages upon months worth of neglect, bottled up grievances and novels left unsaid. It was a concept confined to old movies and paperbound romances as far as you were concerned, before you met Leon.

You weren’t unreasonable, and you weren’t dumb. You had gathered that his mysterious government job really was important and strictly confidential, and you trusted that he was telling you as much of the truth as was permitted by the powers that be. You knew he cared about you, you knew he would rather be home with you than running around at the beck and call of the most powerful people in the country. You knew it was never his intention to hurt you.

But your awareness of his love for you didn’t make it any easier to swallow the unending cycle of broken promises, nor the visible deterioration of his mental and physical health while his ‘work trips’ became increasingly frequent until they all started to just blend together.

You became numb to it after a while. It seemed selfish to demand his time and attention when he couldn’t help his circumstances. Even bringing it up made you feel like a monster, and it was all because you loved him so completely.

And you loved him so completely. You had seen him cry with laughter and sob with grief. You had seen him burn toast, fall asleep with the TV on, forget how to tie a tie, dread a mundane phone call, mumble to himself when he thought no one was listening. You knew his philosophies on life and love and death, you knew him heart and soul, and so too did he know you.

Thus, you just ate it, wore yourself down until you finally accepted that all those bottled up grievances, novels left unsaid and extravagant bribes were worth the privilege of being his lover.

Your eyes felt dry as you stared at the clock, counting in your tired mind exactly how many hours had passed since he was supposed to be home. It had been a long, rough day that would have been draining enough on its own, but the evening proved to disappoint even further.

Leon heard about the karmic disaster that was your day through a handful of rant texts you’d sent over the course of it, each one more unfortunate than the last. Sympathetic to your senseless string of rotten luck, he promised to cut away from work an hour early to return home to you with your favorite dinner and enough doting on to make your teeth rot. He did not, of course, come home early, and not only that, but he didn’t come home at all, and you couldn’t get ahold of him.

If this wasn’t such a frequent occurrence, you might have been more worried about his safety, or even more angry at him for leaving you hanging on a day like this one, but you had become so familiar with this whole song and dance that your feelings around it were dulled.

You were just about to give up and go to bed when your phone lit up with a notification. Following the several undelivered texts you tried to send asking if he was okay, he’d given a simple response that you knew would redirect the course of your whole entire night.

Headed home in 15. Be in the dollhouse

You had long since garnered that the dollhouse was more for him than it was for you, even if he seemed to believe it was the other way around. It was nice to be pampered and doted on and styled like a Barbie, until it became a way for him to avoid talking to you about anything important. But that was neither here nor there. Dolls don’t talk, and they most certainly don’t complain.

With a deep, measured breath you exited the bedroom and turned down the hall, to what used to be a spare room but was now more aptly describable as a boudoir. The door creaked open to reveal the delicate, feminine space, heavy satin drapes blocking out any potential prying eyes. Between two solid oak wardrobes was an ornate standing mirror, the walk-in closet to the right overflowing with opulent clothing that hardly ever saw the light of day, just the familiar warmth of Leon’s cerulean eyes.

At the other end of the room was an antique, three-mirror vanity, stocked carefully with luxury makeup, designer perfumes and every last tool one might need to style your hair, down to a box of satin ribbons in every color with which to tie it back. Leon was never one to do things half-way, and dolling you up was no exception.

Piece by piece, you stripped yourself of your clothes, hands moving as slowly and purposefully as his own would, as if by instinct. Just like a doll would be, you undressed to nothing but a pair of delicate lace panties, and you took your place at the vanity, your posture straight and your hands folded neatly in your lap.

All there was left to do now was wait for Leon, to stare at yourself blankly in the mirror and ruminate, to let your thoughts scream and echo around in your head until it would all collapse into silence, putting you in the proper headspace of an empty-headed little Barbie for Leon to play with.

You didn’t so much as flinch at the sound of the garage door opening, or move a muscle at all at the muffled thudding of his footsteps ascending the stairs. Your lips parted with a slow, deep breath, your posture straightening up one final time before the knob turned, and you watched the door open behind you through the reflection in the mirror.

He looked tired. To be candid, he looked like shit. It was evident he had left immediately from whatever dangerous, world-saving thing he was doing to rush home to you, not taking the time to change or freshen up.

Leon approached you gently, reaching over your shoulder to let his rough fingers cup your neck and throat, tilting your head up just enough to make you look at yourself, and to adjust your posture.

“Such a precious little doll, sitting so pretty for daddy,” He whispered, stooping down to plant a kiss at the crown of your head. His hands smelled like iron and gunpowder, and his breath smelled faintly of malted liquor poorly masked with mint. If only you could have confronted him about it. You just swallowed, staring straight ahead where he was directing your gaze.

Reaching over your shoulder, Leon’s steady hand plucked a detangling brush from the vanity, running his fingers through your hair carefully with his other hand. He felt through the length of your soft locks, mindful as always not to tug at any of the little knots he discovered here and there. Shortly after, he was running the brush through your hair with gentle veneration, delicate, even strokes that nearly threatened to put you to sleep.

Leon watched your expression in the mirror as your lashes fluttered, your head lolling back as if mindlessly chasing the attention. A low chuckle fell from his parted lips. “Feels good, huh? I’ll bet it does. Your hair is so messy, baby… You weren’t playing by yourself all day while daddy was gone, were you?”

He was teasing you. A subtle grin begged to tug at your lips, and you let it. Still, you were sure to shake your head ‘no’-- after all, you couldn’t have him thinking you had taken advantage of his extended absence to be naughty, even if you had been awfully tempted to.

Carding his fingers through your freshly brushed hair, he hummed in mock consideration for a moment, like he couldn’t decide whether or not he believed you. Finally, he turned you around in your chair to face him, tilting your chin up so he could give you a kiss. “I know my baby would never. Always the perfect princess for me, even when I’m not always the perfect daddy.”

That last part came out a little quieter, like he was ashamed to even say it out loud, but somehow still, it was the loudest part to you. You softened.

He noticed, and he, too, softened. The tension in the air dissipated a bit– it was still somewhere around here, likely waiting right outside the door, but it was no longer actively present, at least. Leon gave you another sweet kiss, this one to your forehead, before gently correcting your posture again.

Pushing your hair back with a soft, fluffy headband, he opened up one of the drawers in the vanity and began to take a few things out. First, a light moisturizer, which he massaged into your skin with a jade roller that was cool to the touch and just as relaxing as always. Your moisturizer was followed by a gentle under-eye balm, a thin layer of primer and a hydrating lip oil.

The way he moved was so fluid, so methodical, like a conductor before an orchestra, and you were his masterpiece. In Leon’s eyes, you might as well have been carved out of the finest, most expensive marble, and you were to be treated no less delicately.

He stepped out just for a moment to wash his hands, a clean slate for the next step of the process, your makeup.

You honestly don’t know how he did it. Judging by some of the techniques and products he would use, you could only guess he must have been doing his research online or something, though where he found the time to do so was another question entirely. His lines weren’t always clean, his blending wasn’t always perfectly smooth, yet somehow you always still felt he’d managed to upstage you with the finished product– perhaps it was because he could see you in a way you couldn’t see yourself.

“Daddy?” You chanced a whisper, but he was quick to press a finger to the plush of your lips, ever so gently.

“Shh… Just sit nice and still for me, alright, sugar?”

You nodded, and he resumed his work with a careful touch.

Soft brushes and plush sponges worked their way around the surface of your face, applying shadow and powders and liner, with Leon holding his breath now and then to ensure a steady hand. Your cheeks were rouged, your lips were glossed, your lashes were carefully curled and it was all topped off with a cooling mist of setting spray and a gentle kiss to the forehead.

“There you are, hm? My beautiful baby dolly,” He mused, reaching forward to tilt your head up by your chin, then to the left, then to the right, checking over his handiwork from every angle. Adding a dash of blush to the tip of your nose, he deemed your makeup complete. “Just perfect.”

Slowly, Leon turned your chair around again, allowing you to look at yourself, and yeah. Wow.

You looked gorgeous, you were glowing even. All of your best features were adorned with purposeful swipes of blush, shade and highlight, your eyes dreamy and sweet, your skin smooth and radiant. He let you look at yourself for a moment, just admiring the expression of awe on you– you were always exceptionally stunning, of course, but you looked all the sweeter in these sacred moments in which you recognized your own beauty.

Leon rested one hand on your shoulder to recapture your attention, his other hand coming forward to stroke your cheek. Your long lashes fluttered as you met his eyes in the mirror, a silent signal that your focus had returned to him. Now the hand that caressed your cheekbone was coming forward to take your own. He helped you up from your seat at the vanity and across the room, to the plush chaise lounge in front of that standing mirror.

The room filled with the quiet noises of rummaging, Leon sifting through drawers and racks of hangers stuffed with what had to have been thousands of dollars worth of designer, a stark contrast to his own attire of largely plain black shirts and jeans that had seen better days.

But you were his princess. Leon was just Leon, and Leon couldn’t possibly deserve as much as a princess.

Turning over his shoulder, Leon approached you with a simple pair of white stockings in hand, sinking to his knees right before the chaise lounge to put them on you. Your ankle looked so slight and delicate in his strong hand as he lifted your leg, drawing a line of kisses up the inside of your calf to follow while he rolled the stocking up higher and higher, until the hem reached just above your knee.

He repeated the action with your other leg, the movement of his hands fluid and practiced, but his breaths were becoming shorter, his kisses a little wetter and needier on your skin. Your own breaths were quickly falling in sync with his own just by watching him dial in on your sex, his calloused hands propping your legs up onto his shoulders so he could shuffle closer.

Gripping you by the hips to angle you up to his liking, he buried his nose into the seat of your thin lace panties and breathed you in deep, as though he were starving for oxygen. The tip of his nose nuzzled forward to brush your panties aside, and just as soon as your slit was bared to him, his tongue was darting out to taste it.

He spread it flat in a slow, languid stripe from your weeping hole all the way to your throbbing clit, his lips closing around the little bundle of nerves to coax it from beneath its hood. You sucked in a breath, your manicured nails printing into the lush material of the furniture you were perched on, trying as hard as you could to keep quiet and still, to allow him to guide you, to play with you as he so desired. Luckily, he wasn’t in too stern of a mood this evening anyway– you weren’t likely to be reprimanded for small errors like that, especially not while he was otherwise occupied.

“Fuck,” He growled lowly into your cunt, leaving white prints where he gripped your pillowy thighs just to ground himself. You could feel his body growing warm as he lost himself in you, lapping up every drop of your arousal with greed. For just a moment, his dilated, denim eyes flicked up to look at you, his rosy cheeks gently squished between your quaking thighs as he puffed out, “Just look at you, my dolly… Daddy’s favorite little toy…”

Your eyes screwed shut with pleasure as his hot mouth met your center again, and when they fluttered open, you caught sight of it all in the mirror. It nearly knocked the wind out of you.

Your dainty legs spread out over your gruff boyfriend’s broad shoulders, adorned in delicate white stockings that looked pure and bright against his tight black t-shirt; his sandy blonde hair damp and messy as he wedged himself between your thighs and drank from you like a fountain; your hair and makeup fit for a gala as your expression contorted with rapture… it could have been an oil painting.

Every swipe of his tongue up the length of you, every flutter along your swollen bud, every deep, wanton, needy groan had your eyes rolling back in your head, your thighs trembling and tightening around his jaw. Every inch of you felt featherlight with electricity as he worked his magic on you, more than capable of making you cum in three minutes flat, but opting not to for the fun of it.

Not that you were complaining. At times he could get carried away in his teasing, but tonight was not one of those nights. Leon wasn’t going to waste your time dangling you over the edge much longer than was strictly necessary. As soon as he noticed you were having trouble sitting still, quiet whines and sighs of pleasure occasionally slipping out from between your glossy lips, he knew it would be unfair to string you along any further.

Leon was practically making out with your folds, the room quiet aside from the slick sounds and lustful whimpers that accompanied his dining of you. Soon it was joined with the low, husky timbre of his voice as he groaned into you, “Gonna cum for me, baby? Gonna make a pretty mess all over daddy’s face?”

In all honesty, you barely registered his words, but all it ever took to get you nodding like a bobblehead was that upward lilt in his tone that indicated he was asking you something. That was all you needed to know that the correct answer was yes.

Smirking briefly to himself as he witnessed your eager and rapt approval, he doubled the intensity of his efforts, his hands wrenching tight into your thighs to pull you flush against his face, but more importantly, to keep you from wriggling away. He didn’t bother to shush you when a shocked yelp bubbled out of you, your body jerking in response to the added stimulation. After all, it was the response he was expecting, and the response he yearned for.

Your shaking hands darted forward to claw at his hair, half-lidded eyes catching your reflection in the mirror once more. Your skin was warm, your breasts heaving as your spine drew into a fine arch and your lips parted to gasp in all the oxygen you could get to your dizzy brain, heels digging into the prominent muscles in his back. He felt every quiver and twitch of your muscles and it only spurred him on. He ate you up like you were his last meal.

Your vision went white as your climax crashed over you hard– the sounds he made were obscene, a satisfied groan vibrating from deep in his chest at the syrupy sweet taste of your arousal. It was an essence he couldn’t possibly get enough of.

As you laid there panting, your legs shaking after the tension in them released, Leon’s eyes dragged up the length of your body with pride. He carefully pulled your panties back into place with a sweet kiss to the bow in the center of them and an affectionate pat to the thigh.

“There’s a good girl,” He hummed, crawling up from between your legs to kiss you, his mouth still warm and slightly slick with your own spend. “A perfect little doll. All I have to do is pull the right strings to get you to sing for me, huh, princess?”

Once more, you nodded, eyes fluttering shut just for a moment as he kissed your forehead. Then, he stood to his full height again, one hand taking yours and the other steadying you by the dip of your waist as he raised you up to join him, wobbly knees be damned. After all, he wasn’t finished playing dress-up yet. He took a moment to ensure you had regained your balance enough to be able to stand without assistance before opening up one of the wardrobes in search of the remainder of your outfit.

Moments like these only piqued your curiosity in terms of how his brain worked. Sure, you’d been dating for a long time and it was safe to say you knew him quite well, but his penchant for compartmentalization never ceased to astound you. He possessed the sometimes frightening ability to just switch his brain from one mode to the next.

You were brought back to reality once more by the feeling of his lips on your neck. He murmured into your ear, “Arms up, darlin’,” and he barely even finished saying it before you were complying.

You lifted your arms, and he slipped a new dress over your head. There it was, the compensation for being home late, for dropping off the face of the Earth again. The dress was flattering and soft, a delicate blush pink color with embroidered details along the bust and white lace hemming. He drew up the zipper without resistance, and as it reached its apex, the fabric hugged your form perfectly, as though the garment itself was made with you in mind.

Leon kneeled down to straighten out your stockings, and then the skirt of your dress, his eyes scanning over you meticulously in search of any little imperfections that might need fixing. Finding none, he wandered over to where he’d left his jacket, fishing a baby blue box out of the pocket. You had become quite familiar with that blue lately– Tiffany.

Nestled in the slender box was a dainty diamond necklace that now rested right at your collarbones, the clasp in the back secured with a smooch. He carded his fingers through your hair one last time before turning you around to look at yourself in the mirror, his hands rested on your hips, head stooped low to smother the crook of your throat in kisses.

“What do you think?” He whispered in your ear, nibbling gently at the shell.

“Beautiful,” You replied just as quietly, “Thank you, daddy.”

#venustext #sintext #resident evil #leon kennedy #leon kennedy smut #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you

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godslino · 7 months ago

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IN BLOOM | jisung first date series. second chance lovers.

pairing: jisung x fem!reader word count: 13.2k genre: childhood friends au, angst, fluff, songwriter!jisung, florist!reader warnings: swearing, minor character death, grief/loss (nothing to do with any of the members!) summary: it's february. the tulips are in bloom. jisung is back.

a/n: *taps mic* hello?? is this thing on?? oh good. yes. hi. hello! it's been a while, as most of you can tell. thank you all SO MUCH for sticking around. if you've been reading my asks you'll know that march and april were rough months for me personally. shout out to my anons and mutuals who kept my spirits high and made my days brighter. uhhh, this was originally supposed to be a stand alone fic but i figured hey, what the hell, and made it into jisung's first date chapter. it's pretty heavy stuff. lots of feelings, lots of love. i hope you guys enjoy reading it as much as i did writing it! again, thank you so much for waiting for me. i'll be back soon with more updates! all the love <3

also thank you kenzie for being such a light during all of this. i hope all my screaming in your messages was worth it!

“All of these had to be pulled.” Hyunjin huffs, dropping a few crates just past the doorway.

“Again?” you ask, hands on your hips as you stare at yet another wasted supply. “I don’t understand, they sold so well last year.”

Hyunjin gives you a sad smile. “It’ll pick up eventually, don’t worry. I mean the holidays just finished and business usually slows down in the months after anyways.”

He’s being sincere, you know that. But there’s a part of you that also knows it’s a lot more than just the usual ebb and flow of sales. He’s being nice for your sake.

“Maybe we could try coming up with other ideas?” he suggests, because Hyunjin is nothing if not kind. Always willing, always finding a way.

He moves past you to grab a fresh pair of gloves. The ones he’s wearing are dirty, pollen-stained and ripped at the edges.

“You’ve always been really good at basket arrangements. We could try to make some for Valentine's Day. Different sizes, maybe? The big ones will probably do well for online orders since they’re more optimal for things like office deliveries and stuff like that.”

You hum in approval. “True. I mean, I was kind of worried we would have to skip out on deliveries this year since we don’t have the manpower to handle all of that, but I think Jeongin’s been looking to pick up hours around here again. He said something about his program giving them a month of independent study, so he’ll be home for a bit.” you say, scribbling down a reminder in your notebook. “I could ask him to help with driving the truck in his free time?”

Hyunjin lights up– he always does when Jeongin is mentioned.

It’s been a lot quieter ever since he left for college. There were so many tears and so many hugs that were met with countless 'you guys are dramatic's in return. But it’s hard to not feel sad when people leave town; when they decide the borders lined with apple trees and rice fields aren’t enough to stop their dreams from blooming into more than what’s capable of being pursued here.

That, unsurprisingly, is something you know all too well.

“Can’t believe he’s driving.” Hyunjin laments as he wipes his floral scissors with a rag. “I used to spend my days changing his diapers and spoon feeding him redbulls– but now? Driving? My baby is all grown up.” he fake sniffles. “By the way, I’m gonna take my fifteen after I’m done snipping these tulips.”

You snort, bending down to take the crates of wilted flowers to the back for disposal. Hyunjin moves to help but you shake him off.

“Sounds good. Also, don’t let Innie hear you say that. I’m about a thousand percent sure he has the strength needed to throw you into the dumpster with one arm now.”

“My baby would never do that to me!” Hyunjin calls out as you round the corner, bumping open the back door with your hip.

February brings a lot of rain in Jeju. Today is no different; fat drops landing on your head as soon as you stumble out into the alley behind the shop. Footsteps heavy on wet brick, you curse under your breath as you run as fast as you can to the dumpster.

There’s still a few supply boxes from yesterday’s shipment laying around. You meant to bring them in, but you were so exhausted that it slipped your mind while you struggled to make sure everything inside the shop was figured out.

Scrambling, you haul them in one by one, shoes squeaking against the floor as you alternate in and out, soggy cardboard pressed against the front of your apron.

Hyunjin’s on break. A necessary one at that. You can’t bother him, especially not when he’s done enough by taking on more responsibility both as a physical worker and a newly actualized business partner recently. A few stacks of boxes and wet hair seem like a fair trade off for what he’s had to sacrifice in the past year now.

“Idiot,” you mumble, cursing yourself for carelessness. Your slip ups have been more frequent lately, evident in the way you constantly forget things and can’t seem to push away the haziness clouding your mind.

If it weren’t for the timing of it all, you’d blame it on the weather. The gloominess. The overcast skies probably have some sort of hand in your lack of clarity. Shrouded.

But it’s February. And in Jeju— it rains.

By the time you make it back inside, you’re drenched.

“You look like you just got dunked in a pool.”

You frown, ringing your hair out into the trash bin by the door. It’ll definitely take time to dry off, both your hair and your clothes are soaked through.

Hyunjin watches with an amused look, arms crossed as he leans his back against the counter.

“Might as well have. It’s insane out there.” you sigh. “How was your break?”

You look up to find that his face has gone unreadable.

“Yeah, about that…” Hyunjin trails off, voice suddenly smaller than before.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah it’s just–” Hyunjin chews at his bottom lip.

You push past him into the supply room to switch out your apron just as he says, “Do you mind if I leave a little early today?”

You scoff, turning to face him. “Hwang Hyunjin,” you scold, lips twitching when he visibly startles at your tone, “You don’t have to ask me that. We’re partners now, remember? We run this place.”

He shifts on his feet, still unsure.

“Besides,” you huff, tying a knot behind your back, “We were friends way before that, too. You don’t have to be all proper with me. Of course you can leave early. It’s slow today, I can take care of it.”

Hyunjin sighs after contemplating for a second. “Are you sure you’ll be okay, though?”

When he stares at you for a moment too long, you know the real reason for his hesitation. It makes something twist deep in your gut.

Guilt, maybe, amongst other things.

“Of course.” you shrug, doing your best to seem nonchalant.

Hyunjin’s ability to read people is kind of intense, a little scary at times. You happen to be one of his favorite subjects in that regard.

“Have fun. Tell Minah I said hi.”

He pales, sputtering around words as he struggles to say something. It’s cute, his plump lips opening and closing, eyes wild.

“I’m not going to see her! I’m–it’s just a movie! How did you—God, you’re so annoying. I should’ve made you trim the tulips. Hah!”

You giggle. “It’s funny that you think I wouldn’t know, especially with the way you love to actually make yourself look busy whenever she stops by to say hi.”

“I am busy.” he mumbles, looking away. “I just emphasize it a lot more when she’s here.”

“Sure,” you roll your eyes, “Let’s go with that.”

He whines a couple more times, trails after you around the shop and laughs when you swat him away with a rolled up newspaper that’s used for wrapping vases.

It’s loud. Easy. Hyunjin is a gentle reminder that normalcy still exists in your day to day, even if it’s hard to find.

When he finally decides to leave, he lingers for a moment, triple checks that you’ll be okay. You roll your eyes for what feels like the millionth time today, but deep down you’re grateful.

“Love you,” he says, one foot out the door. “Call me if you need anything.”

You shake your head, ignoring him. “Love you too.”

And then he’s gone, a skip in his step as he heads down the sidewalk, leaving you with nothing but freshly-trimmed tulips and the sound of rain.

“Herb snips, shears, tape…” you mumble, scanning the supply shelf.

There’s not much to do in-shop right now. Almost all the arrangements have been tended to by Hyunjin already, his specialty being his keen eye. That’s why he handles the appeal of the shop, leaving you to figure out all the logistics. Learning it all was easier said than done.

In reality, it was never your intention to take over the shop at all.

“When I die,” your grandma would always say, ignoring the way you groaned and begged her to stop bringing it up, “Sell this place. Use the money for something worthwhile. A trip to Greece, maybe?”

“Nana,” you would scold, glaring at her where she stood next to you, trimming a batch of roses.

Wrinkled hands that still held all the skill of youth. Fingers moving at a speed others could only ever dream of having– you included.

Your grandma handled flowers with the same amount of care she did everything else. It’s no wonder that when they grew they would lean in her direction, drawn to her like they would be the sun.

“I’m not selling this place. It’s too special, too important. A vacation only lasts so long, Nana. This is forever.”

She would smile, turn petals over in her hand. Sometimes the marigolds would match the glow in her eyes, a testament to the belief you harbored as a child that she had the ability to sprout blossoms from her fingertips.

“The one thing you shouldn’t do, my dear, is rely on forever. Because that, too, is uncertain.”

You wish you hadn’t been so hard headed. Wish that you would’ve believed her, taken the time to listen, cherished the moment a little bit longer instead of relying on the promise of tomorrow.

I’m sorry for your loss.

Your grandmother was a wonderful woman.

She’ll be with you in your heart, forever.

Oh, what a lie forever is.

The shop stays empty for the rest of the day. There were a few passersby, all of whom simply stopped to scan the arrangements along the windows before giving a polite nod and carrying on their way.

Realistically, the shop has no problem with attracting customers. It’s a sight to behold: mid-floor to ceiling windows with various displays, hanging baskets of winding greenery, countless arrangements that fill the shelves and add a pop of color, and a wide assortment of flowers for each season.

The real issue lies in your inability to sell. Most people regard the place as being good for nothing more than window shopping and the usual photo-op.

Business has slowed since your Grandma passed; since you took over as the sole owner and were suddenly face to face with the task of making decisions in the shop’s best interest– both integrity wise and from a business standpoint.

“I know, I know,” you say around the pen cap between your teeth, “You used to be the brains around here, not me. I’m not creative enough for all of this, you know? No matter how much I try to be.”

You look up from where your notebook lays open, dozens of scribbles for arrangement ideas and planning. The picture on the wall stares at you, unmoving, eyes as bright as marigolds.

“Don’t give me that look.”

She stares. A gaze that holds all the answers while also saying nothing at all.

“Ugh.” you groan, leaning your palms on the desk.

You allow your head to hang forward, defeated, exhaustion flooding your bones.

Just as you’re about to speak again, to complain about yet another thing that probably has her rolling around in her grave, the bell at the front counter dings.

The clock on the desk reads 6:55pm, five minutes until close. You hadn’t even heard anyone come in.

“Be right there!” you call out, rushing to grab your apron from where you’d thrown it on one of the chairs.

In your haste, the box of seed packets you’d been inventorying goes tumbling to the floor.

“Fuck,” you mutter, bending down to pick everything up. One more thing to add to the list today.

Off-kilter. Disoriented. Exhausted.

You sniffle a few times, blinking against the sting behind your eyes as you stand up to put the box back in its place.

One deep breath, a shake of your shoulders. Just enough to chase it all away until later.

“Sorry about that,” you say cheerily, pushing past the hanging beads that separate the front of the shop from the back. “How can I help you?”

There’s a stranger, his back turned, attention focused on a batch of tulips. Freshly cut. White, blue, purple.

You realize, belatedly, that you’d forgotten to grab your apron in your haste to clean up the seed packets. Another slip up. Nana always prided herself in her apron, wore it like a badge of honor, raised you to do the same.

Just as you spin around to grab it, the stranger says, “It’s okay. I just, um, I wanted to say hi.”

You freeze. There’s a long moment where his voice rings loud in your ears, reverberates against the walls of your brain until it travels through your blood, the feeling like wildfire in your veins until it settles deep in the pit of your stomach.

Slowly, you turn, heart clamoring in your chest, threatening to stop altogether as soon as you come face to face with the one person you never thought you’d see again.

Because there, at the front of the store, is Jisung.

Jisung, with wide eyes and parted lips. Jisung, with hair that still curls at the ends and falls in shags around his face. Jisung, broader, more actualized, now grown into his features but still undeniably soft around the edges. Jisung, with thick framed glasses pushed up his nose and silver hoops dangling from his ears.

A stranger. But undoubtedly Jisung.

“You look…nice.” he says, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly with his free hand.

Three words is all it takes. Ice turns to fire. The blood that had drained from your face returns with the blaze of a thousand suns, anger burning your throat.

You reach forward, grab the remote for the neon Open sign and click the power button. Jisung watches in confusion.

“The shop is closed.” you manage on a shaky breath.

Jisung sighs, something heavy. “Listen, I’m—”

“The shop–” you try again, louder, “–is closed.”

Jisung stares. His eyes are still the same velvety brown; big and round and just as you remember.

There was once a time where the sight of Jisung in your Grandma’s shop made your heart sing. A soft tune, the thrum of a thousand harps, a song only for him.

His heart-shaped smile as he helped her hammer some of the shelves onto the wall. The sound of his laughter whenever you’d enter a sneezing fit from accidentally rubbing your face with a gloved hand. His rosy cheeks, burnt from the wind whipping past his face as he ran on foot to make sure you were okay the one time an angry customer smashed a vase on the floor and you called him crying.

But now, seeing him here, a stranger in a body you once knew like the back of your hand— it feels wrong.

“I…” he trails off, registering the way your fists are clenched at your sides.

“Okay,” he resigns, licking his lips. “I, uh– have a good night.”

He gives you one last look, bottom lip pulled tight between his teeth, and then slips out the door. You watch his retreating figure through the glass panel, dark gray skies muting the sound of your rattling heart.

It’s February. The tulips are in bloom. Jisung is back.

And in Jeju– it rains.

There’s an apple tree in the middle of town where Jisung told you he loved you for the first and last time.

Off the corner, a few minutes down the road from where your houses stand a mere five hundred feet away from one another.

Your grandparents were farmers. Your grandma started her floral business a few years before you were born, a dream she always had that your grandpa urged her to pursue once he decided to sell the animals to a younger, more capable couple that could take care of them.

Jisung’s parents, new residents on the island, looking to settle down and start a family.

That’s how it happens. Yours and Jisung’s story, two authors of the same book, destined since the start.

Jisung was born on the same night your mother left you at your grandparents’ doorstep. One note, an apology, is all you’ve ever known about her. Your grandma never cared to indulge you. You’re glad in a way. She provided more than enough love to make sure you never felt an absence in her wake.

The townspeople used to say you and Jisung were soulmates. Something about the heavens knowing he would need a friend, hence why you were delivered that night. From that moment on, the two of you were inseparable.

Attached at the hip, you and Jisung grew up together. First steps, first birthdays, firsts for everything under the sun.

Jisung was there in the morning to walk with you to school and he was there at night when the two of you tucked into bed, sleepovers a regular occurrence, both of you counting the pale green stick-on stars dotting his ceiling until you fell asleep.

Jisung was always around. He held your hand and walked with you to the nurse’s office the first time you got stung by a bee. He wiped your eyes when the boy you liked told you he only ever saw you as a friend, your first rejection. He sat with you under the stars the night your grandpa died, your face tucked into his neck as you stained the collar of his shirt with tears until you were too tired to cry. In the years that followed, he took care of you and your grandma like the two of you were his own.

Jisung, for lack of a better word, was your first forever.

“You could come with me, you know.”

Under the stars, real ones that time, Jisung had turned to you and offered the world.

The air was cold. The apple tree was bare.

“It’ll be fun. We’ll be together, we’ll experience new things. I can do music and you can study all that history stuff you like to learn about. You know, nerdy things.”

“They’re not nerdy things, Ji. Don’t you know everything we have now is because of what’s happened before us?” you’d asked. “Doesn’t it make you wonder? Learning about the past helps us better understand the present, and ultimately the future.”

Jisung had hummed softly, an agreement. “I don’t care about the future, though.” he’d said. “I care about right now. You, me, this.”

When you turned to look at him, he propped himself up on one elbow and stared down at you from above as the moon casted a halo around his head.

“I love you,” he whispered, “And I want you to come with me.”

Jisung, with all the stars in his eyes and a heart full of dreams. Jisung, with the world at his fingertips and the ambition to make it his own.

You, with all your hopes stuffed tight into a suitcase and chained to a boulder, thrown into the ocean. Sinking and sinking until it hit the bottom.

“I love you too,” you whispered back.

Images of marigolds flashed behind your eyes when you closed them, a tear rolling down your cheek. Jisung’s mouth was soft when he kissed it away, salt on his lips. Burning.

“But I can’t.” you choked.

Under the apple tree, Jisung told you he loved you for the first and last time. He promised that the distance would be no match for him, that he would traverse oceans to find his way back. He promised forever.

It was February. The tulips were in bloom. Jisung left to pursue his dreams with a guitar on his back and your heart in his hands. Your understanding of forever was shot at point blank. The bullet passed clean through you.

And in Jeju– it rained.

“I think you should talk to him.”

The sun is out today. Perfect weather for another field harvest. The distributor had called you early in the morning to ask if you’d be willing to accept a drop off even though it’s the weekend. You’d agreed, calling in your most reliable help for the job.

“And I think you’re not helping.” you huff, snipping the head off another hyacinth.

“Agreed,” Hyunjin parrots from beside you, currently in the middle of putting together an arrangement, “This guy sounds like a total dick.”

Chan sighs from behind the two of you, his knees knocking against the legs of the desk when he swivels back and forth in the chair.

Besides Hyunjin and Jeongin, both of whom moved into town after you’d already graduated, and of course, Jisung– Chan is your oldest friend.

Chan was also a neighbor of yours. Three years older than you and Jisung, he was the one who acted as a role model for the two of you when growing up. Nowadays he helps his parents run the largest orange grove on the island during the day and DJs one of the clubs in the tourism hub at night.

“Jisung’s not a dick, he’s just–”

“An asshole.” you finish, smirking when Hyunjin cackles.

Chan sighs. Again. “Yeah okay, I’ll give you that one.”

“Listen, I know I’ve never met him, but isn’t it weird that he just, like, showed up?” Hyunjin asks, setting down his scissors. You continue trimming the hyacinths, listening halfheartedly.

“I mean, think about it. Dude disappears to pursue music, right? He’s gone for what– three years?”

“Four.” you correct.

“God, even worse.” he grimaces.

“But yeah, okay, four years. And then boom! He just strolls in through the front door without so much as a word during the time he was gone? No letters, no phone calls, not even a damn visit. Nothing! All so he can pop up and go ‘oh, you look nice’? Come on.” he scoffs, crossing his arms.

You wince, caught off guard because you’ve never really heard it phrased as bluntly as Hyunjin put it just then. It’s no surprise that he’s annoyed, having only just heard the full story thirty minutes ago. He’d been shocked, partly because you never told him and also because he just couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“Okay, yes, he was wrong for that. But isn’t part of you even just the least bit curious as to why?”

You pause mid-snip, mulling Chan’s words over in your head.

The most frustrating part about it all is that you are curious. You wish you weren’t, though. Not when you’ve spent the past four years trying to convince yourself that you don’t need to know what Jisung’s been up to, don’t need to know if he’s been okay since he clearly held no concern for you in that regard anyways.

“What?” you ask when you realize that both boys are staring at you.

“Well?” Hyunjin pushes. “Are you?”

You shrug. “No, not really.”

There’s a total of five seconds that pass before Hyunjin is stomping over and hauling Chan up out of his chair, pushing him towards the front door as he protests.

“Out! Out, out, out, we have important business matters to discuss.”

“But we were supposed to get lunch—!”

“We’re taking a rain check!” Hyunjin fights back, shoving him out of the shop before he has a chance to answer. He drops the shade to cover the glass, Chan’s sad figure left alone on the other side.

You gape at him. “What was that for?”

Hyunjin scoffs. “You think you’re convincing? Think again.”

He hops up on to the counter and gestures for you to do the same. When you do, he pulls you closer, grabs your hand in his, and pushes your head down until it’s resting on his shoulder.

“Tell me the truth now,” he says, soft. “I know there’s more to it.”

Hyunjin’s warm to the touch. The heat seeps through the fabric of his shirt, igniting the skin of your cheek until you feel like you’re standing too close to the sun. A star. Hyunjin is a light in your tunnel.

“I am curious,” you start, “About him, I mean. I’ve– I don’t know. It’s been so long. I tried to pretend I didn’t care when I saw him, but the minute I looked into his eyes it was like I was eighteen again. Eighteen and happy and looking at someone that I always thought would be there, you know?”

Hyunjin hums but doesn’t say anything. He squeezes your hand once, a signal to keep going.

“I’m scared, though. Part of me doesn’t want to know.”

Hyunjin takes a deep breath. “What are you scared of?”

Through the gaps in the beads you can see into your office, the picture of your Grandma hanging on the wall. She stares at you, unblinking.

“What if he tells me that it’s true?” you ask, lifting your head to look up at him. “What if he says that I was right, that he didn’t care? That he left and didn’t want to call because it no longer mattered to him? That he loves his life there and only came back to clear his own conscience?”

“Oh honey,” Hyunjin soothes, pulling you into his chest. You hadn’t realized you were crying, that the anger and fear had bubbled over until there were tears falling down your cheeks, wetting the fabric of Hyunjin’s sweater.

He lets you cry for a while. It’s nothing new; Hyunjin has seen you break down countless times. He’s been there through the worst of it, held your hand even in the aftermath. He’s picked you up off the floor more times than you can count, has grounded you when you felt like the world was gonna open up beneath you and swallow you whole. Salt of the earth, returning you to its core.

Once you’ve quieted into nothing more than shallow breaths and a few scattered hiccups, Hyunjin speaks again.

“Can you be honest with me?”

You nod, the hair stuck to your cheek with tears rubbing against his shoulder.

“Do you love him?”

It nearly knocks the wind out of you. This concept, so foreign to you now, shoved to the back of your mind to make room for the things that matter most. Hospital visits, labor cuts, wage increases— none of it left any room for love, let alone the thought of someone else. Especially someone as all-consuming as Jisung.

Slowly, you inhale, breath shaking on the exhale. Hyunjin squeezes your hand to remind you that he’s there.

“I don’t think I ever stopped, Hyune.”

The silence stretches thin. The realization is dizzying. Years of suppressed emotions, of telling yourself and everyone around you that it wasn’t a big deal. The sad eyes of the townspeople whenever they’d see you sitting beneath the apple tree. The gentle touch of your grandma’s hand when she’d find you on the front steps alone, staring at the stars. The soft hum of the radio in the shop, set to a playlist of all the songs he’s written, the only reminder that somewhere out there he was doing well.

The final crack in the dam, its water pushing until it gives way.

“Then you owe it to yourself,” Hyunjin says. “You owe it to your heart to get an answer. Free yourself from this pain, love. Don’t let yourself suffer forever.”

Forever. That word again. No matter how many times you’ve tried to escape it, it always comes back.

“It’s gonna hurt.” he sighs, tightening his grip when you sniffle. “It’s gonna hurt so fucking bad, babe. But you can take it. You’ve got people who love you enough to stand in front of you and soften the blow from time to time. But you’ll be okay. I’ll make sure of it.”

He hops down from the counter and moves to stand in front of you, right between your legs. Placing both hands on your shoulders, he pushes until you’re sitting with your back straight and lifts your chin.

“You deserve an answer.” he says, with conviction this time. “Okay?”

He lets his thumb swipe beneath your eyes, smiles softly. Unconditional— that’s what he is. Hyunjin burns brighter than any star in your sky, the heat wrapping its arms around you like it’s too scared to let go, to watch you freeze and die out like so many others.

“I don’t deserve you, though.” you say, laughing wetly when he rolls his eyes.

“Shut up,” he chuckles, pulling you in for a hug, “You deserve everything and more.”

When Jisung comes into the shop two days later, you’re ready for it.

Chan had talked to him. No surprise, really, not when he’s been letting him crash in his spare room ever since he figured out that he was holed up in one of the hotels out in the tourism hub.

If there’s one thing about Chan, it’s that he’d rip the shirt off his back to clothe anyone in need. Housing a friend is nothing, especially when that friend is Jisung.

“I don’t know how much of a consolation this is,” he’d said nervously, watching as you regarded him with an expectant look, “But he’s pretty cut up about you not wanting to see him. Which, I know, is stupid. He is the one who fucked up. But I just– I don’t know. I’ve never seen him like this, I guess.”

It’s not a consolation, not really. Knowing that Jisung is struggling is far from anything you want to hear.

Sure, there’s anger present. Anyone would be stupid to not feel the least bit frustrated with what’s happened. Years lost, time stripped away. But you’ve long since come to terms with it, the anger turning to sadness in the meantime.

“Also, he leaves tomorrow.” Chan smiled sadly. “He really wants to talk to you before then.”

Hyunjin left early again today to give the two of you space. Not before making a show of his own though, threatening to incite violence with his arms that are supposedly ‘shredded’ from years of lifting boxes filled with petunias.

The shop is slow again, not many sales nor a lot of foot traffic. Usually when the sun is out there’s more to do; people to see, smiles to give. But there’s nothing, just the chirping of birds and the sound of cars rolling by.

Maybe the world knows that this is what you need. The calm before the storm.

Five minutes until close. You’ve spent most of the day pacing back and forth. Waiting. Anticipating.

Chan had said Jisung planned on stopping by, trying again. You’d told him that was okay, and his eyes lit up. Too much hope, maybe, that something might come of this.

You’re seated in the back office, staring at marigold colored irises when the front door opens. You hear it this time, ears fine tuned, waiting.

Slowly, you stand, make your way to the front. You don’t realize you’re holding your breath until you pull back the beaded curtain and Jisung’s figure comes into view.

He looks the same as he did the other day: curled hair, thick glasses, parted lips. His sweater, fluffy and striped, hangs off of his shoulders in a way that boxes off his tapered waist, one that you know is hidden beneath all the layers. The sleeves are way too long judging by the way it curls over his fingers.

“Hi.” he breathes out, watching as you step into full view.

You blink. “Hi, Jisung.”

His name feels weird on your tongue. Bitter. It’s been years since you uttered it, forbidding yourself from the luxury out of fear that it would make his absence more real. Talking about him in the past tense always scared you off before you could even get the chance.

“How– How’ve you been?” he chews on the inside of his lip.

You want to scold him, tell him to stop the habit just like you always would in the past. He’d make a joke then, tell you to kiss him so that he had something else to do instead. You would laugh, feign disgust, but in the back of your mind you’d wanted it more than anything.

You’d waited for it, the day you could kiss him without warning and melt into his touch as he kissed you back. Another stupid bet on forever; the belief that you had all the time in the world for things to get to that point.

“I’ve been better.” you say, taking a deep breath. “What about you?”

Good, you think. He’s been good. He looks good. He doesn’t need this place.

“Me too.” he says instead. “I’ve been better.”

You don’t know what to say to that. Silence fills the room, heavy on both your chests. The anticipation feels like it might kill you before anything else does.

“I’m sorry that–”

“Is that all you came here to say?” you cut him off.

“What?” he asks, confused. “No, I– no.”

“What, then? What is it you want to say, Jisung?” your voice is firm. He winces when his name leaves your mouth. “Because, honestly, I’ve waited all this time to hear literally anything from you, and if all that comes out of this is that you’ve ‘been better’ I might actually lose my fucking mind.”

The words tumble out faster than you intend. You can’t help it, not with the way anxiety has been bubbling over in your chest since the moment you woke up this morning. You could barely sleep last night, not when you were playing out every possible scenario in your head, the anticipation of it all making your sheets feel scratchy against your skin and the lumps in your pillow more discernible.

“No, no, of course I wouldn’t do that.” he says quickly. “It's just that I didn’t know where to start. I don’t know how much you’ll allow me to say, what the boundary is here. I didn’t want to just barge in and demand you listen to me. You don’t owe me that. You don’t owe me anything. Not after what I did.”

What I did, his voice rings loud in your ears. He’s aware of it, of the pain he caused.

He takes a step forward, and then another, again and again until he’s right up against the front counter, an arm’s length away.

Your breath catches then, when you see him up close for the first time in four years, see the way he’s grown and changed with your own eyes.

Stubble dotting his chin, laugh lines around his mouth, the dip and curve of the bow above his lips that you always loved. Brown eyes, soil and stardust.

“Tell me what your conditions are,” he says quietly, “And I’ll give you every explanation I have.”

The sincerity on his face is blinding. Your stomach twists at the thought of hearing what he has to say, that same fear brewing in the pit of it. You take a deep breath, feel the phantom ghost of a hand squeezing yours and a crescent moon eye smile.

“I waited four years for you.” you say.

“I know.”

“I trusted that you’d be back. That you would keep in touch during the time you were gone.”

“I–” his voice cracks. “I know.”

“You lied to me.”

Jisung tips his head back then. Swallows down a lump in his throat. Blinks rapidly at the ceiling, veins of ivy crawling along the expanse of it.

“I know.”

“So you owe me everything. I deserve that. I deserve answers.”

When he brings his head down to look at you, it’s unreadable. A mix of emotions that you aren’t familiar enough with anymore to decipher. Fear, guilt, sorrow. Hope, too. Maybe.

You stare at him head on, fully letting your eyes meet for the first time in what feels like an eternity. He holds your gaze, unwavering. Determined. The sight makes your heart clench.

“Okay,” he says after a beat of silence. “Okay. I can do that.”

Despite the ever-growing mountain of things to address, you decide that the first thing you want to hear from Jisung is about his time in Seoul.

You’re only human, after all.

Best friends from the start– you can’t stop yourself from wondering what life has been like for him. Jisung’s always been good at storytelling, animated in his features and gestures to the point that you’d be rolling around and clutching your stomach from laughter. It’s one of the things you missed the most, just talking and being present in one another’s lives.

The two of you end up at one of the diners down the road. The owners, an elderly couple, coo as soon as they catch sight of you.

“My flower girl,” the old lady, Mrs. Kim, greets.

“Mrs. Kim,” you beam, moving in for a hug. When you pull away, Jisung is behind you, hands clasped behind his back and feet together like he has his tail between his legs.

“Halmeoni,” you say, gesturing at him, “Do you remember Jisungie?”

His eyes go wide at the nickname, and you try to ignore the heat creeping up your neck, avoiding his gaze and instead watching as Mrs. Kim blinks in surprise.

“Oh! Oh my goodness, our Jisungie? Honey! Honey, look, Jisung is here! Oh you crazy boy,” she scolds, rushing forward to hit his shoulder and pull him in for a hug. “Where have you been? It’s been ages!”

Jisung lets out an oof! as her body slams into him, all of his anxiousness dissolving into laughter as he hugs her back.

“Hi Mrs. Kim, how have you been?”

“Me?” she asks, pulling him away to hold at arm’s length, “Nevermind about me! I’m old! How have you been?”

Good, you think again, a mimic of earlier. Jisungs eyes flit over to yours for the smallest of moments before he answers.

“Better,” he says. “I’m doing better.”

Once both Mr. and Mrs. Kim are done doting over the both of you, they seat you by the window.

The island is always beautiful on sunny days: trees swaying, golden rays painting the rooftops in hues of pink and orange, the indigo shimmer of the ocean off in the distance.

“So,” you say, catching Jisung’s attention, “Tell me about Seoul.”

He hums. “It’s busy. Stinks. Lots of people.”

“Dream come true, yeah?” you joke, taking a sip of your water.

Jisung chuckles. “You could say that, I guess.”

“I mean, it was yours.”

“It was.” he sighs, looking down at the table. “I don’t know. It’s nice. I met good people, made even better connections. I live in this one bedroom studio apartment just outside of Itaewon, so I’m close to where all the foreigners hang out. I’ve learned a lot, gained a lot of inspiration for my music.”

You follow along, staring at him intently. His mouth, still heart-shaped, twitches when he catches you in the act.

You clear your throat, glancing away. “Yeah, I’ve– uh, I’ve heard some of your songs.”

He raises his eyebrows, almost like he hadn’t expected you to say that. “Really?”

“Yeah. I mean, I hear them on the radio sometimes.” A lie. “It usually takes me a second to realize that it’s you.” Another lie. “But they’re good, you’re doing well.”

Pink dusts the tops of Jisung’s cheeks as he turns back to the window, clearing his throat.

He looks younger like this, like he’s still the same boy who would sit across from you all those years ago. Cherry-stained lips and a smile so bright it put the sun to shame.

He talks a bit more about his music, about how he’s with a good company that gives him creative freedom and enough support to pursue more if he desires.

His eyes light up when he tells you about his studio, a small room on the fifth floor of a building in the middle of the city where he does all of his writing. It’s equipped with an entire soundboard, full of instruments that he says he’s been able to get signed by artists that come in and out. Most notably, his guitar, the same one he left with.

Slowly, like a flower blossoming, petals opening one by one, you feel yourself falling back into step with him.

Everything is so familiar: the curve of his smile, the tilt in his voice when he gets excited, the rumble of laughter when he recounts an embarrassing run-in with an A-list celebrity in the company’s cafeteria. He shares stories that fill your heart as the two of you fill your stomachs.

But with the ease comes something more, something you recognize as longing. You hadn’t realized how much you longed to be there through this part of his life, how you wished you’d been the one to answer a video call as he showed off his apartment the first day he moved in, his company badge when it was newly issued, every moment of happiness that you’d been absent for just as much as he was absent for yours.

He seems to share the same sentiment then, when he sets down his fork and stares at his empty plate.

“You run the shop now,” he says, “How’s that been?”

You purse your lips, nodding your head slowly. You knew this conversation would happen, that it was coming.

“It’s good, I guess. Been almost a year now since, uh, it was left to me.” you shrug. “I’m not alone though, Hyunjin is a big help. I don’t know what I’d do without him.”

Jisung noticeably bristles. Eyebrows pulled together, staring more intently at a crumb on his plate. It looks like there’s a lot he wants to say, like he can’t find the words to say them.

So, naturally, you do it for him.

“I assume Chan told you so I wouldn’t have to, by the way.”

He looks up then, as if he wasn’t expecting you to address the very obvious elephant in the room.

“He did, yes.” Jisung says after a while. His voice is quiet, gentle, like he’s walking on eggshells. “I– I didn’t know how to bring it up. I assume you’ve heard it all already but– I really, really am sorry to hear about Nana.”

The way her name sounds coming out of his mouth turns your mind to static.

Suddenly you’re in the hospital again, monitors beeping, hands as soft as petals cradled in your own and wishing that you could bury your face in a familiar neck as you cried and watched the marigolds wilt.

“I don’t need an apology for that.” you croak, blinking back tears. Jisung is somewhere in your periphery, your vision blurry around the edges.

“It wasn’t sad. Her life, I mean. It was full. Of love. Of light. She left this place happy. That’s what she told me, at least.”

You take a deep breath. “So don’t be sorry about it.”

Jisung sniffles, and the sound shoots straight through your chest.

“I know. I just– I’m sorry I wasn’t here. I should’ve been. I had no idea that–”

“Nobody did, Jisung. Don’t punish yourself for that.”

He sees it then, when you finally meet his eyes, the acceptance. You’ve come to terms with things a long time ago, have fought tooth and nail to come out on the other side of all the guilt and resentment and grief alive. Scathed, but alive nonetheless.

“You’re right.” he sighs, wiping at his eyes quickly. “She’d probably yell at me for saying that.”

You laugh, suddenly, the noise startling him. Jisung looks at you like you’re crazy.

“I think she has a lot more to yell at you for than being sorry that she died.”

The bluntness punches a chuckle out of him, and you giggle at the thought.

Your grandmother was always such an outspoken person. She always said what was on her mind, speaking it loud. There’s no doubt that if she was here she’d be berating Jisung, smacking him upside the head before pulling him into a hug and cooking his favorite meal. Tough love, but still, love.

“She would’ve loved to be able to see you.” you say once your laughter dies out, the air a bit lighter between the two of you. “She always wondered if you’d grow your hair out without her around to nag you about keeping it short.”

He reaches up to run a hand through his curls, the strands falling around his face in a way that has your heart stammering in your chest.

“Well, clearly I don’t know how to listen.”

“No, you don’t.”

Jisung smiles softly. “Maybe I’ll cut it now. You know, since I’m here. And because I know she’d want me to.”

You watch him carefully, searching his eyes. For what, you don’t know. All that’s in them are stars.

“Yeah,” you say quietly. “You’re here.”

By the time the two of you leave the diner, stomachs full and enough bags of extra side dishes hanging off of your arms to last you at least two weeks, courtesy of Mrs. Kim, the sun is almost fully set.

The ocean is calm, the evening breeze just barely brushing the surface of the tide. Jisung walks in step with you down the street, one side of his face cast in a glow from the sun’s fading rays.

“Do you think you’d maybe want to stop by the arcade that Old Man Park runs? Just for a little?”

You snort. “Why? So I can embarrass you?”

“Hey!” he puts a hand on his chest, offended. “I’ll have you know that I let you win all those times.”

“How do you let someone win after spending hours practicing while I worked at the shop?”

“I was being nice!”

“Uh huh.”

“Don’t believe me?” he grins. You try not to look, afraid of how bad your blood pressure might spike from the sight.

“I’ll have you know that I’m one of the best Kart Rider players in the PC Bang scene back in Seoul.”

“Jisung,” you scold, “That’s a computer game. These are coin-ops. There’s way more skill needed.”

“No there isn’t!”

He knocks his shoulder against yours, tucking his chin to his chest to hide his smile when you try to fight back.

It’s easy. Nice. There’s a soft melody echoing in the dust-covered chambers of your heart. You still know all the chords.

Old Man Park’s arcade is a few doors down from the shop. You stop there to drop off the food, spare a glance in the mirror hanging in your office to fix your hair.

Your grandma’s picture stares at you from the other wall, eyes bright.

“Love you,” you say, kissing the skin of your fingertips and pressing it gently against the frame.

Jisung is toeing at a few rocks on the sidewalk when you walk back out. He doesn’t see you, too busy with his eyes casted down at the concrete, hands shoved into his pockets.

It’s still hard to believe that he’s here. Flesh and bone. For a long time it felt like he was nothing but a distant dream, someone who only existed in the memories that you kept locked deep within your heart, the key somewhere on the streets of Seoul.

“Ready?” you ask.

He looks up, his glasses moving when his cheeks round into a smile.

Something passes across his face– a myriad of emotions in just a fraction of a second. Hesitantly, he holds out his hand. Long, delicate fingers.

You stare at it, swallowing roughly around the butterfly wings flapping inside your throat.

The one thing you shouldn’t do, my dear, is rely on forever. Because that, too, is uncertain.

Forever isn’t promised. But even then, there are things you know for sure:

It’s February. The tulips are in bloom. Jisung is here. Living, breathing, in the flesh.

So you take his hand, watch as relief floods his features, and let yourself feel.

The wind in your hair, the calluses on Jisung’s palms, and the warmth radiating out of the smile that threatens to split his face into two.

And with that certainty, the two of you start walking. A silent agreement to focus on the now.

You. Him. This.

“God, I can’t believe everything is only one coin.”

You laugh, watching as the multi-colored lights cast a glow on Jisung’s face.

“Stop acting like you don’t remember this place.”

“I don’t!” he argues, smiling. “We stopped coming here, what, in middle school? Once Chan hyung started driving? We would always ask him to take us to the other one out in the big town!”

Chan’s first car was an old Camry with leather seats and enough room for the three of you to pile into after school. Used, but still with enough juice to satisfy three young kids who felt like they were on top of the world.

You used to sit in the back, the wind whipping your hair every which way while yours and Jisung’s hands lay side by side in the middle seat, pinkies brushing but neither of you willing to take it further.

“Oh, shit!” Jisung gasps, letting go of your hand as he runs up to the space invaders machine.

“Here we go,” you sigh, following after him. He’s like a kid in a candy store, face filled with innocent wonder and joy.

“Aren’t there, like, I don’t know– things better than this in Seoul?” you ask as he shoves a coin into the game.

Jisung turns to look at you with a devilish grin. “Obviously,” he says, “But I can’t beat anyone’s high score over there. Here though? Ha! This place is ancient. I can finally be at the top of the leaderboard in something.”

“We’ll see about that.” you mumble, the noise of the game booting up drowning you out.

Jisung sticks his tongue out when he focuses really hard on things. It’s cute, the way the end of it sits between his lips, spit-slick and parted just a little bit.

He’s glowing, probably because of the lights, hues of red and green and blue flashing across his face. But then again, Jisung has always shined brighter than anything.

The game beeps to signal that he has one life left. He grunts a few times, his fingers tapping the buttons madly as his other hand handles the joystick in a frenzy of movements.

When it ends, he groans, throws his hands up in defeat..

You shake your own head knowingly, watching his eyes bug out of their sockets as soon as the leaderboard appears on the screen, the 8-bit letters blinking at him.

“You’re joking.” he laughs in disbelief, turning to stare at you. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

There, on the screen, is your name. The highest score. Jeongin and Hyunjin’s names sit just below you, respectively.

“What was that again about finally being able to be at the top?” you mock him, smirking.

“Since when did you get good at this?”

You shrug. “Had to find something to do in my free time.”

“No,” he says, rolling up his sleeves. “Nuh-uh. No way. This is not happening. I will beat you.” he holds out his hand for another coin, to which you roll your eyes and place one in his palm.

“You might as well give up now. We’ll be here all night.”

“In your dreams.” he scoffs, assuming his position as another round loads onto the screen.

Jisung has always been competitive. It’s one of his more hidden characteristics.

It persists still, you realize, as you watch him burn through the styrofoam cup of coins that Old Man Park had given the two of you. Free of charge for old time’s sake.

Fort-five minutes. All he’s managed to do is bump Hyunjin down to fourth.

“Ugh!” he groans, kicking the machine lightly with his foot.

“Look at you throwing a tantrum.”

“I’m not throwing a tantrum.” he pouts. You raise an eyebrow.

“Okay fine. I’m throwing a tantrum.”

“Thought so.”

“Can you blame me?” he asks. “This is, like, our first date. And I’m sucking. Hard.”

“Our–” you stop, eyes wide. Jisung mimics you, almost like he didn’t mean to say what he did.

Heat rushes to your cheeks. Your mind goes blank. But the world doesn’t end. Time keeps moving. Jisung is still here.

“I didn’t–”

“I like the sound of that.” you say quickly. “Of this being our first date, I mean.’

He smiles. Slow and sweet like molasses. Blinding.

“And the fact that you suck.”

The moment is shattered, his resulting whine echoing throughout the arcade.

“Come on you big baby,” you laugh, grabbing his hand. “I know a game you can beat me at.”

He lets himself be pulled, pretending that he’s upset, but you can see the smile tugging at his lips when you lace your fingers together.

The feeling is still new, this ease you have with him. The wounds you sported all those years are still healing, some more fresh than others. But with each laugh that comes out of Jisung’s mouth and shared glance, every note that your heart sings, you can feel them beginning to fade. A balm to soothe the burn.

The Pac-Man game is situated in the back corner of the arcade, right next to the jukebox. It used to be your favorite, because Jisung would always use his own coins to play songs for you while you tried to score higher than twenty-five thousand points.

When you get there, he frowns. “The only game you think I can beat you at is Pac-Man?”

“I don’t think,” you say, grabbing a coin before shoving the cup into his chest. “I know.”

The game boots up instantly, and you smile softly to yourself when Jisung moves wordlessly behind you, slips a coin into the jukebox.

“Play something good, Jisungie.”

He freezes. Out of the corner of your eye you watch him stare at you for a long moment. And then he smiles. Stardust.

“You got it.”

In a matter of seconds, Lovers In A Dangerous Time by Bruce Cockburn rings throughout the arcade, the speakers on the ceiling fighting past the static.

An old song. The same one your grandparents would dance to in the mornings, eggs on the stove and love in the air.

Your grandma used to say it was written for them, because when they fell in love the war was at its peak and she didn’t know if he’d ever come home.

After he passed, she still played it, except those times it was Jisung who twirled her around and painted a smile on her face as you watched from the same spot you grew up in. Always there.

Jisung, Jisung, Jisung.

When the game starts, you try your best. It’s hard. You’ve always been terrible at anything involving quick decisions. Focusing on everything at once isn’t easy for you, that much is still true.

“Shit.” you mumble, the top right corner of the screen reading ten thousand points as the ghosts run into you.

Jisung lets out a low whistle. “Harsh.”

“You wanna go back to space invaders and waste the last of our money?” you raise an eyebrow.

He holds his hands up in surrender. “Sorry, sorry. Go ahead.” he says, holding the cup out for you to take another coin.

You try a couple more times, failing each and every one. You can tell that Jisung is growing more and more amused with every attempt, and the smugness radiating off of him is starting to rub you the wrong way.

“If you’re so good,” you say after a particularly sad attempt, turning to glare at him. Jisung has his lips pulled tight to stop himself from laughing. “Then why don’t you try?”

He chuckles then. “I’d rather help you, if you’ll let me.”

“How are you supposed to do that? We only have one coin left.”

Jisung doesn’t say anything. He puts the cup down, the last coin held between his fingers. You watch as he slips it into the machine, move to get out of his way once he’s done, but he stops you by grabbing your hand and spinning you back around, his fingers placed over yours on the joystick.

With your back flush against his front, caged in by his arms on either side, Jisung takes a deep breath.

“This okay?” he asks right next to your ear, the curls on the side of his head brushing your cheek when he leans down to get a better look at the screen.

Warm. He’s so warm. The material of his sweater only worsens the heat, and the faint scent of vanilla makes your head swim.

It’s more than okay. Great, even. It’s Jisung. Everything and more.

“Yeah,” you say, letting him control your hands as he flicks the joystick. “It’s okay.”

The hair against your cheek moves when he smiles. “Good.” he says, and then hits the start button.

The game begins but you’re barely processing what’s happening, too aware of the feeling of his body pressed against yours.

A firm chest, different from what’s observable on the outside, what with the fluffiness of his sweater and soft features. His arms too, encasing you, the bulge and flex of his biceps every time he moves.

It’s all so intoxicating, so much so that you don’t even realize you’ve beaten the highest score in the system by the time he loses his last life.

“What?” you blink. “What the hell?!”

You laugh, spinning to face Jisung who’s grinning from ear to ear. In your excitement, you jump, flinging your arms around his neck. He’s surprised, but catches you nonetheless, circling his arms around your waist.

“Holy shit how’d you do that!” you squeal while he swings you around, feet off the ground.

“Magic, I guess.” he chuckles.

The closeness of his voice brings you crashing back down, suddenly aware of what position you’re both in. You pull back quickly, clear your throat, and watch as his face falls from the loss of contact.

It’s been a long time since you hugged Jisung. The thought transports you to that day four years ago, standing under the apple tree, the future uncertain. Forever promised.

Things are different now.

“Sorry,” he backtracks. “I didn’t– um, I wasn’t trying to–”

You cut him off by throwing yourself at him for a second time. Intentional. Breathless. Tired of running and acting like it’s not the thing you want most in the entire world.

Jisung doesn’t react until he feels your face against the skin of his neck. On instinct, he hugs tight, hands around your waist, breathing in the smell of your hair.

“Hi.” you whisper against him.

One word. Simple. However the weight of it sends a chill down his spine. It feels like home.

He tightens his hold. A silent understanding. The two of you never had much of a need for words anyways.

“Hi.” he whispers back.

The apple tree is much bigger now.

Long, thick branches, a wide trunk, a slight tilt in its shape.

It’s bare. The season is long gone. But it’s okay, because it means that the view of the stars isn’t blocked when you and Jisung lay beneath it.

It’s the same but it isn’t. There’s gaps– periods of time where the two of you grew separately. There are moments and memories tucked away that neither of you know about, whole lives to discover.

But even so, it feels right. His arm wrapped around you, your head on his chest. The stars and the moon. You and Jisung.

It’s nice. Perfect, even. But there’s a conversation that needs to be had. One that can’t be put off any longer.

“Ji.”

“Hm?”

“Can I ask you something?”

Jisung shifts beneath you, tightening his hold. The grass is damp. Neither of you care, too caught up in each other to stress about whether or not it’ll stain.

“Of course.”

“Am I ever gonna see you again?”

He takes a deep breath. “Yes.”

“You said that last time.”

“I know.”

“So what makes this different?” you ask, sitting up. He watches you carefully, eyes trained on every movement like he’s scared you’ll get up and run away.

When he realizes you’re waiting for an answer, he sits up too, pulls his knees to his chest and wraps his arms around his legs.

He doesn’t say anything, just wordlessly reaches into his pocket. Silently, he hands whatever he grabbed to you. A guitar pick.

It’s white, a marbled design. Golden flecks infused into the lines. There, on the front, is a singular marigold. When you flip it over, you’re met with a tulip.

“Do you remember that one time, when you called me crying at midnight because Nana told you that she didn’t know if she’d be able to afford school in the city?”

You nod silently, still turning the guitar pick over in your hand.

It was one of those nights where the rain was relentless. Monsoon season always tagged on to the tail end of the school year, bringing with it a more intense gloominess than usual.

You’d been angry. Stressed. Irritated that other kids at school were making plans to go to the mainland for college and you were stuck helping your grandmother trim foliage and wrap vases in newspaper.

“You told me that you couldn’t do it anymore.” Jisung whispered, staring up at the sky. “That you were tired of being here. That you needed to get out.”

You remember. Jisung had walked through the rain to show up at your window. Had climbed in with muddy shoes and sat on the floor of your room with you until the downpour stopped and your tears dried.

“And I said that I would make it happen, that I would invent a way to live amongst the stars so you could be as far from here as possible.”

“So what?” you ask, looking at him. “Did you finally do it, then? Is that why you came back?”

“Don’t be like that.”

“No, Jisung, I’m gonna fucking be like that.” you scoff, rising to your feet.

There’s a fire in your veins, stoked until the embers are burning hot against your throat. Too good to be true. You should’ve known that there was no explanation left for him to give.

Jisung scrambles to his feet. “It wasn’t like I wanted to–”

“Oh like hell you did.” you say, turning to face him. “Four years, Jisung. I waited four years and you just– you come back and decide to tell me about some make-believe bullshit to save yourself and feel less guilty about the fact that you left.”

“It wasn’t make-believe to me,” he argues. “It was real. Everything I said was real. I left and I tried for years to make something of myself so I could come back here and get you.”

“Oh so it’s my fault? I made you leave, is that it?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“So then say something else!” you yell. The stars rumble, threatening to fall out of the sky. “Say something else, then, Jisung. Why didn’t you call? Huh?”

“Because I–” he stops, licks his lips. “God. Fuck. I couldn’t face you if I had nothing to show for myself, okay? It wasn’t fair to you for me to leave you behind just so I could fail.”

“Ha!” you laugh, running a hand through your hair in disbelief. “So you decided to go radio silent instead? Decided to not only leave me alone but let me suffer and wonder about where you were because that’s so much better than telling me that you were struggling, right? Great choice, Jisung. Really.”

He blinks a few times, watching as you pace back and forth in the grass.

Anger bubbles deep in your gut. This whole time, he knew. It was a conscious decision. Jisung deliberately didn’t contact you because he chose not to.

“Did you ever even love me?”

The words tumble out before you can stop them. Jisung’s entire body goes rigid, his face falling and eyes hardening within a fraction of a second.

“Watch what you say.” he says, his voice low in his chest.

“I wouldn’t have to if you’d just be honest.”

“I’m trying.” he pleads. His eyes are glossy. Big and round behind his glasses. Illuminated by the moon.

“I fucked up, okay? I prioritized myself and the way I felt over you and fucked everything up. But I tried. I tried so fucking hard. And I’m sorry it took me so long but I wanted– no– I needed to make sure that I had everything figured out before I came back. I promised I would.”

“No, Jisung, you promised me that–”

“I’m not talking about you.” he says then, taking a deep breath. “You weren’t the only one I made promises to back then.”

Before you have a chance to speak, Jisung says, “I promised her. I told her I’d get you out of here. That I’d give you a life that you deserved, because she knew she couldn’t.”

You drop to your knees when the first sob hits, the force of it racking your body so hard you feel like you’re drowning. Jisung catches you on the fall, holds you up, lets you bury your face into his neck like he had so many times before.

“She told me you believed in forever. She wanted me to give that to you. I’m sorry it took me so long.”

Jisung lets you cry. He holds you through the storm, your wails as loud as thunder and tears as heavy as rain. Four years in the making; the sky and the earth colliding until the dirt and layers of sediment give way to the molten core that’s been hiding beneath the surface all along.

Pain. Grief. All of it pent up and leading to this moment.

“You should’ve told me.” you cry, beating a fist into Jisung’s chest. “You idiot. You fucking idiot. You should’ve told me.”

Jisung pulls you in closer, takes each hit as long as it means that it’ll soften the blow on your heart. He whispers apologies in your ear, runs a hand through your hair.

When it quiets again, the worst of the storm gone, he shifts so that your head is in his lap, his legs crossed and tucked beneath him. A few stray tears wet the fabric of his jeans, your eyes focused on the field of flowers across the street.

“I won’t ask you to come with me.” he says after a long while, when your breathing has evened out. “I know that things are different. You have a life here that you’ve made for yourself, responsibilities to bear as well.”

He pauses to push a few strands of hair out of your face. His fingers are gentle against the skin of your cheek.

“But I promise it’ll be different. I spent too long away from you, was too selfish for my own good. I won’t disappear again. I’ll call every day. I’ll visit. You’ll get every part of me that I kept away from you all this time, and I’ll get every part of you in return.”

Your heart thrums. The thought of having what you’ve wanted for so long. Of having Jisung.

“And when you’re ready, when you feel like you can’t do it anymore, there’ll be a place for you.”

His voice is firm. Confident. More sure than he’s ever sounded before in his life.

When you turn to face him, he’s already staring back. Jisung, with all the stars in his eyes and a heart full of dreams. Jisung, with the world at his fingertips and the offer to make it yours.

Under the apple tree, Jisung leans down and kisses you for the first time. Twenty four years in the making, soft and slow, his lips a perfect fit against yours. A starboy and his flower girl. His glow is so bright it makes blossoms sprout from her fingertips.

Soft curls tickle your eyelids when he pulls away to rest his forehead against yours. You reach up to run a hand through them, smiling softly when he presses a kiss to the tip of your nose.

“I love you.” you say first this time.

He reaches out a hand, closes it over your fist that’s still clutching the guitar pick. A marigold and a tulip, both working together to make a perfect harmony.

“I love you, too.” Jisung whispers back. “Forever.”

Jisung stops by the shop early to say goodbye.

There’s less tears this time, less of a reason to be sad. But still, when he wraps his arms around you, vanilla filling your nose and curls against your face, you feel your composure crumble.

“Every day.” he says, repeating the same thing he did all night. “I promise. Morning and night. Also at lunch. Oh, and on your days off. Matter of fact, you can call when you’re on the toilet too.”

The last part earns him an elbow to the ribs, his laughter bubbling up and out of his throat as he tries to dodge any and all subsequent attacks.

He kisses you stupid before he goes, Chan rolling his eyes from his car out front. You flip him off blindly, Jisung’s lips still attached to yours, earning a loud honk in response.

When he leaves, the shop is quiet, the only sound being the buzzing of your phone as Jisung blows it up with text messages the second the car pulls away.

You’re too busy replying, giggling to yourself when a slew of cute emoticons start appearing one by one, that you nearly fall over out of your chair when Hyunjin bursts through the door.

“Jesus Christ Hyune, did you have to–”

“What the hell are you doing here?” he asks, breathless.

“Uh,” you blink, glancing round. “Working?”

“Is Jisung not on a damn plane right now?”

“I mean he’s on his way to the airport. Chan is–”

“Chan hyung told me that Jisung wanted you to go with him.” Hyunjin says, brow furrowed.

You sigh. “He didn’t want me to go with him. Well, okay, he did. But I told him I can’t just pick up and leave. He knows that. Nana left this place to me and–”

“You are so stupid.” Hyunjin sighs.

“Excuse me?” you ask. You stand up, crossing your arms as you walk closer to the counter.

“Come on. We have to go.”

“Go where, Hyunjin? I’m not leaving to–”

He cuts you off, places an envelope on the wooden surface. “And I am not letting you stay here and pretend that this is what you want.”

“What is that?”

“A plane ticket.” he says, pushing it towards you. “To Seoul.”

Your mouth opens and closes, lost for words. Hyunjin is already moving around the counter, pushing past you with an expression the most serious you’ve ever seen on him.

“Hyunjin I– I can’t– where did you even…?”

“Chan hyung has a friend.” he mumbles as he begins pulling stuff out of the office. Your planning notebook, your apron, the picture of your grandma off the wall. All of it thrown into a small box he managed to snag from somewhere off to the side.

“His name is Seungmin or something. Met him out in the tourist hub. Dude’s super rich with tons of miles and apparently owed Chan for a drunken night where he needed to be escorted to his hotel. So thanks to him, you’re leaving.” he explains as he grabs the box with both hands and starts walking towards the door.

“Wait.” you stop him, watching as he turns to regard you with a look that says his patience is running thin.

“I told you I can’t leave, Hyunjin. This place is where I need to be.”

He huffs, places the box on the ground in front of him. His hair falls in waves around his face, a shimmery dark brown beneath the rays of the sun poking into the room.

“Can you be honest with me?” he asks.

You nod, slowly.

“Do you love him?”

Hyunjin watches you with careful eyes. Reads you like a book, something he’s always been good at. You don’t doubt that it’s written on your face. Star-kissed cheeks and eyes as bright as marigolds.

“So much that it hurts, Hyune.”

Hyunjin smiles, eyes watery. “Then you deserve to go. You deserve your chance to be free. Don’t worry about this place, I’ll take care of it.”

The familiar sting of tears sits behind your eyes. Your heart swells full of love for this friend, this light, this beacon of unconditional love in the shape of your best friend.

“I don’t have clothes.” you manage to say around the lump in your throat.

Hyunjin shakes his head, tears spilling down the bridge of his nose.

“I’ll send them to you.”

“There’s a lot to do around here for just one person. What if you need me?”

“I’ll manage.”

You round the corner quickly, throwing yourself into his chest. He catches you with ease, wraps his arms around your body as the both of you cry into each other.

“I’ll miss you.” you say weakly.

Hyunjin’s throat bobs against the top of your head. “I’ll always be here in our little corner of the world.”

The two of you stay like that for a while. Hyunjin’s warmth seeps into your skin, lights you ablaze. By the time he pulls away, his hands on your shoulders, you feel like you’re floating. Unreal.

“I don’t have a way to get there.” you say quickly, glancing at the clock.

Jisung’s plane leaves soon. The airport, the only one on the island, is a thirty minute drive. You’re at a disadvantage the more time you spend not moving.

“Don’t worry,” Hyunjin chuckles. “I’ve got that taken care of.”

You open your mouth to ask him what he means when you’re cut off by the sound of honking from outside. Confused, you run to the door, your jaw dropping as soon as you realize who’s waiting for you.

“Hurry up people we don’t have all day!” Jeongin calls, his upper body hanging out of the window. He’s parked outside in a beat-up truck, arms waving wildly when he spots you.

“Innie!” you scream, pushing through the door to run at him. He jumps out of the truck just in time for you to barrel into his chest, laughter loud in your ears as he spins you around.

“You’re here! Oh my god I thought you weren’t coming for another two weeks.” you say in disbelief once he puts you down.

He looks older, more sophisticated. His hair is rusted and falls past his ears, the ends just barely touching his shoulders.

“Yeah, well,” he shrugs. “I figured I’d show up earlier. You know, see you before you leave, catch up with my parents, help Hyunjin break into your house. The usual.”

“Help Hyunjin break into my what–” you say, but you stop when your eyes fall on the small suitcase in the backseat. Your own bag, the one that’s been sitting in your closet untouched for years now.

“For the last time,” Hyunjin says from behind you, carrying the box in his arms. “It’s not breaking and entering if I have a key. Which, by the way, I told you would come in handy one day.”

He sets the box down next to the luggage and dusts his hands on his pants. When he turns to face you, he’s smiling, eyes disappearing into crescent moons.

With tears threatening to spill once again, you stare at the both of them, your heart bursting at the seams. “I love you guys.”

Jeongin grimaces, opts for getting back in the driver’s seat as you laugh. Hyunjin rolls his eyes and ushers you inside of the truck.

“Yeah, yeah. Save it.” he says. “Right now, you have a plane to catch.”

The airport is crowded.

There are tons of people everywhere, some saying hello and some saying goodbye. Hyunjin explained the gate system to you before you left him and Jeongin on the curb, and you keep glancing down at your ticket to make sure none of the information has changed in the past thirty seconds since you last looked.

Thankfully, your gate isn’t far. With twenty minutes to go until boarding, you can feel the sweat building up beneath the hand that’s curled around your suitcase handle.

It’s scary thinking about the fact that this is it. That you’re finally leaving.

It’s bittersweet, too. There’s an excitement in the pit of your stomach as well as a feeling of dread in your chest, both of them meeting in the middle somewhere.

You let your eyes scan the crowd, searching for wavy hair and thick-rimmed glasses. However, the first thing you see is the familiar neck of a guitar, strapped right on to a back that you would know and recognize anywhere without warning.

Jisung is seated near the gate, his eyebrows furrowed and lips set in a pout as he glares down at his phone. You realize that he’s probably wondering why you won’t answer, why all of his emoticons are going ignored.

Quietly, you come up behind him, reach into your pocket, and say, “Excuse me? I think you dropped this.”

Jisung startles, his eyes falling on to the guitar pick being held out in your hand. Slowly, he lets his gaze follow upwards, wide-eyed and shocked.

“What– what are you doing here?” he asks.

You place the pick in his hand. “I'm on my way to Seoul. There’s a guy there that I’ve been trying to find for a while.” you say.

Jisung catches on quickly. “Oh, really?” he asks, moving over so you can sit beside him. “This guy must be pretty great if you’re leaving for the mainland.”

The rain starts hitting the tarmac outside right as you sit down. “Hm, yeah. He is. He really likes the stars. He says that he found a way for me to live in them, too.”

He laughs, the sound making your stomach flip. “Sounds like you’re excited.”

You nod. “I am. He promised me that we’d do a lot together, experience new things. Apparently he’s gonna write songs and I’m gonna be a nerd.”

Jisung snorts and reaches across to link his hand with yours.

“He’s really lucky.” he says, leaning over to plant a kiss on your lips.

You smile into it. “So am I.” you whisper into his mouth, your heart stuffed to the brim with flower petals.

And when Jisung smiles back, his other hand coming up to cup your cheek and give you another kiss with the force of a thousand suns, you feel the key you’d been searching for finally click into place.

Salt of the earth. Soil and stardust. A boy who glows so bright that his girl sprouts blossoms from her fingertips.

Forever isn’t promised. But then again, with Jisung by your side, there are things you know for certain:

It’s February. The tulips are in bloom. In Jeju– it rains.

And no matter what, despite all odds, you and Jisung will always find your way back to each other in the place where marigolds grow.

[tags: @skzstarnet @snowyquokka @palindrome969 @summergirlsmj @n1staytiny @drhsthl @strwbrrychannie @shays-library @giuliadesu @iknowyouknowminho @linocz @pynchkilledme @jisunglyricist @itsgghowitsgg @alician87 @skzms @meloncremesoda @ilychee08 @allaboutsan @legally-lixs @stayceebs97 @candyquokka @chans1aptop @liknws @realrintaro @beeracha @vxllxnsworld @feelikecinderella @caitxx1 @lilac13 @sebastianswhore13 @classiclitandmemes @hyunverse @linosazuna @lastgreatamericandynasty1 @bubbly-moon @cookiesandcreammy ]

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ponderingmoonlight · 1 year ago

Note

can you pleaseee make a sequel to the "jjk men hurting y/n" (gojo part) where their son wonders if they can marry y/n when they grow up. you know what i mean.

(also oh my goddddd that fic had me rolling in bed giggling and kicking my legs 😭😭😭😭)

Nothing better than that, thank you so much for your request and liking my work<3

Part l can be found here under Gojo's part

Gojo's and (y/n)'s son wanting to marry (y/n)

Pairing: Gojo x fem!reader

Word Count: 1,2k

Warnings: fluffness overload

Tags: @coffee-on-a-rainyautumn @defnotriri @smarsd @sharycatx3 @kaiserkisser @sanicsmut

As usual, feel free to leave a comment or reblog <3

What happened on that fateful day of the night parade was hard to swallow for both you and Satoru. That unimaginable grief of the breakup when all he wanted to do was to save you. Suguru who wanted to not only kill you but Yuta for your abilities and died himself.

It was all too much to handle, a test for both of you.

“Why didn’t you just tell me? I told you I’m pregnant, that I’m expecting your child and you-….You looked at me with nothing but hatred in your eyes…”

“I’m so sorry, (y/n). Believe me, it killed me from the inside to be so cold to you when in reality, I wanted nothing more than holding you in my arms and tell everyone. But there was no other way. If I’d told you about Suguru’s plan, you would have insisted on coming to Tokyo. And if I didn’t and you’d find out yourself, you would have been absolutely mad and would have been there anyway. Please, all I wanted was to keep you safe. I had no other choice…”

For the first time in your relationship, you saw Satoru Gojo cry in front of you, his hands wrapped around your face. Oh, if you only knew how hard it was for him, how it broke his very own heart within these three cursed weeks.

But now you’re here, safe and sound.

“What happened to Suguru?”

Your innocent question pierced his heart like a knife. Satoru wanted to break down in front of you, too overwhelmed by everything that happened over the last weeks.

But he had to be strong. For you and his unborn baby.

“He didn’t make it.”

Your heart dropped, arms instinctively wrapped around your boyfriend’s trembling frame. Oh, your Satoru. All the things he had to endure over this time. Despite you had every reason to be mad at him you simply can’t. He did this for you, after all. And who knows at what cost.

“We’ll get through this together, okay? You, me and our baby.”

And after months of grieving and talking everything out, you did eventually. You did live through it all: the difficult pregnancy, you almost dying during birth, Satoru getting sealed at Shibuya, the loss of many good friends. It was never easy, you thought about giving up all too often.

But now you’re sitting at the kitchen table with your three year old beautiful son who owns the eyes of his gorgeous father and your hair color.

“Good morning my lovelies”, Satoru purrs against your ear before gently placing a kiss on your cheek.

“Stop that!” your son suddenly shouts, gazing at your husband and his very own father visibly upset.

Huh, what has gotten into him today? Normally he doesn’t mind much when Satoru shows you affection. You tilt your head to the side, Satoru nods towards you.

“What, are you jealous, young man?” Satoru asks challengingly, sitting down next to his son who crawls into his lap immediately.

“You can’t just kiss mama like that because I wanna marry her!” the little boy in front of you announces, determination sparkling in his blue orbs.

Satoru and you stare at each other bamboozled and before you can help yourself, a little giggle escapes your lips. Is this why he was acting so weird? Where does this thought come from?

“You wanna marry her?” Satoru repeats.

“I learned that you kiss at a wedding. So you can’t kiss mommy!”

“Oh, I understand. And how did you get the idea of marrying her?” Satoru continues the conversation.

Your heart feels like exploding in warmth, pure joy speeding through your veins. Seeing your sweet little angel sitting on his father’s lap while announcing that he’ll marry you makes tears sting in your eyes. After all the things you’ve been through, the fights, the injuries, the worries, is this really your life right now? Sitting at the breakfast table while having a delightful conversation with your family?

“I love my mama because she makes me brave.”

Satoru’s eyes dart towards you, so touched by the words of your little one that you can immediately see the glossy shine in them. It’s still like a dream to him, sitting here in peace with both of you by his side. This was definitely worth all the fights and losses he had to endure over the last years. This precious little moment of innocence and pure love.

“Y’know little man, just because you love someone you can’t automatically marry that person. That here is your ma, which means you can’t marry her. If someone gets to marry her that would be me”, Satoru clarifies with his oh so sweet voice.

You desperately try to hold back tears. The love you hold for your little family is more than you could ever explain, deeper than any ocean on this planet. Your son might not be aware of it know, but the fact that he’s sitting here so unbothered was never granted, that all of this will work out was never given.

But now it is. Now you’re sitting there all together. And your son just announced that he wants to marry you.

“But why can you marry her and I not?” he requests, lips forming that little pout that reminds you so much of his father.

“Because you already have her as your wonderful mama. Leave some for the rest”, Satoru replies.

Your son shrieks in his father’s loving arms as he begins to tickle him, laughter filling the room. If anyone would have told you 5 years ago that this will be your life, you would have laughed at him. You really thought this world has no joy for you left, that you and Satoru are cursed through being jujutsu sorcerers.

But that child in front of your very own eyes isn’t a curse. No, it is a true blessing just like Satoru himself. You can’t help but admire him for his strength, for his never ending optimism in this world that tried to tear him down multiple times. Always running back into your open arms, always looking out for you and your family. How do you even deserve him, the man in front of you who looks at your child lovingly?

“But why did you not marry her then?”

You tilt your head to the side, amused by the question of your little one.

“That’s a really good question, angel”, you comment sweetly.

Of course you know all too well that the last few years didn’t have any room for a wedding. Between so many deaths, getting sealed and constant fighting, there wasn’t enough time to arrange something like that. But still, you love to tease your boyfriend a little bit.

“I definitely will someday”, Satoru ensures, gaze set on you with a breathtaking smile.

“And I’ll be there too!” your son cries out in excitement.

“Of course you will, Suguru! Ain’t no wedding without my favorite man by my side!”

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ginkgo-phyta · 9 months ago

Note

Hotch would definitely give you the princess treatment, and you know what? Jack would too, after seeing his father he knows how to treat a girl right. And the team would definitely tease Hotch, because his son is going to steal his partner from him :)

omg no LITERALLYYY tho like just like omfg alright i got carried away with this and its not even really what you're talking about but listen to me okay LISTENNNNN

tagged spencer reid x reader because i want more people to see this teehee pls dont hate me i have spencer fics yall should read if you havent already but also you should still read this too

YOUR RELATIONSHIP WITH AARON HOTCHNER AND ITS INFLUENCE ON HIS SON JACK gn!reader, FLUFF, no warnings(?) another informal blurb typa format :P

you and hotch decide together you'd like to date for a while first, take things slower and fully solidify and strengthen your relationship, before you become a part of jack's life. you didn't want jack to get attached to you or write you off too quickly in case life took you in different directions. you didn't know it at the time, but hotch introduced you to jack when he was sure he was going to marry you some day- and soon. he had been so incredibly head over heels in love with you and once you and jack got close, the little guy really got to witness how highly his father regarded you- and just how he showed you it every day. even in the little things. from the way hotch pulled out your chair, held all doors open for you, always kept your favorite drinks and snacks stocked up in the fridge and pantry, never let you open your own car door, the way he made spaces for you in his bathroom and closet without even being asked, and how he always stuck to your weekly dinner date- whether in person or over the phone. to the way his father would look at you, listen intently to whatever you were talking or ranting about, how he'd cup your hands and press quick kisses to them or move any bothersome strands of hair from your face when you'd eat, and how enthusiastic he always was when you and jack would spend time together.

jack was a bit hesitant with you at first, he was a bit older at that point and the quickness with which beth had left his life had admittedly stung him, leaving an ever-present welt behind. but he warmed up to you, appreciative of the way you welcomed him with open arms, never pressured him to spend time with or even like you (letting him accept you at his own pace) and how you clearly were not trying to take the place of his late mother- even many, many years into your relationship with his father. what he loved the most was how you always encouraged hotch to recount stories of haley, put pictures of her in jack's room or wherever else he wanted them, and how you would remind him: "your mother would be so proud of you jack." you would watch old home videos of their old family and jack never failed to notice how you wouldn't ever feel negatively about it. that was really what won him over. he also loved how open you were with both him and his dad- every day you'd say "i love you!" both casually and purposefully. it instilled in the young boy the importance of expressing appreciation, love, and care for others.

before you, hotch was always a just bit emotionally closed off. even when it came to jack he liked to keep himself a bit more reserved. he tried to stay a strong and unwavering inspiration, only wanting to show his son his best face. but once you came into their lives you inspired hotch to open up more than he had the last few years after haley's passing, inspired him to embrace even the "uglier" emotions he felt in life: grief, anger, sadness, and tiredness. it ended up passing onto jack in small ways, allowing him to feel even closer to dad. you became a huge structural post in jack's life. your love for one other inspired him, as he grew up he dreamed of one day having a relationship like yours. he looked forward to being able to treat his significant other the way his father cares for you.

you loved jack as if he was your own, though you never wanted to say that to him for fear of overstepping your role. aaron would always assure you, especially as jack grew older, that his boy felt it. you watched him go from a playful child, to a moody teenager, to a budding adult eager to make his mark on the world. and you were there supporting him the whole way.

you'll spend a lifetime with the both of them and although there will be many funny, loving, or frustrating moments you'll hold in a special place in your mind, there's one memory from when he was still a youngin that you love the most. it was a surprise dinner party at your fancy restaurant, aaron had booked the whole place just for you and the guests to celebrate your engagement and he had enlisted jack's help to plan the whole thing. jack, the bau team, and your friends and family were all there to shower you in love. the most memorable part of the night was the moment everyone sat down for dinner, all around a giant table (possibly multiple tables pushed together). as everyone moved to take their place jack ran so eagerly in front of you to pull your chair out before his father got the chance. you were shocked for a second before bursting out in a melodious laugh- it was so unexpected but you were incredibly moved. "oh, jack, thank you!" your loving, excited, and genuinely appreciative tone made jack's already huge grin grow even wider and more endearing. everyone else had noticed this too and laughed in joy along with you. "oh my god!" "that was so freakin cute" "he did not just do that!" rang out around you. of course aaron noticed, standing in silence for a second, a similar smile mirrored on his face, before he shook his head with a chuckle. as you took you seat, jack made sure to push your chair in just before you sat down fully, diligently executing what he'd studied his father do hundreds of times before. you turned to thank him, but before you could even open your mouth jack moved to take your cloth napkin from the table, shake it open, and carefully place it in your lap. awwws flooded in from all sides of the table

"oh you are just so adorable jack, thank you so much." you said as you pinched his still slightly chubby cheek "you are just the kindest, sir." you playful tone cause jacks entire face to blush and he shyly walked over to take a seat next to you.

"what? you take my job, and now you don't even want to sit next to me?" hotch spoke up from you other side. jack knew his father was joking, but he still bashfully giggled, sinking a bit more into his seat

"you better be careful, hotch," derek spoke up from across the table, motioning to his former boss with a breadstick, "looks like you got some competition there."

everyone broke out into more laughter, especially aaron. in the midst of the hysterics, the once-stoic man's hand crept into your lap to hold your own, thumbing over the back of your hand and the beautiful engagement ring wrapped around your finger. you shared a glance while you both laughed before you looked over to jack. wordlessly, your hand suddenly hopped up to ruffle up the little boy's hair, causing him to scrunch up his nose and giggle even more.

but you didn't have to say anything, your eyes held the truth. love. jack continued to look up at you, feelings of warmth, joy, and safety draped over him like a fuzzy throw, covering him from the crown of his head to the tips of his fingers and toes. he knew that with you in his life now, besides him and his father, everything would be okay.

A/N: SCREAMING how was this anon? sorry i didn't delve into the team teasing hotch more bc these thoughts were swimming in my head and i NEEDED to get them down perhaps i could do another post of just teasing quotes if that's something you'd like! i got a few ideas swimmin already teehee i hope you enjoyed my love!!

#criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotch imagine #hotch x reader #aaron hotch hotchner #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fic #spencer reid x reader

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brucewaynehater101 · 5 months ago

Note

Tim falling in the time stream and YJ fishing him out happens post brucequest so Bart and Kon are alive which helps Cassie keep herself from being gaslit by well meaning members of the justice league who completely forget/ignore/disregard that Batman literally just came back from the "dead" and so Cassie can have Kon and Bart there to keep her from forming or joining another cult

Bruce's reaction depends on the writer and how they feel about Bruce though his family seeing him go into a depressive spiral at the loss of a kid in his custody and getting some partial insight into just how bad he may have been immediately post Jason and the stuff that Tim had to deal with would be interesting, and the family dynamics of dealing with Damian who no longer has the verbal punching bag and focus of jealousy that is Tim available

Ooh. Now I want to kill Tim off in a fic and watch the batfam implode as they deal with their grief and come to several realizations. I've got too many WIPs for that, though.

Anyways, YJ is out here gripping their sanity and determination to bring Tim home by their blood-stained finger nails. It's hysterical laughing, refusing to cry (because he's not dead), and chaotic adventures that aren't as fun without Tim.

When Tim gets back, all four of them (and the retired members) are in agreeance. Fuck the JL. Fuck the other heroes.

For the batfam, we'll say Bruce can't go out to find Tim for plot. The exact reason can be up to the dealer, but he either doesn't hear YJ's theories, or he can't go look for Tim.

This traps Bruce with the rest of the batfam.

Damian, a kid who still looks up to his dad, is suddenly forced into Tim's Robin's role.

He, at first, isn't too upset that Batman is being harsher. Surely, the man would know what's best. Perhaps he's just realizing that criminals should he punished harder (not personal beliefs, obv. Just speculation of Damian's mindset).

Then Bruce gets worse. And worse.

Suddenly, the twelve year old is frozen as he watches the brutality of which Batman is pummeling someone. He's watching as blood flings off of Bruce's gauntlets onto the alley floors and walls. He's hearing the victim pleading.

Damian's not scared. Of course he isn't. That's ridiculous....

He just kind of wishes his Batman, Dick, was there instead.

Damian also has lost his ability to insult Tim. While it's not uncommon to go months without seeing Drake, his family's reactions to Damian's usual comments have changed. Suddenly, everyone is yelling at him or getting angry for what he's saying. He knows Tim died (and gods does it burn that he'll never get to know the older man), but why is the family getting mad at him? They've always let the comments go in the past.

It's an unhealthy coping mechanism and mindset that Damian developed of continuously comparing himself to Drake and dragging the older man down. It's a bit late, but Damian realizes that he doesn't hate Tim. He might have even admired him. He was blinded by his need to feel wanted in a family that chose everyone but him (at least, that's how he thought it was).

It's cruel he only comprehended this after Tim's death.

Jason is still on the outskirts of the family. Yet, from his distance, he has a front row seat to watching Bruce rapidly descend into his grief. Maybe the man denies that's what Bruce was like when Jason died (because Bruce liked Tim more than Jason). Someone points out that any animosity Jason and Bruce have was post his revival (and honestly fuck them for that). They also point out that this Bruce, the spiraling wave of fury, is a much more supported and restrained Batman. Tim, as a thirteen year old, witnessed and pulled this man from his even worse grief.

Jason doesn't know how to process that.

Dick is older and closer. He has to grapple with the fact that he failed another little brother. Another one is dead.

He also has to watch his dad descend into grief all over again. He's closer than he was when Jason died, back when he was brimming with rage at Bruce and despair. He's getting a closer production of Bruce's unhealthy coping skills.

He has to explain to his siblings and himself that last time, when Jason died, Tim weathered this storm. Dick came around, but not nearly enough. He couldn't for his own mental health.

That doesn't assauge his guilt.

Cass :( Imma say she's out there helping YJ. She believes them. It doesn't change how much Tim's death hurts, but she holds onto hope.

Alfred has to watch his son mourn again. Alfred has to mourn his grandson and watch his son destroy himself again. Alfred has to watch the family implode upon itself.

He doesn't have hope that another kind soul like Tim's will be here this time around. He can only offer support as he hopes the family makes it through this time.

When Tim comes back, he's not angry that the JL didn't help or believe YJ. He's not even disappointed.

He's resigned.

He's not upset the Bats didn't do anything either.

Creating YJ wasn't originally about ensuring Tim had support he could count on. He's glad it turned into that, though. He wouldn't give any of them up for the world.

#yj98 #tim drake #damian wayne #bruce wayne #jason todd #dick grayson #thank you for the ask!!!!#dc au #alfred pennyworth

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lunarmoves · 26 days ago

Text

who i see, looking back at me (ch2)

pairing: sebastian solace x reader

mentions: post-urbanshade fic, no use of y/n or pronouns, u are his partner <3, hallucinations, grief/mourning, non-sexual intimacy, touch aversion, hurt/comfort, ooc sebastian probably, again taking creative liberties with his mom and siblings, tentative reconnecting :)

a/n: so this fic is now 4 chapters instead of 2. what happened, u ask? i have no idea. i blame sebastian. also, i made some minor edits to ch1- nothing too major, i just changed sebastian's age from 32 to 33 LOL. i found out pressure takes place in 2025 when he's 32, so i nudged it up a lil. not that telling u guys this makes a difference dsjfhj. i used the urbanshade wiki for a lot of his info btw. anyways, hope u guys enjoy, bon apple teeth!

word count: 11k+

masterlist | part one

ao3 link

In the following days, a storm swept its way down the coast, confining you to your cottage when you weren’t at work.

You sat at the window in your living room overlooking the sea, watching the way rain drummed against the glass. You could hear the way the wind battered the walls of your cottage, a low whistling echoing from a window you likely didn’t close properly. The sky was swollen with dark, heavy clouds that lit up with the occasional fork of white lightning. The rumbles of thunder that followed were loud enough for you to feel in your chest, and you enjoyed sipping at a warm drink as you read a book in the evenings before bed.

After watching the way the waves crashed viciously against the sand and rocks of the shore—following the push and pull of the storm—you wondered if you should be worried about possible flooding. You’d think you’d be used to it after living by the sea for so long. But no, the water was not agitated enough to reach your little cottage at the top of the cove, so you did not think too much about it.

What you did have to worry about, however, were leaks.

“Ah, shit,” you hissed as you toed a bucket under a steadily dripping wet spot on your ceiling. You’d never had to deal with them before, but then again, the winds of this storm were certainly strong. They could’ve knocked something loose. Your cottage was old enough that you wouldn’t be surprised.

“Least there aren’t too many,” Sebastian remarked as he stood next to another bucket. He stared up at the point of leakage, a drop falling every few seconds. “Either deal with them every storm or bust out some tools to fix them, shouldn’t be too difficult, even for you.”

You hummed out something of an agreement, ignoring the little jab at the end. You’d never been the one to do the tinkering or fixing around the house, preferring to observe him instead as he worked. You had to learn things yourself, over the years. It didn’t make it any less painful.

(“Put that engineering degree to work,” you told him as you always did each and every time, then grinned when he gave you that same squinted glare.

“Mechanical engineering is not equal to fixing a pipe,” he grumbled back at you, pointing the wrench in his hand in your direction as you hovered by the bathroom doorway. He lifted his head just enough from the cupboard of the sink to meet your gaze in the mirror in front of him. “Neither is hanging a painting on the wall. Or swapping out lightbulbs, for that matter.”

You just smiled at him, not bothering to hide the way your gaze trailed along the muscles of his back and shoulders—forming shadows along the black tank top he wore. He made a face at you that had you biting your tongue to hold back a laugh.

“It is to me,” you replied in amusement. His groan only made your lips stretch wider. “Chop chop, nerd.”)

You sighed, a weary thing that you felt deep in your chest, and frowned out at your living room with its couple of buckets collecting water. Sebastian lifted his palm just under the leak he stood by. You watched him for a moment before turning away as another drop fell towards his hand.

It felt like ages before you finally found yourself waking up to a sliver of bright, warm sunshine through your curtained window. You could finally pack away the buckets scattered around your home, lazily eyeing the spots on the ceiling where the water had dripped through. You’d need to borrow a ladder from someone so you could inspect the roof. You would deal with that later, you decided.

You opened your front door to breathe in the fresh air of a storm long gone—the earthy smell accompanied by a salty seabreeze that promised better days. Clear skies with feathery wisps of clouds accompanied you all the way to work, where you and your coworker made plans to reschedule that dinner you both had meant to grab before the storm reared its ugly head and sent everything awry.

And once you got back home after a long shift, you took some time to pick your way down the shore to walk alongside the lazy ebbing of the tide.

The storm had washed up quite a few things. Bits of driftwood and seaweed, mostly. But occasionally a glimmer of something shiny would catch your eye, buried partially within the sand. You ended up wandering around for a bit, digging up seashells or small rocks that caught the light in just the right way when you held them up in front of your face.

Eventually, as the sun danced along the horizon and sent its golden light to caress the planes of the earth, you ended up on the dock. Your pockets clicked and clacked with your findings as you walked down its length, the wood only mildly damp now from the days of endless rainfall. The boards creaked under each of your steps, and when you finally stopped at the dock’s edge, you paused for a moment to peer down at it.

It—looked utterly ruined. Splintered pieces of wood that still held on through the storm poked out along the damaged planks. You frowned as you squinted at it. The edge was broken in a way that alluded to three separate points of destruction—the wood cracked and jagged like the maw of a hungry beast. Your lips pursed. Damage from the storm, no doubt. Maybe the vicious waves. Either way, it looked like you couldn’t sit here anymore until it was flagged and repaired. A shame, really. You glanced around at the rest of the undamaged dock.

You supposed you could simply… sit elsewhere upon it. But… You grimaced to yourself as you swept your gaze across the calm waters. No prickle of your skin. No teal glow. No familiar rasp of a voice that made something in your chest ache. That did not mean it would not happen again, however. You were wary. Your own home you could not escape from him, but the dock you certainly could.

Maybe you should spend your evenings somewhere else for a bit.

And that was how you found yourself down in the cove in the days that followed. It was not a place you frequented as often as the dock when you just wanted to lounge around—you needed to scale quite a few rocks to make it to the little beach within it—but it was just as gorgeous. Calm. Quiet. You could sit on the sand and watch the tide rise lazily to brush against your feet.

Here, you felt protected—the cove curving in such a way where you were surrounded on almost all sides by rock apart from the section of the sea in front of you. Not many people ventured over here, preferring to stick by the wider—more open—stretch of the beach. You didn’t mind. All the more peace for you.

You were feeling reminiscent, one particular evening, and decided to bring out that ukulele you’d purchased so long ago. It mostly sat in a corner of your room, collecting dust. But occasionally, you felt the urge to strum a couple of chords in some resemblance of a song—as clumsy and out-of-tune as they were.

You sat cross-legged in the cove, far enough from the water’s edge that it could not reach you for a couple of feet. The sun had long started its descent, making the water sparkle like gems were littered under its surface. A few seagulls cawed overhead, close enough that you occasionally glanced upwards to watch them circle about in the air.

Ukulele balanced partially on your lap, you squinted down at the card that came with it that had the finger positions for some chords drawn out. The card rested on the sand in front of your shin, and you frowned at it as you strummed out a rough-sounding G-chord.

“That’s not right,” you muttered to yourself as you adjusted your fingers on the fretboard. You gave another strum. It sounded clearer—if marginally. “There we go.”

Now to switch to an F-chord. You repositioned your fingers and strummed again. Not bad. Definitely better sounding than your G, that was for sure. The pads of your fingers were starting to ache with how hard you pressed down onto the strings. Your wrist too, for that matter.

After learning a few more chords, you started to idly strum away, searching for a tune. A lot of songs could be played just by using the C-, G-, and F-chords, you noted. Between your mindless down and up motions along the strings, you caught a faint glimpse of an old song you used to hear in your youth. And so, you chased after it, murmuring the words under your breath.

“No, that’s not…” You trailed off as you switched between a G and C, fingers moving slowly. Ah, the order did not sound right to your ears. Maybe an F should follow the G instead. You gave it a try and scrunched your nose when it sounded odd again. “Ah… man.”

A voice suddenly spoke up from somewhere in front of you—low and musing. “Ukulele, huh? When’d you pick it up?”

A brief glance upwards revealed exactly who you’d expected, even as something sank to the soles of your feet. Sebastian lounged stomach-down in the low shallows of the water, head propped up atop his hands as he watched you with half-lidded, squinted eyes. Close, yet not too close that he reached the point where the water’s edge kissed the beach.

The distance, however, was not your main focus.

Behind his upper body, you could see the stretch of a long, thick tail as it trailed towards the sea. Massive, in its entirety, and resembling a snake of sorts. Its posterior side glistened with gray-blue scales that caught the light in a nearly mesmerizing way. There were these black straps that criss-crossed along his tail all the way up to the base of large, whale-like flukes that were arched out of the water. Why the straps were there, you did not know.

He was much larger than you’d thought he was.

You averted your gaze and looked back down at your instrument. Truly, you did not know why he looked so different out here. You didn’t like the way it made you feel. Were you losing your grip on him—his memory? The last fragments of him that you had? No. No.

You didn’t like that at all.

“Helloooo?” Sebastian called, voice pitching upwards. “I asked you a question. Gonna just leave me hanging here?”

You huffed through your nose. He should know this. “Not too long ago,” you told him anyway, squinting slightly at him.

His eyes crinkled into upturned crescents at your response—short as it was. “There, was that so hard now?” His voice dripped with condescension. One of his ear fins gave a little flick. “So, have you realized that it’s actually me, yet?”

You didn’t answer, turning your attention back to your ukulele.

He sighed like he was holding the weight of the world on his shoulders. “That’s what I thought.”

He was quiet as you spent some time strumming away. You were determined to figure out the right chords for this vague song, but you were severely lacking the knowledge of what they might be. You switched back to learning more finger positions from the chord card. Maybe it would fill in some gaps.

“Your thumb is too high on the neck,” Sebastian suddenly said after a while, earning him a quick glance from you. He pointed at your hand. “You’re gonna hurt your wrist like that, babe. It’s also restricting your movements. Lower it some more so that it’s not sticking above the fretboard.” He paused for a second, then added, “Also the strum zone is a little higher than that.”

You mulled over his words for a bit, then adjusted your hold. Playing a few different chords, you realized that yes, it was easier to switch your finger positions now. Sounded much smoother as well. You hummed to yourself.

“You really think if I wasn’t real that I’d be able to give you advice like that?” he asked pointedly, eyes falling into a half-lidded gaze. “Tell you shit you didn’t know about?”

You pursed your lips. You… guessed so. But you had done some online research when you’d first bought the ukulele to learn more about it, being a novice and all. You were certain you’d read about correct positioning before—maybe you forgot but some level of your mind stored the information. You weren’t well versed in the workings of the human brain, particularly when it came to your… situation. You only offered Sebastian a shrug. He sighed deeply and grumbled something under his breath that you couldn’t quite make out.

You went back to trying to figure out the song you’d distantly caught onto before. C-chord, followed by an E minor, G—wait no, an A minor actually—then an F. You were making some progress, as small as it was.

The discordant notes from your ukulele mixed in with the steady swelling of the waves. Somewhere above, there was the caw of a seagull—sharp and piercing. Occasionally, there would be a small splash out in the distance, either from a fish jumping out of the water or a bird diving for a meal. You breathed in and—

Splat!

You made a surprised, strangled noise, something immensely cold and wet and slimy landing directly on your face. You couldn’t even really process what was happening before you felt it slide down and land on your lap. Your face scrunched up, disgusted, then you jumped slightly when laughter erupted from somewhere in front of you.

“Oh my fucking god,” Sebastian wheezed, and your gaze shot towards him to see him practically curled up in a shaking ball. His tail slapped at the water, once, then twice when he rolled around to clutch at his stomach. “H-Holy shit that was funnier than I’d expected it to be oh my god your face! I think I’m gonna piss.” He lifted himself up just enough to look at you, then he burst out into cackles again.

“Hwhuh?” you said, still stunned. He laughed even harder, and you took the time to look down at your lap at your assailant. You blinked at it and felt your lips pull back in some strange grimace.

It was a wad of seaweed—fishy-smelling and gross and goddamnit it was soaking into your clothes and got all over your ukulele—

“Oh man, I missed doing that so much.” Sebastian wiped a tear from one of his teal eyes and grinned sharply at you. “Never change, babe. Never change.”

You only made another sound, picking up the seaweed with one of your hands and flinging it off to the side. You could still feel the residue, well, everywhere. Coating your cheeks and your eyelids and your mouth. It was foul. You swiped your hand down your face in an attempt to get rid of it. You were not all too successful.

Sebastian chortled, then leaned back down with his head propped atop his palm, fixing you with a suddenly calculating stare. The tide swept up and around his body. “So? Would I have been able to do that if I wasn’t real, hm?”

For a moment, you just watched him. His nonchalant pose. His gaze firmly trained on your own. The way his third arm did a little finger wave at you, a gold ring glinting on its fourth finger. You stared, and you stared. Then, you turned to look at the clump of seaweed. After a beat or two, you looked up at the inky sky—where those seagulls still circled overhead. Sebastian followed your gaze.

He paused.

“Wait. Don’t tell me”—he let out a laugh, incredulous, almost—“you think that was the birds?”

A scoff escaped your lips. “What else would it be?” you grumbled, mostly to yourself. You needed a shower, and you needed it immediately. You stood up to dust the sand off your clothes with one hand, the other occupied with holding your poor ukulele.

“Babe,” he groaned, one of his hands raking down his face. His lips trembled, minute. “You’re gonna feel real stupid once you realize I’m actually here, you know.”

You only huffed and wiped at your face again, eye twitching ever so slightly.

And that was how the next few days went.

He would show up whenever you were in the cove at night. Always making these remarks at you to get you to think that he wasn’t just some illusion you’d cooked up. Making you think that the splashes of water you felt on your legs or arms were from him and not the tide. When you moved back to the dock in an attempt to evade him, he followed you there too, and did the same thing again and again and again.

And all the while, he looked as though he was battling something internally. What that was, you were uncertain. But it didn’t matter, did it? He was just an extension of your own thoughts, your own mind.

Ignore, just ignore him like you always do, you told yourself repeatedly. He would eventually stop talking. He would eventually go away. But he never did.

And one night you just couldn’t take it anymore.

“Did you ever want to start a family?” he mused at you one evening in the cove, tail flicking idly behind him. You felt like you’d been doused in icy cold water as you stared down at the book in your lap. Eyes stuck on one word, but not truly seeing it. “We never really talked about it, did we?”

Your jaw tensed. No. No you didn’t.

“Ah, we were so young,” he continued in a quiet voice. “I’d say time has flown, but it didn’t. Not to me.” You did not need to look at him to know he was staring directly at you. The back of your neck prickled. “You’re what, thirty-four, now?” He chuckled. “You look just as I’d remembered.”

The way it was said—soft, tender, like an admission murmured in the darkness of night—added fuel to the way something wrenched itself fiercely in your gut. Paralyzed you on the ground. Your grip on your book tightened. Your gaze landed on your wedding ring, still bright and vivid even after all these years with the care you used to handle it.

It was quiet.

“I’m sorry, you know?” A confession, whispered so gently you almost thought you didn’t hear it. “I’m sorry I was gone. Not that either of us could’ve done anything about it at this point. But I’m sorry I left you for so long, for what it’s worth. Maybe if I hadn’t been…” He trailed off, the implication of his words settling around your neck like a noose. “Well. I wonder sometimes about what could’ve been if all this shit didn’t happen.”

It was never ending, this pain. That you carried on a day-by-day basis, heavy like you wore chains around your ankles and wrists. Your heart. It would be easier to let yourself sink into the ocean, you think. Maybe it would be better than the endless hollowness you felt everywhere in your body.

Sometimes it felt like time did not aid you in healing. You were unsure if it ever truly would.

“I thought about you every day,” he whispered, voice thick with emotions you could not bear to decipher. “Every. Single. Day.”

Something deep inside you cracked like porcelain set too roughly atop a surface. You didn’t want to hear this, you didn’t want to hear this anymore.

“Stop— just stop,” you moaned out, wrenching your grip from your book so you could claw at your head. Your eyes squeezed shut. A dull ache throbbed beneath your fingers. “Leave me alone.”

“No,” he instead said firmly, low cadence to his tone. “I’m not gonna do that. Not now. You finally listening to me?”

You shook your head and covered your face with your hands that shook like you were one step away from being unbalanced. This Sebastian was persistent and talkative in a way that your Sebastian in your cottage was not.

And it hurt. More than anything in this world, it hurt.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you choked out, a fierce stinging making itself present behind your eyes. “I-I can’t. I can’t.”

You thought about your cottage—that had seemed small, at first. But when you stood in the space of your living room and looked around at the vacant couch, listened to the eerie stillness that came with being alone, it was all too large just for you.

Your heart ached.

“It’s not fair,” you sobbed, voice breaking on the tailend of your sentence. “It’s not fair. It hurts too much, I can’t— I can’t do this.”

You were so, so tired.

Of feeling this way. Of waking up to his face and falling asleep with it etched into your eyelids. Of going to work with him over your shoulder. Of finding no escape even in the one place you thought you would be at ease. It was exhausting. You were exhausted.

Sebastian was quiet as you sat there, attempting in vain to wipe away the wetness spilling across your cheeks. The chill of night was starting to set in. You could feel its cold hands snaking up your bare arms. You sniffed and scrubbed at your eyes. Distantly, there was a steady shifting sound. Sand being displaced. The drips and drops of water falling into a puddle.

There was a touch against your knee—featherlight and hesitant.

You froze. And slowly, ever so slowly, you lowered your hands.

A gray-blue hand—large enough to cover the entirety of your knee—brushed lightly against the thin material of your pants. The pads of its wet fingers traced a small circle around it, mindful of the sharp claws attached to its ends. You felt as though you couldn’t breathe, couldn’t tear your gaze away from what you were seeing until the hand drew slightly away.

You looked up through wet lashes to see Sebastian—closer to the point where his shadow covered the entirety of your body. His head was bent towards you, angler’s lure falling into the space between your faces. The twilight that painted the sky in fragile light made his eyes glow softly, lowered as they were to take in your expression. Searching, maybe, though for what you were uncertain.

You swallowed, your gaze darting down to his curled hand, then back up at his unreadable face. A static encompassed your mind, leaving no room for coherent thought.

He seemed to be waiting for something. But when you only stared wide-eyed at him, he eventually sighed.

“It won’t be enough, I know,” he murmured, tail shifting somewhere behind him in the sand. “It will take the both of us. Here.”

He extended his arm before you—bending it in a way where his forearm oriented itself horizontally in front of you. He nodded down at it. “Go on.” It did not take a genius to figure out what he wanted you to do.

Could you do it? You didn’t know. You didn’t even know if you wanted to, for that matter. But one glance up at Sebastian’s face revealed an expectant sort of look to it. Nervous, you might say. Even grim. It did not make you feel any better. If anything, it made your muddled mix of emotions and thoughts even more messed up.

Time… Did you go through enough time?

You stared down at his arm—that looked so real, in this instance. Attached to a body that you could not even fathom in your dreams. You closed your eyes for a moment and could almost feel that phantom touch against your knee. The wetness that seeped into your pants from it. Reopening your eyes, you trailed your gaze from the clenched fist of his thick fingers, to the sharp jut of his clothed elbow. The space between you and it. A grim sort of feeling was beginning to take root in your stomach.

Always at a distance. Never crossing a line.

You took a deep breath.

And then you reached out your hand.

Your fingers sank into the wet material of his jacket. You inhaled sharply through your nose and found you could not pull yourself away for the life of you.

“…What?” you murmured, lightly brushing over his arm. Over and over and over again. Soggy and stiff and so utterly there. You were trapped in a free fall, plummeting down to the earth. “What? No. No, no, no no no.”

Your heartbeat was loud in your ears.

“Didn’t I tell you?” he asked, an unsteady frown overtaking his lips. His voice lowered, barely above a whisper. “I’m right here.”

“No,” was all you could choke out, fingers still feeling at his jacket. Slowly making their way to his elbow, then up his upper arm. Your lips trembled. “No. You—“

Your gaze shot up to his face and suddenly all you could see was him. Honeyed skin and blue eyes and rough scar across his nose. Looking at you so sadly, you almost felt your heart break all over again. An urge, so immense and paralyzing, swept its way throughout the entirety of your body and sank deeply into your very soul. It was all you could do to willingly follow it. You reached up towards his face, stomach twinging, and—

And he flinched away.

“No!” Sebastian suddenly snapped, teeth bared in a sharp snarl.

Your heart skipped a beat. Your entire body jerked back in surprise, your hands retreating towards your chest. He softened almost immediately. A pained grimace overtook his features, and he let out another long sigh.

“I just… Not yet,” he mumbled, shifting away from you so he could wrap his arms around his torso. His gaze lowered to the sand. “Not yet.”

Wide-eyed, you stared at him. You took him in—really took him in. Ear fins that flicked and twitched at the sides of his head. Gray-blue scales that were soaked in the dewy light of the rising moon. Massive tail supporting an equally massive torso. Three arms that tightened and gripped at the folds of his jacket.

This was him. This was really, really him.

And you could not comprehend it.

“I-I—” you stammered, pushing yourself up to your feet. You felt unsteady. Your chest hurt. It was like you couldn’t even think properly with how your head felt like it was stuffed with cotton. You clutched at your book as though it was your only lifeline. Maybe it was, at this moment. You took a shaky step back, sand crunching under your shoes. “I need… I need a moment.”

Just to yourself. Just to breathe and process.

The waves ebbed back and forth beyond the cove—the only sound for a few terse minutes.

“It’s okay,” Sebastian told you gently, though he couldn’t quite meet your eyes. His lips pressed together as his head turned away to look out at the sea. “I can wait.”

The next day passed by in a thick haze.

You’d gone to bed feeling completely and utterly spent. Your dreams were filled with muddled images of teal eyes and sharp teeth, this accompanying sense of dread so deep that you woke up still feeling its stifling presence. It felt like you constantly had something pressing down onto your chest. You pulled yourself out of bed and stood in front of the mirror in your bathroom, frowning at your reflection as you rubbed idly at your sternum.

Behind you, reflected in the glass, was your Sebastian. He didn’t say a word. Just stood there and smiled. You lowered your gaze down to your sink and felt your frown deepen.

You went through work feeling oddly detached from your body, your mind swirling constantly with thoughts of the previous evening. If you stared down at your hand—the one you’d used to caress his arm—you could almost feel the sensation of his jacket against your fingertips. The coldness. The wetness. The realness.

God, the realness. You had to cover your face with a hand so you could giggle hysterically into your palm. He was right. You felt stupid. But beyond that, it felt like you were still trapped in some kind of fog. Maybe you’d finally lost it after all this time.

But no, no, this was real. This was happening. You’d felt it yourself.

…Didn’t you want this? Didn’t you spend countless nights thinking about him? How much you missed him. How you would give anything for him to come back to you. The things you would do. The things you would say. It had all evaporated into thin air—was replaced with this hollow feeling that you could not decipher for the life of you.

You’d wanted him back, right?

Your Sebastian, with his— his…

Something in your stomach writhed endlessly.

“Hellooo? You still there?” a voice asked in your ear.

You blinked back to awareness, your phone clutched in your hand. The breakroom of your workplace was empty apart from you sitting at its little table. You cleared your throat. “Yeah, sorry. Zoned out a bit. What were you saying?”

There was a small pause. Then, “Are you… okay?” Isidora asked hesitantly. You could practically hear the frown in her voice. “It’s just… You seem out of it.”

You rubbed a hand across your face. Truthfully, no, but you weren’t about to tell her that. “I’m fine. Work’s just been… work. You know how it is.”

She made a small noise in understanding. “Oh boy, yeah I get it. Just last week I had a 10-hour shift. I swear, some of my coworkers are so incompetent.” She huffed, then her voice softened. “Well, if you’re sure you’re okay, I won’t press you about it. Just make sure you’re getting enough sleep, yeah?”

You blew a raspberry at her, your voice taking on a slightly teasing lilt. “What are you, my mom? I’ll be fine.” You paused for a moment, then added, “Speaking of, how’s Maria?”

“She’s fine. Recently took up knitting actually,” Isidora told you. “I think she’s working on a blanket right now. She tried beanies first, but they didn’t turn out all too well.” She snickered.

“Never thought I’d see the day where she’d take up knitting,” you mused.

“I know right? She used to say she’d never get into any ‘old lady hobbies’ and now look at her!”

“She’s not working full-time anymore, right? She’s probably bored.”

“Oh for sure, especially with Lucas not home to cause trouble.”

“Yeah? When’s his spring break?” you asked, glancing over to the wall in the breakroom that had a small calendar hung up on it. It was nearing March.

“Not until next month. We still have some peace and quiet. A little too much, if you ask me.” She sighed, then her voice brightened. “Oh! Actually, Mama and I started going through some old albums the other day. Hang on, there were some pics I wanted to send you...”

You hummed. “She did make a hobby out of album making a while ago, didn’t she?” You thought back to that album of family photos Sebastian kept in his desk—that you ultimately ended up returning. You frowned to yourself.

“Yeah, holy shit you should’ve seen the number of boxes we sorted through,” Isidora said, her voice slightly fainter like she’d removed her phone from her ear. There were a few tapping sounds. “It was nice seeing all our baby pictures. I almost forgot Lucas used to look so cute when he was a toddler.”

You snorted, then removed your phone from your ear when it gave a little buzz of an incoming message. You clicked on the notification banner from Isidora.

Instantly, you could feel the smile fade from your lips.

The first picture was of Sebastian—chubby-faced and missing one of his front teeth as he grinned up at the camera. He was kneeling on a wooden floor as he petted the back of a fluffy, brown cat. There was a bandaid across the bridge of his nose where you knew a rough scar would form, but it didn’t obscure the way his eyes crinkled in delight.

(Teal eyes. Fingers like knives.)

The second picture was of you, Sebastian, and his siblings right before you went out Trick or Treating one year. You remembered this. Isidora spent so long trying to help Lucas with his Bumblebee costume—it came with so many different parts. You could barely see the peek of Lucas’ blue eyes past the yellow helmet. Isidora herself dressed up as the girl from The Ring, her long, black hair framing her face in shadows as she stared monotonously forward.

Your gaze lingered on Sebastian, his teeth bared at the camera to show off the two fangs he bought for cheap at a store. Fake blood ran down his chin from the corners of his mouth. His arm was wrapped around your shoulder, where you were posing like you were about to bite into his neck. Both of you had black makeup smudged around your eyes and long, flowing capes that you remembered had been a pain to deal with as they dragged along the ground outside.

(Teal eyes. Fingers like knives. Body covered in scales.)

The last picture—

You felt your mouth turn dry like cotton had just been forced into your throat.

Deep breath in, deep breath out.

The last picture was of you and him. Dancing in the middle of a small wedding hall. The photographer had caught you mid-laugh. What Sebastian had told you, you didn’t remember now. But you lingered on the way he smiled down at you, cheek dimpling slightly. The warmth of his gaze. The familiar crinkle of his eyes. The way your hands were intertwined tightly together, gold bands glinting on each of your fingers.

(Teal eyes. Fingers like knives. Body covered in scales. Pungent smell of—)

All of them were taken in a way where it was clear they were pictures of the pictures already printed out in their designated albums. God, you had no idea Maria had kept some of these. You could feel a cold sort of feeling spreading throughout your body, numbing everything it came in touch with.

There was a reason why you didn’t keep the pictures you’d had back at your apartment.

And that reason was currently swimming around in the depths of the ocean instead of the bottom of a casket like you’d originally thought.

“I thought you’d want to see them, it’s been so long since”—Isidora’s voice broke off and she cleared her throat—“well, y’know.”

You didn’t even know what to say. “I— yeah.” You blinked, once, then twice. Forcing back the stinging you felt at the corners of your eyes. “Thanks.”

He’s alive, you wanted to tell her. He’s alive he’s alive he’s alive and he’s here and he’s so much different than you or I could have ever possibly imagined.

But… you couldn’t say all that. Not when everything was still so disconcerting for you. Not when you were still struggling to come to terms with it yourself. Not when you knew she would never believe you.

“We still have some more albums to go through. I’ll send you more pictures if I come across them!” Isidora said eagerly. “It’s just… nice to have them, y’know?”

“Yeah,” you forced out, even as it felt like someone had grabbed a fistful of your insides and ruthlessly twisted. “It… It really is.”

That same evening you found yourself pacing relentlessly in your living room.

You could see Sebastian from the corner of your eye as he sat on your couch, his head moving side to side as he followed your movements.

“You’re gonna wear a hole in the carpet at that rate,” he told you, idly tugging at the cartilage piercing on his upper ear. “Relax.”

You ignored him.

Glancing out the front window, you could see the sun’s last vestiges of light disappear under the horizon, making way for a cool, dark night. You couldn’t see a wink of moonlight anywhere. Either a cloud was blocking it or it was a new moon, you weren’t sure. It didn’t matter though. Your insides felt like you’d swallowed a jar of jittering bees.

You were procrastinating, you knew. But part of you reasoned it was better to go under the cover of an almost vantablack night, the stars your only light. Your gaze darted to Sebastian, one of his feet jiggling slightly from where it was crossed over his knee. You worried your bottom lip between your teeth and turned back to stare out at the black, rolling sea.

Every time you closed your eyes you could see his face—inhuman and unfamiliar.

Did you want him back like this?

Something had happened to him. Something bad. The way he drew away from you was telling—the way he couldn’t quite look you in the eye. You wanted to ask him what happened, how he ended up like… like that. But you were scared of what his response would be.

All this time, he had been alive, somewhere, and you were none the wiser. You were none the wiser. It was as heartbreaking as it was utterly devastating.

You sighed and scrubbed your hands along your face. This wasn’t about you. This was about him—likely waiting for you by the shore. It was time to get a move on.

You patted yourself down and did a final sweep of your living room to make sure you’d packed everything neatly away. Then, you slipped out the front door, the moon finally making its presence known as the clouds parted overhead. Slowly, you made your way to the cove, carefully picking down a few steep rocks until your shoes came into contact with sand. There was a slight chill to the air as you trudged over to your usual spot and stood there, staring out at the sea.

You did not need to wait long.

“You’re here later than normal,” a smooth voice called out pointedly once his head broke through the waves. He swam closer leisurely—the teal glow of his eyes bouncing off the water in front of him—then lounged on his stomach a short distance away. Eyes fell into a half-lidded look. “Was beginning to think you weren’t gonna show up.”

You shifted on your feet, looking away from him to stare at the ground. “No I… I was just waiting for it to get darker.”

Sebastian hummed like he didn’t quite believe you. “Right. Well?” He seemed to brace himself. “I’m sure you have… questions.”

You did. You really, really did—brimming as they were on the tip of your tongue. But you swallowed them down, just for a moment.

“I do,” you told him, “but…” You hesitated.

He picked up on it right away, drawling out a “Buuut?”

You fidgeted with your fingers, rotating your ring around. “Do you… want to come in? First?”

There was a pregnant pause. You grimaced to yourself.

“You mean…?” His head flicked up towards the top of the cove, where your cottage stood idly waiting. The lights were still on inside, making the windows glow a warm, welcoming orange.

You nodded, then flapped your hands around nervously when his expression flattened out—unreadable. “Ah, I mean— I just thought it might be better? Than being out here, you know? But— But if you don’t wanna, we can stay outside, I don’t mi—“

He cut across your fumbling words. “Yeah, we can go. I just…” He trailed off, avoiding your gaze. “Didn’t expect you to offer, really.”

There was… honestly a lot to unpack there. But you could do that later.

“Alright, c’mon.” You lingered in place for a moment, then turned on your heel to make your way back over to the edge of the cove. You glanced over your shoulder when there was the sound of rushing water—thousands of droplets trailing down Sebastian’s torso as he lifted himself up from the tide and slid his way towards you.

It was… oddly captivating, watching him move. The anterior side of his body did not have scales like you’d assumed—there were scutes, instead, that helped him move easily across the sand. The thick muscles of his tail undulated side to side, displacing sand to leave a trail. You watched as the grains were pushed out of the way. The water that fell from his body and darkened the ground.

Shaking your head slightly, you turned to the rocks to begin your steady ascent.

The quiet of the climb was interrupted only by the occasional sound of waves forming and collapsing in the distance. You swept your gaze around the bit of the shore and dock you could see just in case there was anyone wandering about for a late night stroll. Luckily there wasn’t, but even if there was, you didn’t think they would be able to make out anything in the dark.

If you strained your ears hard enough, you could hear the steady slithering of Sebastian’s body as he followed somewhere behind you. It made the hairs on your arms stand up straight, the piercing feeling of being watched weighing heavily on your form. You peeked at him from time to time, watching the way he slipped easily over rock and grass. His long, thick tail extended far behind him and blended into the navy-blue shadows.

You… didn’t have much to say. Neither did he, apparently. But that was okay.

You shuffled up the last bit of the climb and rolled your shoulders once your feet found flat earth. Grass tickled at the exposed parts of your ankles as you tread over to your cottage to wait by the door. You couldn’t rid yourself of the prickling along your body.

He took his time to meet you there. You had a feeling that he could be much faster if he wanted.

He came to a stop by your side, his eyes slightly squinted as his tail pushed himself up much higher over you. And the two of you stood there for a moment. You, looking up at him. Him, looking down at you.

Neither of you said a word. Waiting for the other, you realized.

You cleared your throat, eyeing his taller—wider—form, then the front door’s frame. You… believed he would fit. Probably. You set your hand on the doorknob.

“Well,” you said in what you hoped was a casual manner, cracking the door open so that the inside light could spill forth across the shadowed ground. “Here’s home.”

You stepped inside, your body cutting through the light to cast a long shadow behind you. Sebastian hummed, and you looked at him to see he was lingering just out of reach of the light. Your head tilted at him.

“Mind turning the lights off?” he asked, grimacing slightly once the words left his mouth.

Oh. You paused and turned his request over in your head. You supposed you never did see him in broad daylight—it was always during the evening, when the sun had already turned in for the night.

You nodded and shucked your shoes off to the side before walking over to the wall that had your living room light switch on it. You flipped it off, darkness immediately dousing everything within its vicinity. You blinked, waiting for your eyesight to adjust. Moonlight through your open-curtained windows allowed you to just barely make out Sebastian’s form as he slowly moved his head and torso through the doorway. His teal eyes pierced through the shadows to land on you.

He shifted a little. “Wanna see a cool trick?”

“...Sure?” Confusion lined your voice.

The shadow of one of his arms reached up to pull on something and before you knew it, a warm, golden glow washed gently along the walls and floor of your cottage. You squinted slightly at the angler’s lure that curved down from the top of his head, breathtakingly luminescent. Hypnotizing, almost. Your stomach churned.

“S’better on my eyes than regular bulbs,” he explained in your silence, shifting further into the living room. “Easier to handle than the artificial light or whatever. Though darkness is, mh, ideal.”

Ah. “That makes sense.” You watched as his head turned this way and that while he took everything in. Your couch. Your sparse decorations. The small coffee table with books stacked atop it. The fluffy carpet on the floor. It made you feel awfully self-conscious. You rubbed your upper arm.

Exhaling lightly, you stepped back towards the front door once the last bit of his tail slipped inside and closed it gently. And once you turned around, you spent a moment to just… take everything in.

It felt like there wasn’t enough space to hold all of him, curled up as he was in your living room. His long, serpentine tail wrapped around your couch so that the wide flukes at its end rested heavily near your coffee table. And even then, he was still coiled in a way where his tail supported him up, his head nearly brushing the wood of your ceiling where he was tucked in a corner of the room.

A little too large. A little too out of place.

How in the world were you supposed to deal with this? How in the world was any of this real? You were still having difficulty wrapping your head around it.

Sebastian hummed, two of his hands clasping at each other while the third reached out to run its fingers across one of the cushions on your couch. “Cozy.” His gaze landed on you. “How long have you been out here for?”

You shrugged as you shuffled closer, stopping right by the curve of his tail. You stared vacantly down at it. “A while,” you told him. “After everything happened.”

“Not a fan of the city anymore, hm?”

You slowly shook your head. “No. It was just… too much.”

He nodded, a motion that made his lure bob slightly in place. The reach of it caused the room to be partially bathed in both light and shadow that shifted with even the smallest of movements. But you could still see the sopping wetness of his jacket. The way his waterlogged scarf hung heavily from around his neck, and his hair was plastered to the sides of his face. You frowned.

“Do you want a change of clothes or something?” you asked him, the words leaving your mouth before you could really process them. Your gaze trailed along his tail. Even the straps attached to it were still wet. That couldn’t be comfortable for him. Right? “Maybe a towel?”

He waved you off lazily with his third arm. You followed the gesture with your eyes, latched onto the bandages wrapped around his forearm. Those were wet as well. “Nah. I’m fine. Don’t you worry your sweet little head about me.”

Your frown deepened. It felt like all you could do was worry, now.

You fixed him with a stare. “Sebastian, you’re sopping wet. At least dry off. Or let me toss your clothes into the wash.” You pondered it for a moment. “Actually that might be better.” You’d only ever seen him in those clothes, after all—even if most of the time you’d thought he was well, not real.

He only grinned mischievously down at you, mouth full of sharp teeth that made something in your stomach lurch. “Already trying to get me out of my clothes?” he purred, eyes lowering into low crescents. “You rascal. Take a guy out to dinner first.”

You squinted at him. There was an air of forcefulness to his words that you were only just able to pick up on. Bravado. A facade. He was deflecting. And you were not about to be fooled by it.

“You’re making my floor wet,” you said flatly. His smile twitched slightly at the corners. “I’ll go see what I have. Though I don’t think there’s anything that’ll fit you, really.” You eyed his upper torso. “I think I have a large blanket, that might work.”

“I really must decline,” he said cooly, but you were already gone—stepping around his tail to head over to your bedroom. He called out your name in exasperation. “Are you listening to me? I said I’m fine.”

“Right, right,” you replied idly, opening your bedroom door so you could shuffle over to your closet in the dark. There were various linens stacked up on a shelf, and you pulled out a towel and a decently-sized blanket that you used occasionally when it was chillier. This would have to do. The thought saddened you.

Bundling them up in your arms, you shut the door with your heel and turned to make your way back to the living room.

Sebastian loomed in the doorway, the light from his lure gently lighting up the corners of your room. One of his hands braced against the top of the frame as he peered at you. “Awfully persistent, aren’t you?”

You rolled your eyes. “Come now,” you said as you approached him. He moved out of the way so you could step through the frame and look up at him. “Surely you don’t want to keep those on?” You held up the towel. “Here.”

“I assure you, I am more than a little used to some wet clothes,” he drawled as he reached out to carefully take it from your grasp. In his hold, it looked much smaller. He clutched it in a fist.

“Well, you don’t have to be”—you jabbed a thumb over your shoulder in the general direction of where your washer and dryer were tucked away—“It wouldn’t take too lon—”

He growled—a sound that made your hairs stand straight up on your nape. The room darkened fractionally. “I said no.” Eyes narrowing, he set you with a firm look. “You’ll quit asking if you know what’s good for you.”

There was a moment where you just watched him. Observed him, your eyes flicking over his face. The hair partially shielding his eyes. The way his lips pressed together in a thin line. This was not a battle you would win. And that was okay. Baby steps.

You took a deep breath. And then you exhaled it all out.

“Okay, okay,” you relented softly, averting your gaze to walk over to your couch. You dumped the blanket over it, then sat down wearily. “You win, for now. I don’t suppose you happen to have anything else to wear?” It was futile to ask, but you had to anyway.

“This was what I was given,” he said dryly, shifting on his tail so that he sat coiled upon it somewhere in front of you. He fidgeted with the towel. “You learn to make do.”

And wasn’t that a sobering thought.

You bit at your bottom lip, your fingers wringing together as you watched him use the towel to carefully dry his hair. You burned and burned with the number of questions that lingered bitterly on your tongue. You swallowed, and one of his ear fins twitched slightly.

Quietly, you asked, “What… happened?”

He stilled, staring down at the towel gripped between his fingers. And after what felt like a long, long time, he sighed.

“Better get comfortable,” he mumbled wearily and closed his eyes for a brief moment. “It’s a long story.”

You were woefully unprepared for a single thing that left his mouth.

A fake execution report. An experiment to give humans gills. Being trapped in an underwater facility for years. It all sounded like something straight out of fiction. You were beyond stupefied. In hindsight, thinking he was a hallucination wasn’t even the worst of it all, but it certainly didn’t make it easier to get rid of your own struggles with him actually being here right now. Part of you wondered if he was lying to you to avoid talking about something unfathomably worse—if such a thing even existed.

But he wasn’t. You saw it in the way his jaw tensed from time to time. The way he flexed his fingers and his tone changed into something much cooler. And even if what he was saying didn’t sound possible… it made sense. It made sense.

You didn’t know what to do with all of it. Didn’t know how to react, really. There was this gnawing pit in your chest that worsened with every word that left his mouth. You… couldn’t even begin to imagine what he had gone through. And even then, there were things he certainly wasn’t telling you. Call it intuition but… you could sense it. He didn’t tell you everything. And you were not sure how to feel about that. Still…

All this time… All this time.

And you’d been none the wiser.

“So how did you… escape?” you asked as you rubbed your fingers into your temples to stave off a growing headache.

Sebastian grinned, a sharp thing that showed the dark gums of his teeth. “They let their guard down.” The grin turned into more of a baring of teeth. “I stole a keycard, caused a sitewide lockdown. Liaised with one of Urbanshade’s competitors and they got me out in exchange for selling them data.”

You blinked at him. There it was again, that feeling that he was purposely leaving out details. You didn’t call him out on it. “And then you came… here?”

He made a noise, his shoulders shrugging. “Sure.”

“How did you even find—?”

He cut you off with a snort. “The power of corporations, babe. It was easy for them to find your location. Made my life easier when it turned out you were living on the coast now, too.”

You weren’t even going to deliberate that too deeply. “They just let you come here?” you asked dubiously.

“Mmmmyep.” He scratched slightly at the side of his face. “Don’t be mistaken, I’m still in contact with them. For ah, other business purposes.”

“Other business purposes,” you repeated warily.

Sebastian gave you a close-mouthed smile, his eyes crinkling shut. “Don’t you worry about it.”

Right, this again. It felt like you’d just aged fifty years in one sitting. You sighed and leaned back into the couch, your arms crossing over your chest. Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you wrestled internally with all that you had learned. A weight had been placed upon your shoulders. But you knew it was nothing compared to the one he carried on his own. You frowned, pinching at the bridge of your nose.

You felt sick. So, utterly, sick.

Sebastian was quiet now that he’d said his piece. He wrung the towel still in his hands together as he glanced around your cottage again. Eyes jumping from one thing to the other, though you had no idea what he was searching for specifically. Eventually, though, he spoke once more.

“...You never remarried.” It was said more as a statement than a question, like he knew even before saying it. You supposed if he’d been watching you all this time, it would have become apparent that you lived by yourself. You watched him carefully.

“No,” you replied simply. You showed him the ring still on your finger, the gold glinting up at him. “See?”

His gaze flicked down to look at your hand. His head tilted slightly, the light on his lure brightening minutely.

“Aww,” he cooed, “I knew you were still madly in love with me.”

You gave him a look—stricken as you were by his words. “Of course,” you said quietly, looking off to the side. “Always.”

He seemed to sober up at your words. He cleared his throat and looked away. But you still continued to gaze at him, your eyes flicking down to his third arm where you could see that glint of a band around his fourth finger. You hesitated, then steeled yourself for what you were about to ask of him.

“Sebastian,” you murmured. His ear fin flicked, but he didn’t meet your gaze. “Give me your hand.” Then, after a pause, you added, “Please.”

You think the request caught him off guard, just a little. He opened his mouth, but before a single word could escape, he glanced at your face and closed it abruptly. You wondered what he saw there. You waited as he seemed to mull your request over in his head. Then, he shifted closer to the couch—his larger body looming over your own and painting you in gentle, soothing light.

You reached out a hand, patient. He eyed it, then slowly, so slowly, he extended one of his arms.

You shook your head. “No, not that one.” You pointed to his third arm. “That one.”

He seemed taken aback. “You…” he trailed off, then shook his head with a sigh. “Alright.”

He lifted his arm up and reached towards you. Leaning forward, you met him halfway. But before you could touch him, you flicked your gaze up to his face. He watched you. Quiet. Intent. Not a single breath being taken between the two of you.

Your hands grasped at his own. Real, real, real, real. It was… strange. Different. You couldn’t help the way your insides writhed and writhed and writhed. Inhuman. Unfamiliar. His hand, even one that was starkly smaller than his other two, was so much larger than yours, now. Thicker. Colder. Harder. It felt like he had a shell of some sort encasing his fingers. And the tips of them were sharp like the end of a blade—carefully curled away from you as they were. You held onto one of his fingers and pondered upon the distinctness. Lost yourself in the feeling. His finger twitched under your grip.

(“Hey.” Sebastian nudged you with his foot, forcing you to tear your gaze away from your notes to raise an eyebrow at him. He was sitting on the other side of the couch, his back pressed against its arm. “Let me see your hand for a sec?”

“What for?” you asked warily, yet still extended your hand out to him. He gave you a small grin, then took your palm with a contemplative hum.

His free hand went up to his chin in thought as he twisted your own this way and that. “Ah. Just as I thought.”

“What?” you pressed him, not liking the glint in his blue eyes.

“You’re missing something,” he told you. “Something so important that I fear you might die if you don’t get it soon. Shit’s fatal, you know.”

You lowered your eyelids at him, not believing him for a second. “And that is?”

Sebastian hummed, nodding slightly to himself, before he laced your fingers together. Your palms pressed against one another, the sensation of warm skin encompassing your own. “There. You’re cured. You're welcome, by the way.”

You puffed out a laugh and tried to fruitlessly yank your hand away. His grip tightened. “Sebastian, how are we going to get any work done like this, huh?”

“Not my problem. I can work just fine with one hand.” He wiggled the fingers of his free hand at you, the black polish on his nails slightly chipped at the tips.

You rolled your eyes and stuck your tongue out at him. “Your hand’s all sweaty.”

“Rude. My hands aren’t sweaty, yours are.”

You gave him the stink eye. “No you.”

He mirrored your expression back at you. “Alright, get over here you little—” With a swift yank, he tugged you over to him. Yelping, you felt yourself get dragged across the couch until you found yourself trapped within his arms. They tightened around your body, and for extra measure, you felt one of his legs hook around the back of your own.

You gave a halfhearted wiggle, your cheek pressed against his chest. “This doesn’t help either of our productivities.” Your voice was muffled a bit. If you inhaled even just a little bit, you could smell his musk covered by the sweet scent of cinnamon. “You stink.”

He tightened his hold. You could feel his head lower to rest atop your own. “Think about what you’ve done and maybe I’ll let you go,” he murmured into your ear. You could practically hear the devious grin in his voice.

You only sighed in resignation and hid your smile in his shirt.)

You shook your head slightly, pushing down the ugly feelings crawling up your throat. Focus on the here and now. Peering closely at his fourth finger, you observed the gold band.

“That’s—a big ring,” you said slowly, squinting at it. There was no way that was the same one you both had exchanged at your wedding. It was much bigger, for one. And simpler. “What happened to the one I gave you?”

“Broke,” he replied with a forced casualness that you could smell from a mile away. His tail shifted behind him.

You raised an eyebrow. “Broke?”

He cleared his throat. “Yeah. Y’know, when the whole”—he gestured to his body loosely with a hand, making it seem like it wasn’t as big of a deal—“happened.”

“I see.” You cocked your head, running your thumb over the large ring. Once, then twice, then thrice. “So you found a new one?”

He grumbled something low under his breath. You glanced up at him to find him pressing the towel into the lower part of his face, not quite able to look at you anymore. “Yeah,” he begrudgingly admitted. There was a warmth in your stomach, somewhere, fed by the rosiness that you could see on his cheeks. You willed the feeling to chase away all the others that simmered under your skin.

You gave him a small, teasing smile. “Hmm. I knew you were still madly in love with me.”

He sniffed and tugged his hand away from your grip—incensed now that you threw his own words back at him. You let him go willingly, your smile turning into a grin. Your hands tingled in the aftermath of holding his own. “Shuddup, weirdo.”

You chuckled and spent a quiet, peaceful moment just sitting together in your cottage. Listening to the vague ticking of the clock that rested somewhere on a wall. You breathed in, then out, willing your mind to cease its incessant buzzing.

“...What now?” you quietly asked, your question lingering in the finite space of your living room.

Sebastian only watched you, his eyes a gentle glow. “I don’t know.”

You exhaled through your nose and glanced outside at the darkened sky. You could feel a specific kind of fatigue itching at your eyes. It was late, and the events of this evening had been so utterly exhausting. Still were, honestly. Rubbing a hand down your face, you stood up and stretched out your arms.

“It’s getting late,” you said, rolling your shoulders. “I need to sleep, I have work in the morning.”

He blinked, seeming to startle out of thought, and flicked his eyes over your face. His lips pursed. “Right, yeah,” he grumbled, shifting as he straightened up and turned towards your front door. “I’ll get outta your hair then—”

Instantly, your heart leapt up in your chest. You stopped him with a gentle touch on his arm. He jerked slightly before he turned to give you a questioning look. Pulling away, you held your hands in front of your sternum. “You’re leaving?” You did not want to admit to the vulnerability that coated your voice.

“...Duh?” He hesitated. “Don’t you… want me to?”

“Not at all,” you told him, stepping back to give him some space. “You can stay.” Then, timidly, you added, “For as long as you want.” You… thought it was a given that he could.

Sebastian stared. He stared and he stared and he stared until finally he slouched forward and released a long, long breath. “...Thanks.” One of his hands scrubbed at his face. He looked so tired. Your eyebrows furrowed.

“Make yourself comfortable.” You gestured at the living room, the blanket still piled upon your couch. “I’ll grab you a pillow, one sec.” You took a step back towards your room, then paused and turned back around. “Oh, I can take the towel too.”

He didn’t seem much for conversation anymore. He only nodded and handed back the towel to you, damp as it was from mopping up the water from his body. You could feel his eyes on you as you scurried back into your bedroom to sling the towel into your laundry hamper and grab an extra pillow from your bed.

“Here you are,” you said as you reentered the living room and tossed the pillow in his direction. You hoped it didn’t have any of your hair on it. He grabbed it out of the air with one hand, something contemplative to his gaze. “Help yourself to anything in the kitchen if you’re hungry. I think I have leftovers.” You shifted, pointing your thumb behind you at your bedroom. Was this okay? “I’ll… just be in there if you need me.”

And there it was again. That look on his face like he was battling something mentally. Like there was something just barely on the tip of his tongue that he wanted to say. He held onto himself, hands gripping at the folds of his jacket. Gazing at you so— so….

You hesitated, wondering if this was the right thing to do. You both were not the same as you’d been all those years ago. It made the air thick with something that went unacknowledged.

You broke the silence with a gentle clear of your throat. Baby steps, you reminded yourself. “Well… good night.” “...Good night,” he whispered, still watching you with this look in his eyes as you stepped into your room and finally closed your bedroom door with a quiet click.

part three

#icb i let this fic beat me up in an alleyway like this #shay scribbles daydreams #sebastian solace x reader #sebastian solace x you #pressure x reader #roblox pressure x reader #<- still takes me out #who i see au #if u guys saw that lactose intolerant fact ignore it i was wrong LMFAOO

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hayatoseyepatch · 16 days ago

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𝕯𝖊𝖘𝖈𝖗𝖎𝖕𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓: You swore grief followed you like a cloud. Losing those who you loved at every turn, but there was one positive at least you had Bachira to turn to for comfort. But you were soon to find out the mysterious deaths surrounding you werent such a mystery afterall. 𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖗𝖆𝖈𝖙𝖊𝖗: Meguru Bachira (Blue Lock) 𝖂𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝕮𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙: 1.9k 𝕮𝖔𝖓𝖙𝖆𝖎𝖓𝖘: Fem!Reader x Yandere!Bachira. ⚠️NSFW Dark Content⚠️. 𝕮𝖔𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖓𝖙 𝖂𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘: Knife play, stalking, NONCON, mentions of voyeurism, gas lighting, mentions of murder, obsessive behavior, blood, oral (fem!receiving), pussy slapping, degrading, mind break.

𝕬𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗’𝖘 𝕹𝖔𝖙𝖊: WE DID IT YALL! We have officially made it to the end of Kinktober!! This was my first time taking a stab (hehe) at this challenge and we may have had a few hiccups along the way, but we got here! I really wanted to end this month with a bang! So this is probably the most intense of the ones on this list. For this one more than all of the others, please be mindful of the tags. This is the most intense and dark fic I’ve done this month. You are responsible for the content you consume, if this is not for you please have a look at my complete masterlist for Kinktober here. This is also my second submission for the "No, You Hang Up" Ghostface server collab that I'm hosting with our other server owner @rindous-starlight I really hope you enjoy and thank you for sticking with me through it! Merry Samhein/Happy Halloween my loves!

Bachira’s eyes were locked on you, unblinking. His gaze was so intense he was surprised that you didn’t feel it through the glass of your window. You were so trusting, but oh so naïve. Not thinking for a moment that your sweet, ditzy, neighbor had such a deep-seated obsession with you. Couldn’t imagine that nearly nightly he sat by his window, the same one that was directly across from yours, eyes locked on your frame. As you changed, danced around, scrolled through your phone, and especially late at night when you let your hands roam your body. To Bachira, in his twisted mind, this was all intentional. Because for what other reason would you, in clear view with your blinds open, let your fingers sink into your delicious cunt? To Bachira he took it as you simply teasing him. Aching for him to make the first move.

You had moved to this neighborhood nearly a year ago. And you would be lying if you said it had been an easy year. The past year had tested you to the extreme. Within only a month your long-term boyfriend went missing. You and Reo had been together for almost ten years, high school sweethearts. You didn’t know what you would do, he had been all you’ve ever known. After spending weeks worried sick, never stopping looking for him, his body had turned up in the middle of the woods. Murdered. You couldn’t imagine who could do such a thing. Bachira had happened to return to his home when you were just wrapping up talking to the police, offering you a kind smile and a warm hug.

Bachira.

You don’t know what you would have done without him this past year. He had been there for you all through your grief, comforting you every step along the way. Despite what anyone said, you were eternally grateful for the sweet man. You best friend, Karasu, hadn’t liked him. Claiming something about “the guy’s vibe being off” and that he “seemed happy with your boyfriend out of the picture”. You two had gotten into an argument that night, after telling Bachira about your squabble the next day you were certain he was right.

Karasu had never liked Reo, claiming you could do so much better. That he and his best friend Nagi’s relationship was weird. But, no, Bachira was right he was projecting. Projecting that Bachira was the one happy Re was out of the picture when it was really him. That didn’t mean that he deserved what happened to him, however. You spent too many nights lying awake relaying the last conversation you both had on repeat. Screaming back and forth before he stormed out. Sure he had been so nasty to Bachira, who all he wanted was to be there for you, but he didn’t deserve…

He didn’t deserve to die.

Enough time had passed since Reo’s passing that you had begun to consider moving on. After Reo, and now Karasu, your late boyfriend’s best friend had begun checking on you more frequently. You weren't sure how it happened, maybe because you were missing Reo and being with Nagi felt like there was still a piece of him left behind. The both of you seek comfort in each other, eventually escalating, blossoming into a bit of an arrangement. The both of you weren't dating by any means, more seeking a body to keep the bed (and your cunt) warm. And it was working, going so well. It was nice having Nagi around, a familiar face you had known for so many years. Not having to rely on Bachira so much.

It wasn’t that you didn’t enjoy the sweet man’s presence, but you were starting to feel guilt for leaning on him so heavily. Bachira had been there for you through both tragedies this past year, now being your only friend in the world with the recent developments in you and Nagi’s relationship. When you had moved here, it was a distance away from your family. Having moved here to be closer to Reo’s work. Karasu was a good enough friend that he had found an apartment nearby, not wanting you to be so far away with no one. But, with him gone now too, it seemed like all you had was Bachira and Nagi. You were so grateful for Bachira’s presence, so lucky to have him in your life.

But oh how wrong had you been.

You wished you had listened to Karasu, that you had never moved here in the first place. Not as your feet slammed against the hardwood of the spacious home left to you in Reo’s absence. Not as you had come home that day to see your couch stained in his blood, his lifeless body being hovered over by the mysterious masked killer. And certainly not as the same man chased you throughout your home, his manic laughter seeming all too familiar. Once you were sure you had put enough distance between you both you ran toward your bedroom, slipping inside your closet.

That had been your first mistake.

The hand you had clamped over your mouth must have not been doing its job well enough

“Come on out, honeybee. I just wanna talk. I promise I wont hurt you, I’d never hurt you. I love you.”

You froze in place where you were hidden, your heart dropping to the pit of your stomach. You knew that voice. It couldn’t be. This couldn’t be happening …Bachira?

You let out an audible gasp, in hindsight that was most likely what had led him to your hiding spot. You let out a scream as the closet door is thrown open, mask discarded from his face now, allowing you to take him in. Crazed look in those honey-colored eyes you had grown to feel so safe when looking into, now causing bile to rise in your throat. Blood staining his hands and smeared on his cheek. Knife tossed aside somewhere on the bed as he collects you into his arms. An embrace where you once felt safe, now making you feel trapped, fear creeping up your spine. You let out a full body shudder as his nose nuzzles into the side of your neck.

“There you are my honey bee. Are you done hiding from me now?” His words come out muffled against your skin, tears pricking the back of your eyes.

“Bachira…why?”

His grip tightens on your figure, surely displeased with your words. His hand coming to your face in a harsh grip, eyes narrowed when looking into yours.

“Meguru.” He nearly growls. “You call me Meguru. People who are in love call each other by their first names. Now say it.”

You let out a hush whimper of his name and that seems to snap him back into his bubbly personality. Before you could comprehend what was happening his lips collided with yours, his tongue invading your mouth. Walking you backward until your knees hit the back of the mattress, causing you to fall back your body hitting the plush mattress with hm still on top of you You whimper, low and in the back of your throat, weakly trying to push him off of you.

“Please… Meguru, stop.”

This seems to upset him one again, his fingers curling around the bladed weapon that lay discarded on your mattress. You felt the cold blade caress the side of your face, cold metal, sliding down the column of your throat. His lips pressed to your ear as he speaks.

“It’s a shame what happened to your boyfriend.” Bachira purred, hand still coated in Nagi’s blood, caressing the side of your face. “All those muscles didn’t help much.”

You feel sick to your stomach, the knife against your throat a reminder of what could happen if you continue to disobey him. You shudder as his hand moves swiftly, cutting through the fabric of your dress and bra, eyes locked on your now-exposed chest. Hearing is mumbled ‘so beautiful. Before he ducked down, capturing one of your nipples between his soft lips. The hand not still holding the knife thumbs your neglected bud to a peak before pinching it between blood-stained digits. With every touch to your skin, more of the evidence of what he had down stains your body. He pays attention to your sensitive buds, grinding his hips into your own. You know you should feel appalled, feel disgusted that the very man who had caused you so much grief was on top of you. Touching you.

So why did it feel so good?

Why did you crave more of his touch?

Why were your hips meeting his own?

Perhaps it had been because it had been a while since you had been touched like this. Nagi found most things to be a hassle, often falling asleep almost immediately after he came. Whatever the reason you were mortified to find yourself craving more. Allowing him to slip your clothes properly off of your body. Not fighting when his lips traveled down your frame. And certainly not when he used his index and middle fingers parted your folds so he cold duck his head down and lick a fat stripe up your soaked cunt. Bachira’s body had a visceral reaction to your taste, burying his face in your cunt, his tongue alternating between licking fat stripes against your clit to pointed circles tracing shapes against the bundle of nerves. His hips grind desperately against the mattress in search of friction to his achingly hard cock. But his head was too pussy drunk already, your taste having his eyes rolling back in his head, eating you like a man starved. Like his life depended on the sustenance of your juices.

He leans back after a moment, admiring you being so exposed for him, hand rearing back to slap your exposed cunt. You cry out, pain immediately being replaced with pleasure as he dives back down, burying this face into your folds once more. His nose bumps your clit as his tongue invades your entrance, curling inside you. He collects your juices on the wet muscle, withdrawing from inside you he pushes himself up. Tongue lolling out of his mouth, allowing your juices, mixed with his own saliva, to drip down on your neglected clit. You whine, the warmth contrasting to the cold of the room. You’re shaking, trying to hold the position he’s placed you in.

Hands gripping your waist tighter than before, which you were sure would leave imprints, if not bruises on your skin in the morning. Lips attach to your clit, tongue flicking rapidly, only pausing to occasionally bite or suck on the sensitive flesh. Your hips pick up speed, practically riding his tongue as your hips buck against his face. The familiar feeling of warmth spreads throughout your stomach, your body hurtling toward your orgasm at an alarming rate. Bachira feels your thighs spasm, both hands now gripping your ass, to pull your cunt down further onto his face, head bobbing to coax you into cumming for him. You release with a scream, thighs trapping his head between your legs, only releasing once you’ve come done from your high. Your chest rising and falling with heavy pats, not noticing Bachira throwing the cloak off of his body, freeing his cock from the confines of his underwear. Only snapping back into reality as you feel the drag of his cock between your folds, the tip of him nudging your entrance, his lips brushing against your ear as he spoke.

“Now, be a good girl and scream for me, yeah?”

𝕯𝖎𝖛𝖎𝖉𝖊𝖗𝖘 𝖇𝖞 @/𝖈𝖆𝖋𝖊𝖐𝖎𝖙𝖘𝖚𝖓𝖊 & @/𝖘𝖆𝖗𝖆𝖉𝖎𝖐𝖆-𝖌𝖗𝖆𝖕𝖍𝖎𝖈𝖘.

𝕿𝖆𝖌𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙: @pixelcafe-network @interstellar-inn @littleplantfreak @maruflix @umemiaa @stunies @eevees-hobbies @143-ilyuu @uzxotic @princesstiti14 (𝖕𝖑𝖊𝖆𝖘𝖊 𝖋𝖊𝖊𝖑 𝖋𝖗𝖊𝖊 𝖙𝖔 𝖈𝖔𝖒𝖒𝖊𝖓𝖙/𝖉𝖒/𝖆𝖘𝖐 𝖎𝖋 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖜𝖔𝖚𝖑𝖉 𝖑𝖎𝖐𝖊 𝖙𝖔 𝖇𝖊 𝖆𝖉𝖉𝖊𝖉 𝖙𝖔 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖙𝖆𝖌𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 𝖋𝖔𝖗 𝖘𝖔𝖒𝖊 𝖔𝖗 𝖆𝖑𝖑 𝖔𝖋 𝖒𝖞 𝖐𝖎𝖓𝖐𝖙𝖔𝖇𝖊𝖗 𝖋𝖎𝖈𝖘) (ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ.ﾟ

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navybrat817 · 1 month ago

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How would Bucky (any of the soft boyfriends like Stud or the Florist) handle it when their girl gets bad news? Like a death in the family or something of that nature? I could use some soft sweet Bucky.

As someone who was hit with unexpected grief this week, it's tough.

Not Okay

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky comforts you after a bad day.

Word Count: Over 900

Warnings: Established relationship, grief, hurt, crying, comfort, slight feels (it's me), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: You're free to picture this as regular Bucky, Stud, our florist, anyone. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You heard a long time ago that grief comes in waves. Or did it flow through people like a river? Perhaps both. One moment you were fine and then the next you felt as if the tide would sweep you away. It pulled you under, the pain and sorrow like weights dragging you down. It was dark. Hopeless. You feared you wouldn't be able to surface again.

And then out of nowhere, light sometimes burst through the grief like a guiding hand.

“Hey.” A familiar voice beckoned you to pull yourself out of your throbbing head, to not drown in your sorrow. “Are you okay?”

With blurry eyes, you looked up to find Bucky standing over you with concern written all over his handsome face. When did he come in and when had you collapsed on the couch? It was too much of an effort to make it to your bedroom at the time. Why was grief so tiring? Why were normal tasks so hard to manage?

Bucky crouched down, hesitating for a moment as he reached for you. “Is it okay if I touch you?” He asked. Sniffling, you gave him a nod. It meant the world that he asked. The warmth of his touch seeped into you as he helped you sit up, his hands moving up and down your arms in a comforting motion. Why were you so cold? “Can you tell me what's wrong?” He reached up to brush a tear away with his thumb.

There were so many unspoken questions in his stare. What happened? Who did this to you? Are you hurt? How can I make it better? Are you going to be okay? You sensed how badly he wanted to comfort and protect you from whatever he could. He was the kind of man who would have spared you pain and taken it into himself if he had the ability to do so.

How did you get so lucky?

"I…" To say nothing would've been a lie since you were clearly hurting. To say everything also would've been a lie. You were still breathing and had a roof over your head. Tears ran down your cheeks, so you were still feeling and that was better than being numb to it all. You had Bucky. Those were all good things, things to be thankful for.

But not every day could be warmth and smiles. Today was a day of coldness and tears and you were in the eye of the storm, the screams in your head drowned out by the rest of the noise. You had to push through because once the dust settled the sun would come out again. It seemed so far away though, so out of reach.

Bucky wiped another tear, not pushing you to say more. Why couldn't you just tell him what was wrong? It should've been an easy question to answer, but being vulnerable and talking about feelings rarely was. It was like cutting open your own heart and asking someone else to stop the bleeding.

I’m in pain, Bucky. It hurts. It hurts so much and it isn’t fair. Please, take it away. If you can’t take it away, please, make it better somehow. I don’t want to carry this alone.

Maybe that’s why the words were stuck in your throat. You didn’t want your burden to become his. How was that fair? But looking into his blue eyes, you were reminded that relationships were about give and take. Some days you’d have to carry each other through the dark times and other days he’d lift you up. The scale would tip until it balanced again.

That was love.

“I got some bad news today,” you finally whispered, trying not to shatter into a million pieces. Grief didn’t care if you wanted to stay whole or not. It would find the smallest of cracks and burst through whether you wanted it to or not.

Bucky nodded in understanding, still not pressuring you to say more. He knew you’d tell him exactly what happened once you were ready. “I’ll order us something for dinner,” he offered. If he cooked for you, he’d be apart from you for too long. Ordering would allow him to stay with you if you needed him. And you had to eat. “And maybe a movie on the couch under a blanket?” He suggested, so you wouldn’t have to move out of the room if you didn’t want to.

“Yeah. That sounds nice.” You tried to give him a smile after he kissed your forehead. “Thanks.”

“What else can I do?” He asked, searching your face for the answer. “Please, tell me.”

“Just hold me,” you answered. A simple request, but one that took a lot to ask for.

He gathered you into his arms and held you tight, allowing you to stain his shirt with your tears. Crying helped you cleanse your soul, allowing you to let go of things unsaid and slowly start anew. He gently rocked you as the sobs faded to tiny sniffles and he whispered how much he loved you. Through your crying you said you loved him, too. You’d always love him.

Time passed as he continued to hold you, neither of you wanting to move. The hurt didn’t fade completely, but him being your rock and wrapping you up in love was the soothing balm you needed. And for today, that was more than enough.

We could all use a Bucky. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

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silliewrites · 2 months ago

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If I could save time in a bottle...

summary: [Platonic Logan Howlett x gn!reader/ famillial dynamics} After the passing of your parent figure some years ago, your friend Wade comes back from a deadly mission with a replica of him. You also soon learn that someone that is definitely not Wade has something to do with the mess that is currently the resting place of that loved one. Finally, you and the ‘worst’ Wolverine find you are on the road to healing together.

wc: 3.4k

warnings: angst and comfort, grief, strong language, brief mention of child death (in worst! Logan's universe), spoilers for Deadpool & Wolverine as well as Logan (2017), the bye bye bye scene is treated as grave desecration (which i mean,it is… but reader is naturally gonna see nothing humorous about it)

a/n: This is a bit of a mess because I never write, yet I have so many feelings and thoughts I had to do something with them. Not having seen a platonic fic of this kind anywhere I guess I had to make one. Also..I did some basic research on the general deadpool canon yet..I’m not entirely informed, having not watched deadpool 2… let’s hope for the best

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

You used to be the youngest student in the X mansion back in the day, just a child having mutated under life altering circumstances, the usual.

It was Logan who found you. He was your rock during and after the traumatizing event of your mutation, taking you in and placing you in the arms of the X-men and thanks to him they became your family.

You saw him no less than as a father. Despite his brooding, harsh exterior it was never difficult for you to see that he cared.

He never shot you down when you knocked on his door in the middle of the night, sobbing after another brutal nightmare. He took you seriously when you talked about your fears and worries. He saved you and helped you stand on your feet more times than you could count.

Seeing death and bad things happen to your family of mutants always hurt viciously but when Logan died it felt like something you would never get over.

With your abilities generally under control, you chose to avoid actively partaking in X men work (Not that you refused your assistance, if someone called for you specifically. It had better be very urgent though.)

So you tried to find a rhythm of what resembled a normal life for the most part, a decent job and some good friends. That was what he would have wanted, no, said he wanted for you.

You kept ties with Laura too, having bonded over your shared grief, the man having died in her arms after all. She was some years younger than you and you were happy to consider her a good friend, the younger sibling type.

Some years ago she had disappeared, causing you yet another source of anxiety. Turns out she herself had been banished to the Void. The relief you felt when Wade came back from that limbo hell while managing to bring her back too, was immense. You have never hugged anyone tighter than Laura the day you saw her again.

Speaking of Wade, through this and that, you had also become acquaintances. He had needed your assistance when he was forming his X force crew and you had hesitantly accepted, making it clear that this would be an one-time thing.

He seemed to be a "Wolverine fanboy" in his own words which caused him to bombard you with childish questions about him until you very firmly made him aware of your boundaries. There was a time and place to talk about Logan.

When that shitshow was over with, you did not mind him considering you your friend. Sure, he was a bit much for you, not a huge fan of his 'humor' but seeing him in moderation was not unpleasant…Alright, maybe you did enjoy his company and friendship, it was as simple as that.

After a chat with him, you learned that the rent in his apartment building was relatively cheap for New York standards, so when it was time to move out of your previous place, that was where you went.

Then the damn timeline thing happened. You were pretty confused as to how exactly the events played out, not being involved, thankfully. But the crazy fucker did it, he saved the universe from extinction apparently. And not exactly by himself.

Logan was there. Not your Logan but apparently a variant of him was necessary to pull the mission off.

And now that version of him was Wade's roommate. Great. Perfect. Definitely something easy for you to process in the days to come.

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

You first saw them after the mission on your way to catch a cab to the airport. It was that time of the trimester when you were to visit him. Bleak yet you longed to see him and speak to him, even if he was resting under the earth.

Wade had the decency to explain everything to you once it was decided that Logan’s variant would be staying. He knew that you never really stopped grieving and you appreciated the warning that basically an almost exact replica of your dead father figure would now roam around your earth.

Almost exact, because according to Wade, this Logan was more of a dick, more crude and erratic, apparently rendered by his extra layers of grief and hatred. Partially understandable but you would not accept that as an excuse if he said something cruel in front of you, you would probably introduce him to your interesting mutative abilities. You let Wade know so that he could warn mr stick-up-his-ass. Wade more than happy to accept, still assured you that with the life or death mission being over, Logan was attempting to be more approachable.

The feelings this new reality brewed in you were..mixed, to say the least.

You made eye contact with Wade from across the street and of course he shot up from the bench he was sitting on, dropping his half eaten sandwich to the ground, moving his arms vigorously in the air, catching not only your attention but any other passerby's.

Even though your stomach turned at having to face the him, you wanted to check up on Wade after all this madness he went through. And on his friend as well, you supposed.

You looked both ways before passing the street and before you knew it, Wade’s arms wrapped around your neck. You patted his back with one hand, unable to help the choking sounds that left you.

“It’s so good to see you, my little honey pumpkin bear!” He squealed excitedly while squeezing the dear life out of you. He really thought he’d never see his friends again, huh.

“Oof, yeah Wade, it’s really nice to see you too, please just-” You broke free of his hold and held an arm’s distance between the two of you. You patted his arm and gave him a small but genuine smile. “Really glad you’re ok. Not that I expected anything le-”

Your words slowly died out when your gaze met Logan’s. He was sitting on the bench observing the interaction silently. He looked just like you remembered him, minus some differences. Well, obviously he was supposed to be the same person yet..he was not.

He looked up at you, brows furrowed while his eyes scanned through your face before flashing with what seemed like recognition (Not that you knew what it was he was seeing) He seemed tense and his mouth gaped before he turned his attention to the ground.

Wade naturally noticed the uncomfortable tension between the two of you and he decided to chime in quickly.

“Ah, yes this is the Wolverine I had to kidnap to help me with the time ripper bullshit and oh boy, did he deliver!”

You kept your eyes on the Variant, forcing yourself into a polite smile (that resembled more of an awkward line) and you extended your hand to him, causing him to lift his gaze at you again.

“Nice to meet you...Logan. Thank you for your help with unscrewing our timeline” You said as pleasantly as you could and he took your hand after a moment of hesitation, shaking it with a gentle firm and a silent nod.

His presence..It made your stomach turn. Feeling the threat of your vision getting watery, you quickly averted your gaze away from the two, as subtle as you could manage.

“I..Wade, m’ sorry, would love to sit a bit more but I have to go-”

“Hey wait, tomorrow we’ll be having a get-together to celebrate the un-fuckery of the universe, a partEy if you will! Everyone will be there, Al will be making that terrible casserole you really like also!”

You gave him a melancholic smile, genuinely sad you would not be able to attend. Logan’s variant was back to looking at the ground.

“Ah, I’m sorry, I won’t make it, I’m afraid. I’m going to the airport right now actually, will be off for the next three days. Gotta see someone..”

“Ooooh” Wade whistled while wiggling his brows “and is that someone maybe a super hot sexy mysterious boyfriend? Or girlfriend? Or theyfriend? Or-”

“Heh, nope. Nothing like that unfortunately.”

“Sure, sure, keep your secrets, you ankle biter, but promise to pass by the apartment once you’re back, we gotta catch up!”

You nodded. “Of course. See you then.”

Two days later you found yourself back in New York in a rush, in front of Wade’s apartment door, ready to invent a way that would actually exterminate him.

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

Nothing prepared you for the mess you saw in what was supposed to be Logan’s resting place.

The snow had ceased completely. With a simple look his grave was undug and the makeshift X was missing. When you approached, the little fresh snow that had fallen last night was covering various types of debris. Some type of fight had taken place and someone had collected the bodies in a rush yet they did not bother with what you spotted after closer inspection and some digging with your hands.

Metallic looking appendages…These were…

You looked inside the open grave. The snow had barely covered the remains in there and it was obvious they were not even half of what they were supposed to be.

You suppressed the violent urge to vomit. Someone had taken him out, violated his remains and as if in a haste, threw them back in.

You dug through the snow with bare hands around the grave. A fragment here. A fragment there. The spine. What was left of the cranium. White hot rage.

You called Laura with shaking hands. Offended would be an understatement for how she sounded, as well, unaware of who could have possibly caused this. Why were you even calling her, poor girl was in the void for a while now, what could she possibly do or know?

You hung up with the intention of looking through the situation a bit more and catching her up later.

While trying to stay calm and focusing all your mental energy on collecting, wiping and gently placing the remains back in the hole, it clicked.

Wade.

From the few words you two had exchanged ever since he was back, you gathered he turned every stone to find “a Wolverine” to assist him. Yet you could not imagine what the everloving fuck would he defile your Wolverine’s grave for and what caused him to spread his bones all over like fucking confetti.

You would not stand for this. Just because Wade saved the stupid timeline, he did not automatically become immune to the most extraordinary ass whooping of the century. If he had something to do with this, you would not forgive him easily, if at all

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

After taking a deep breath, you rang the bell. Tapping your foot on the ground, you heard some mumbling and shuffling before the door opened.

Wade made a surprised expression that resembled a caricature.

“Sweet baby cakes! You're back already? Come on in, I was just thinking about starting a gossip girl marathon. Again!”

Wade's cheerful expression fell almost immediately when you stayed still for a moment too long, not responding.

Althea did not seem to be home. Good.

Wade's expression morphed into one of concern.

“Pumpkin, is everything-”

“Wade. Guess where I just came back from.”

You took a slow step forward, dropping you backpack to the floor.

“Erm..a male stripclub full of hot babes?”

“North Dakota.”

“Don't you say! Did North Dakota had any good male strip-” He stopped himself before realization hit him. “And..may I ask..what was it you were doing in North-”

“You know very well what.”

Wade put his hands in front of him defensively and closed the door. “Hey Pumpkin, why don't you just sit so that we can-”

“Shut. Up.” You whispered.

“When I got to his grave, someone had completely messed it up. Signs of fighting around. Do you happen to have anything to do with that?” You said in a dangerously low voice, eyes glued on him.

Wade, whose mouth formed into an awkward line, clearly not having a reasonably enough excuse to give you.

“Er, you see, um remember when I was looking for a Logan, well I started my search with the OG, you know, just to make sure he was dead dead and unfortunately he was and um then you see err the TVA showed up and um-”

He stopped when you put your hands on your face, squeezing it while a muffled screech of rage escaped you.

“You motherfucking, with no semblance of decency, insensitive prick. You defiled Logan's remains and used them as a shield, throwing them around like toys? And you have the nerve to come back home and look me in the eye after the fact? To look Laura in the eye? Do you not have any fucking shame? Am I simply an afterthought to you?”

Silence. You could not see through the tears. With shaky hands you pulled out of your pocket a tiny clothed item and you carefully unwrapped the cover to reveal a small metallic fragment.

“You may think everything's a fucking game but that man was my family, and worst part is you know this very damn well! How dare you!”

“You have every right to be angry, just let me-”

You grabbed the first object you could reach, which was a half empty bottle of liquor and threw it across the room, causing it to smash angrily on the wall of the living room. Wade winced slightly before groaning in frustration.

With that, a bedroom shot open and an alarmed Logan variant made an appearance, claws already out.

“What the fuck is hap-”

He stopped in his tracks seeing it was just you. He probably had already heard your yelling earlier yet it did not answer any questions about what was going on.

“What the hell, kid?” he said with a subtle hint of alarm.

You take a step towards him, looking up at his face, paying no mind to his blades that were now retreating back inside. God, how it hurt to stare right into his features. Feeling a wave of nausea, you picked up your bag and turned your back to the two men.

“Wait, can't we just talk about this?” Wade said

“No, you ruined my week enough” You mumbled bitterly before exiting his apartment. Week, more like, year.

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

The roof of the building was pretty nice, you always preferred it when you wanted some time to yourself outside the walls of your apartment. You rarely ever saw any other tenant there, especially in the late afternoons.

This is where you found yourself that night, elbows supported on the railing, observing the busy street from above while sipping on bad beer.

How you wished he was there right now. How you wished for one more simple moment with him, where you could just be in his presence once again, chat about nonsense or simply sit in comfortable silence next to him.

What would he think of you as the person you were trying to become? Would he be proud of you?

How you wished he would put his hand on your shoulder comfortingly right now.

You missed him. So much.

A high pitched creak came from the direction of the heavy door behind you, causing you to jump a little and instinctively wipe the fresh tears that you just then realized were running down your face.

“Sorry, kid, did I scare you? They mustn't have oiled this door in fucking ever..” There was Logan, the new one. Whatever entity was reading your thoughts a moment prior must be finding your misery hilarious.

“Hope I’m not bothering you”

“No, no. I don’t own the rooftop..” You mumbled softly, turning your attention back on the street, trying to ignore the feeling of clear tension he brought with him. You swore to God, if he was about to make a crass comment..

He came to stand next to you, mimicking the position of your elbows on the railing. He himself was holding a glass, filled with one most likely alcoholic liquid.

“That asshole told me everything about the grave thing. If I were you, I would have torn him apart.”

“I’m sure you already know this isn’t possible by any means”

Logan huffed. “Oh, believe me, I do. I’ve tried at least three times”

You gave a noncommittal nod, trying not to focus too much the gruff voice you always found so comforting.

“...You know..You existed in my timeline too” He mumbled before gulping a generous sip of his drink.

That made you look up at him, surprised. “I…did?”

“Oh, yes you did. Lively little brat you were.” He said with a laugh you could only describe as melancholic. He said it like it hurt.

“You went through so much for a child. And you did cry quite often ‘cause of it, yet you were still so..” He seized, taking a heavy breath and emptying his glass. “So full of life. A good kid.” The city lights reflecting on his eyes, making it easier for you to see how watery they were.

“I..assume I…”

You were interrupted by another one of those devastating low laughs that made your heart ache.

“Yeah. You were among them. Those fuckers did not even spare a fucking child. I was the one who got you with the X-men and it ended in..” He hissed through his teeth and half closed mouth. He took a moment to collect himself and breathed out.

“I’m so sorry, Logan.” You whispered genuinely. You didn’t know what to say.

“Don’t be, …sorry, didn't mean to make it about myself.”

“You didn’t, really!”

A moment of awkward silence before you decided to share your piece.

“My Logan, er, you..I suppose it’s more or less the same as it was in your world but..you were like a…You were the closest I ever felt to a parent. I grew up because of you and..yeah, when I was around 17, you died.” It was almost funny how much you oversimplified those statements but it was the best you could manage at the given moment.

He nodded, listening intently.

“I’m sure that..If he saw how you grew into who you are today, doing your own thing, in spite of the mutation shit and all…he wouldn’t change a thing about how all these fucking events went down..”

“You..think so?”

He chuckled, giving you a small smile, tired but genuine.

“Hell, I know so.” he said. You could tell. You could tell that he desperately wished this was how the events played out in his own world, with the other you alive and a bright future ahead of them.

You hesitated for a moment, not sure if what you were about to say would be too much for him. Then again, it was him who approached you with this vulnerable conversation.

“For what it's worth I would… they would want you to keep on living. Not forget them, not at all. Just..be. Be a person. Make friends and..live.”

He looked you in the eye for a second, before averting your gaze and looking anywhere but you. This was hard for him. But he was trying.

He patted your back firmly. “Thanks, kid.” It was a very simple thing you told him yet you could not possibly know what it meant to him.

You thought that maybe you got what you wished for. Not exactly and certainly not ideally. But you and this Logan had something in common. Maybe, you could help and comfort each other in a way nobody else possibly could.

“Y’ know..I'm glad you got to stay, Logan.”

A smile. “I'm glad to be here, kiddo.”

A pause.

“How long do you think I should make Wade do my laundry for? Y'know. For retribution?”

“Oh, six months at least, bub..”

You stayed for a couple hours chatting above the restless city, topics including but not limited to work, university and acquaintances.

Your pain was soothed a tiny bit and you hoped Logan's was too. You had a lot of time ahead of you to work on that further, after all.

#deadpool and wolverine #deadpool 3 #wolverine x reader #platonic!reader #logan howlett x reader #worst!wolverine x reader #worst!wolverine #x men

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reiderwriter · 1 year ago

Note

Hi!!! I really love your writing 🥺 Idk how this works so Idk if my request is alright so If it's ok for you to write it, I got this idea about Spencer turning into a player/manwhore after maeve died so he's not into y/n in the beginning but the others always joke about how she's totally in love with him and he doesn't believe until he starts to notice little things she does for him(like getting him coffee every morning, remembering everything he says) so he start to fall for her. Genre: smut with soft!Dom Spencer, dirty talk, degradation(please no daddy kink) (Sorry if it's to long, I read it's best for you if we give as much detail as possible so that's that) I'm going to identify myself with this emoji 🥺 when I read the fic or in my next requests, hope I gave you something to write with.

A/N: Thank you for the request and omg this plot has given me brain rot since you sent it in 💀 I accidentally made this a little angst-heavy for the first half but there's a very "happy ending" if you catch my drift. I hope you love it! ❤️

Summary: Spencer Reid's heart is broken. But in healing himself in the arms of countless woman, he doesn't realise he's breaking yours.

Word count: 4.6k

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, angst, oral (F receiving), fingering, P in V penetration, dirty talk, degradation of you squint a little, soft!Dom Spencer is incredibly soft.

My masterlist with all my other works is here, and my requests are open!

It had taken four whole months before someone on the team had confronted Spencer about his grief, his lack of sleep, his overall dreariness, and they were almost shocked that it wasn’t you that did it. When Rossi had walked up to him, offering a story about his Uncle Sal in an attempt to get him to open up, or at least seek help, the others were on the other side of the glass, shooting looks over at you, quietly enquiring with their eyes about why it hadn’’t been you to offer him that out.

But you had, you’d been trying. You’d been following him around, taking him food every couple days to make sure he was eating, sticking around to make sure that he wasn’t lonely. You’d even cleaned up after him on the particularly hard days, where he didn’t want to move from his bed and couldn’t bring himself to go outside if there was no work, no one else to save. But you couldn’t offer him more, because he already had all of you.

You’d first realised that you were in love with Spencer Reid a few months after you’d joined the team. You’d been bought on as a fresh set of eyes on a case that had a lot more to do with you then the rest of the team had been led to believe.

Your high school boyfriend had been the victim of a notorious highway murderer, and you yourself had been kidnapped by the unsub, put in hell for the following three days and escaped with your life only because of an earlier BAU team, including agents Hotchner and Rossi. When bodies had started turning up on the same stretch of highway, you needed to be involved or you’d never prove to yourself that you could do what they did to save you. That you’d be able to put your feelings aside and catch monsters.

You’d found the man responsible of course, and in restraining yourself from putting a bullet in his brain, you’d found yourself a place on the team, and some peace for a time. And then Spencer happened.

You really should have known. You were always fond of the nerdy type, of men who had such deep interests that they forgot to pay attention to social queues, who had too many cute habits (like purposefully mismatching socks) that you couldn’t help but find endearing. You’d grown close quickly, with the man grateful that there was finally someone to listen to him ramble and not judge him, and you grateful that he also held himself back enough, listened closely and well to remember so many details about your conversations. You knew an eidetic memory helped, but it was the care in the small actions, like buying you the beanie baby you lost as a child but still mourned, that you’d mentioned in conversation a grand total of one time, that really solidly made you realise. You were in love with him and had dug yourself a hole that you weren’t going to be able to climb out of anytime soon.

You’d almost told him once. Convinced that if you just explained your feelings, he’d suddenly feel the same or realise that he felt the same way, too. You’d opened your mouth to let the words run freely, but he beat you to it.

“I’ve met someone, and she’s totally brilliant and I think I might love her, and that must be an insane thing to say considering I’ve never even seen her face.” You’d willed the broken pieces of your heart together as you forced a smile on your face, ready to listen to the man who owned your heart smile for another, live for another, breath for another.

When Maeve had ultimately passed away, you knew that you’d never be able to say those words to him. You weren’t going to be the replacement for a dead woman, and you weren’t going to push those feelings on him when he was grieving. But you loved him and he needed you, so you stayed.

On the nights where he was so angry with the world that his words were biting, on the days where he said almost nothing so trapped inside his brain, in the hours between dusk and dawn where there was no rest for him, wiping away the tears that fell silently and just being as near to him as he needed.

You had some experience in broken hearts, anyways. You might as well put it to good use.

–X–

It had taken five whole months since Maeve’s death for the team to realise that Spencer was changing. He was still the same person intrinsically, ready to spring into a conversation about absolutely anything and everything that interested him at the drop of a hat, still debating with Penelope about which of them was smarter, still being teased in that playful way by Morgan. But there was a confidence to him now that was almost dangerous in the fact that it was uncharted territory for him.

You’d noticed it first on one of your regular coffee runs. The two of your were so serious about your coffee tasting like anything but actual coffee that you’d bonded over the need for a sweet treat, and had been going for coffee before all of your office shifts almost since you’d started. You were glad to have him finally back by your side, making stupid jokes about how many philosophers it would take to change a lightbulb, and actually smiling and laughing with you that you almost didn’t notice anything amiss.

But when the barista who took his order carefully slipped him her number - something she’d been doing for the whole six months you’d been frequenting that cafe - for once, he hadn’t thrown it away. He’d taken a lingering look at the digits inked neatly into the napkin and quietly slipped it into his pocket. You were confused to say the least, but since that night of your almost confession, there had been a boundary between you two in that sense.

It was almost as if, if you didn’t ask questions about Spencer’s love life, it was like he wasn’t out there, being in love. With Maeve it had worked fine because he’d never met her, and honestly, until you’d started trying to save her he hadn’t brought her up a lot. But now, you were too afraid to break your own heart again to check up on him, deciding to let it go for your own well-being.

The others had noticed soon enough. Comments about a pep in his step, his flirtacious manner with some of the female witnesses. He’d gained a few claps on the back from Morgan after closed off conversations that you had decided you were thankful not to have heard.

Because if you never saw or heard what Reid was doing, and apparently doing with multiple women, multiple times a week, then it couldn’t hurt you anymore than you were already hurting now.

–X–

It took seven months from Maeve’s death to realise that you were only fooling yourself this entire time.

Despite his new-found release, the therapy he’d found in the beds of women whose names he never learnt, there was one thing that you could still rely on with Reid, and that was your Friday night Star Trek watch-along.

You’d mentioned once a few weeks into your job that you’d never seen it before, and he’d had this absolutely starry-eyed look on his face in bewilderment, that when he’d half-heartedly suggested you watch it together, you’d leapt at the chance. Since there was so much of it, here you were over a year later, still keeping to that Friday night ritual. You’d watched it together in motels in the middle of nowhere, you’d watched it together over the Christmas holidays, you’d watched it together in the days directly after Maeve’s death, and tonight was supposed to be no different.

You pulled up to his apartment and knocked on the door, and when you couldn’t immediately hear him shout to “come in” from his kitchen as he was preparing the popcorn, you knew that something was wrong. His door was always unlocked, and he laughed at your habit of knocking on the door, insisting that you could just walk in anytime you needed.

Now that you needed to, your hand seemed heavier than ever. You gripped the cold metal of the handle, knowing exactly what you would find on the other side of the door, but still wanting to live in the clear denial of it. You prayed it was something else keeping him distracted.

You let yourself in and were welcomed with the sight that shattered your heart for the final time. There were clothes scattered across the floor, male and female. Shoes discarded in the heat of the moment. You didn’t want your eyes to follow, but your feet weren’t listening as they walked you to the bedroom door, thrust wide open, and you saw him there finally.

“Shit, Y/N, what are you doing here?” he scrambled to pull his clothes back on, to cover whatever woman it was underneath him that day, to make sure you didn’t see anymore of the image that would be burned into the back of your brain for the rest of your life.

You couldn’t say anything. You knew that he had been doing this, doing it to cope, doing it to move on, doing it to feel a sense of intimacy after he didn’t get that with Maeve. But here was the irrefutable proof that he’d never even looked at you with an ounce of the feeling you had for him. You held up the bag of snacks you usually bought to your Trek marathons as a response, the tears filling up your eyes rendering you mute as you finally tore yourself out of the room.

“Oh god, it’s Friday. I didn’t realise…. I’m sorry, can we do a raincheck, Y/N?” He guided you further out of the room, placing a hand to the small of your back to help move you along. Something in you snapped then and you recoiled from his touch, whipping your head up to him and just staring at him with all the defiance you could muster. He had broken your heart, you weren’t going to let him dismiss you that quickly.

“Y/N, why are you crying? What’s wrong, what happened? Tell me and I’ll do everything I can to fix it.” He finished his words, and made to wipe the tears from your face, but you slapped his hands away from you before he could make contact.

“Don’t… just don’t touch me, Spencer.” Those were the only words you could offer in explanation before you turned on your heel and ran straight out of his apartment for the last time.

–X–

It took one month from you storming out of his apartment for Spencer to realise that he hadn’t dreamt of Maeve in the same amount of time. Where his dreams had been full of her asking him to dance, they were now full of you recoiling from his touch, refusing to speak to him outside of your professional work, withdrawing into yourself and crying. The worst ones were the ones where you were crying because he tried desperately to hold you, to wipe the kisses away, but everytime he tried you moved further and further from his reach.

It had been a month of you ignoring him, and he still didn’t know what went wrong. Yes, you’d caught him in bed with a girl, but you knew he was doing that. You’d known from the start, and he’d known that you’d known, so surely it wasn't just that.

Morgan wasn’t helping him on that front either. He’d explained the awkward run-in in his apartment, desperate for some answers and received some pretty curt replies.

“Pretty boy, if you don’t realise what you did wrong, then there’s nothing I’m going to do to help you. You’re on your own until then.” He’d refused to talk about it anymore.

He’d thought a few times about talking to the girls on the team, but you’d been partnered with JJ for the last month on cases to avoid him, and there was a bond there between the two of you that he didn’t want to overstep.

It was in this confusion that Rossi found him again, taking pity on the boy wandering around like a lost puppy in the absence of your friendship.

“Kid, what is up with you again recently?”

“Y/N has been avoiding me, and I don’t know why. Derek said it was my fault because she… well she walked in on something that I’d rather she hadn’t, you know, and I don’t know why she still won’t talk to me because it’s been a month.” He rambled out, thankful that someone was finally hearing him out.

“If I’m understanding your insinuation here, I think I know what the problem is.” Rossi sat back, choosing his words carefully, so as not to startle the younger man. But he was so worked up all over you, missing your voice, your touch, your company, and just wanting you back in whatever way he could get you that he jumped at the very suggestion of answers.

“Then please, tell me, I’m begging you. I’ve been tearing my hair out trying to figure out what it is and I just miss her so much that it hurts.”

“Spencer, you know I usually don’t get involved in the personal lives of my coworkers, but just listen to me now, nice and calmly - and dont try to interrupt me or say a word. I know what I’m talking about, okay?” He gave a quick nod of his head, waiting with baited breath for Rossi to continue.

“The girl is in love with you. Head over heels, in fact, and has been for quite some time. And she was holding it together real nice until you decided to become this casanova and now she is heartbroken,” Spencer looked like he was about to interrupt, to spew out that that couldn’t possibly be the case, but Rossi silenced him with a look. “If you don’t believe me, you use that memory of yours and you do what you do best. Think about it.”

–X–

For the next three months, that was all Spencer did. He thought about every interaction you’d ever had. The blush on your cheeks when he’d introduced himself for the first time (and refused to shake your hand). The countless nights spent curled up on opposite sides of his couch, laughing and crying together at silly sci-fi shows. The way you’d thrown yourself into his arms after a particularly gruelling case, buried your head in his chest instead of anyone else's. The day you’d finally confessed your past to him, how he’d felt your heart beating as he held a finger to your pulse, hand gently holding yours waiting for you to finish describing the time you’d stared death in the face.

You’d noticed the change, but you wouldn’t let yourself acknowledge it fully. Noticed how he’d shoot you lingering glances from across the room, how he’d look like he had something to say when you announced you were leaving for the night. How he’d ask everyone together what their friday night plans were just to hear you admit that you were going home alone in the company of the rest of the team.

You’d noticed, and god had it given you a spark of hope that you wished would die quickly. You’d noticed, and so you weren’t as surprised when he turned up on your doorstep four months after you’d last talked to him, on another friday evening.

“What are you doing here?” you greeted him, the words coming out colder than you wanted them to seem, inwardly cursing yourself for letting your emotions get the better of you.

“Don’t make me leave, please, I just have something to ask and I’ll leave you alone.”

“Spencer, it’s been a long day, and I just want to go to bed so-”

“Do you still love me?” His words cut you off and your heart all but stopped. Your tongue grew heavy, and the inside of your mouth tasted acidic, knowing that you weren’t going to be able to fully stomach whatever conversation was coming.

“Excuse me?” you spluttered out eventually.

“Three months ago, Rossi said that you were in love with me, and I need to know that if that was the case, are you still in love with me now?” You expected some cold curious look to be gracing his face, but you looked up to see his eyes perfectly trained on your own, his mouth set in a line, a look of stony determination set on his face.

“If I say yes, what difference does that make?” you tried not to spit out the words, but you had no control over the venom in your heart.

“If you say yes, then I am going to kiss you, and then I am going to spend every last day I have on the planet making up for being an idiot for the last two years.” Your breath caught in your throat, and, not for the first time in front of Spencer Reid, you were stunned into silence.

“So, what is your answer?” He looked down at you again, and you started to see the cracks in his stony facade, started to see through to the man who desperately wanted you to say yes, to scream it at him.

The word hadn’t even fully formed on your tongue before he was crashing down into you, his mouth pleading for forgiveness and wrapping you up in him. He grabbed you and pulled you back into your apartment, whispering into each of your kisses.

“I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry.” The two of you stumbled into the space, but he never moved his hands from the sides of your face, cupping your cheeks gently as his lips brushed against yours again and again.

Your legs gave way beneath you by the time you’d reached the open space of your living room, but instead of catching you, he fell to his knees with you, content for the two of you to just sit there together in each other's embrace.

“You’ve loved me this entire time, and I was too stupid to realise that you’re everything I need.” He kissed your mouth, your jaw, your neck, moving his hands from your face to your waist, pulling you in deep again as you desperately pulled away in search of breath. That only toppled you further to the ground, and he came down on top of you again as well, one hand coming up to cup the back of your head so you didn’t hurt yourself.

And you kissed him back just as fervently when your breath returned, listening to every apology and forgiving him with every touch. His kisses said “I’m sorry,” and yours said “I know,” and that was all the communication you needed for now.

He pulled your shirt over your head eventually, and your skin met the cold tile of the floor, a shiver running up your spine causing you to buck your hips up into his. He hissed at the contact and pushed his bodyweight down further into yours, his legs slotting perfectly between your splayed ones now.

“It took me too long to realise, and it has taken me too long to act on the knowledge, but I am not going to let you go again, do you understand?” he pushed his lips into yours again before you could respond, and you clawed into his shoulders as he started grinding down into your body. His hand trailed up your waist to your breasts, pulling them free from the constraints of your bra, as he let his tongue slide down from your neck to your chest.

“I need to hear you say it baby, need you to say you understand, can you do that for me?” Your body burned under his attention, back arching desperately for more contact as his tongue swirled your nipple into his mouth, gasping breaths loud enough to fill the empty air of your apartment. His stiff cock was firmly pressing against your core now, barely clothed in the pajamas you’d pulled on before his arrival.

“Spencer, yes, I need you, I need you right now, please,” grabbed at either side of his face and pulled him back up so he was face to face with you. You initiated the kiss this time, and you could feel your heart soar at the tender kiss he met you with, thankful for the reciprocation.

“Not yet, baby, not yet, okay?” he whispered in your ear, trailing his hands down to your centre and slipping his hand under your clothes. “So fucking wet for me, baby. Just for me, right, baby?” His fingers found your clit, and he started rolling it between his fingers. He worked slowly enough to drive you insane, but giving you just enough relief that you couldn’t complain.

“Yes, Spencer, yes, yes it’s all for you. Only for you,” you managed to gasp out. He shifted his hand after a few minutes, still pressing love bites down your chest, claiming you as his in the most animalistic way possible. He spread the wetness that pooled at your core around, making sure that his fingers were coated in you before pushing a single digit into your aching hole, thumb continuing to draw circles around your bundle of nerves.

“That’s my little slut, so desperate for me, so needy for me.” His words shot through you, and you started thrusting your hips up desperate for more friction with his hand. He roughly pushed you back down, pinning you under him with his free hand.

“No, baby, I’m in charge here. You sit back and relax and let me make you feel good,okay?” His words soothed you, the growing heat in the pit of your stomach fizzing in anticipation. His kisses dropped lower and lower, until he was finally pulling off your remaining clothing and replacing his thumb with his lips.

“Fuck Spencer, if you keep doing that, I’m going to-” another sharp intake as he pumped a second finger in and out of you.

“Going to what, baby? Use your words?”

“I’m going to cum, Spencer please, I’m going to cum, I’m going to cum.,,” you rode out your high with his face stuffed between your legs still, swallowing your loud moans for fear of the entire neighbourhood knowing just how obsessed you were with this man.

“You did so good for me, baby, so good. I love you so much, okay? I’m going to take care of you from now on, okay?” He began pressing kisses to your mouth again, and you could taste yourself against him now.

“I need you so badly, baby, are you going to let me have you?” He started pulling off his own clothing now, removing his shirt and tie, but never once leaving your embrace for too long.

“I love you so much, baby. I’m sorry for not realising before, but I realise now. I was so terrible to you after Maeve, and god, even before she died I was using you as a therapist to talk through my thoughts and fears, but I was too dense to even realise that I was only in love with Maeve because she was safe. I couldn’t meet her, couldn’t touch her, didn’t have the chance to ruin anything I had with her. I couldn't realise that she wasn’t you, that she wasn’t going to feel like you do in my arms. And maybe some part of me loved her, but we were using each other, and I was using her to avoid confronting how I felt about you.”

“And how I feel for you is different. I am obsessed with you, Y/N. I am so madly in love with you that the last four months have felt like hell. I could have emptied myself of all the blood in my body and still my heart would be beating for you. Do you understand?”

You answered in a chaste kiss on his lips, sweet and quick, but as much as you could muster without driving yourself to the brink of insanity getting yourself high on his touch.

“Use your words, baby. Tell me what you want now, okay?” He’d unbuttoned his pants shortly after that and you stared transfixed at the head of his cock poking up and out of them, desperate to see it, touch it, taste it.

“I need you inside of me, Spence, please,” you cried out, tears welling in your eyes at the tender contact, the confession. All the emotions you’d been burying for the last four months bubbling to the surface, dancing around your head as he made you dizzy with desire.

“You’re so perfect, Y/N. I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you,” with the last of his clothing removed he was finally free, taking his heavy,aching cock in his hand and lining himself up with you. With a single thrust, and another confession of love, he gave you what you wanted so much.

“You wanted me like this, baby? So desperate to have my cock inside you?” he plagued you with questions as you adjusted to his size, watching your face for any discomfort as you mumbled out yes after yes.

“Me too, baby. I wanted you just like this, wanted you so desperate and dripping for me that I could slide right in, wanted you like this for me and only me.” He began thrusting then, slowly pumping his cock into you, heavy with each return, the sound of skin slapping against skin joining the ensemble of your moans.

“I love you,” he said again, and with each thrust of his hips, and you responded in kind, matching his thrusts with your own and pressing a kiss into the skin of his shoulders. You were so desperate and needy, so starved of touch and starved of one another that neither of you lasted long. Your bodies were so in sync that as soon as he’d pushed you over the edge for a second time, you could feel him spill himself inside you, filling you completely.

He rolled off you, but didn’t leave you there, picking you up and carrying you to the bedroom. He cleaned you up as much as possible, then folded you back into his arms, holding you again so tenderly that you let the tears flow down your cheeks for a final time.

It was Friday night, and he was here, and he loved you. You weren’t going to let him go again.

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid smut #criminal minds fanfiction #mgg #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid fandom #spencer reid angst #criminal minds angst #criminal minds smut #requested #🥺 Anon

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thehollowwriter · 5 months ago

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Maybe I'm being silly, but despite all my ranting abt Rollo's mischaracterisation making me seem angry, I'm actually more sad than anything. Idk, it just kinda hurts to see a complex character I love so much being portrayed as a racist, religious bigot.

He's a traumatised teenager who literally watched his brother burn alive and couldn't do a thing about it. Like. Do you understand how horrific that is? And the cause of this horrific situation that left Rollo scarred is magic.

Rollo is, again, a traumatised teenager who watched his brother burn alive, and likely never got the help he needed to properly deal with his grief. Of course he's going to blame magic, it's likely how he copes, how he brings a sense of reason to a complete accident that could have happened to anybody with magic.

It's easier to view magic as a malevolent force that caused this tragic event. That way, Rollo won't have to confront the fact that there wasn't any "reason" at all. And now, he can eradicate the "cause" of his brother's death and make everything better. It's much more fulfilling than not being able to do anything to make it right because it was just an accident.

I would also like to take the time remind you that Idia literally tried to end the world and is still treated better than Rollo is.

"But he's based off Frollo!" You cry, except you seem to forget the fact that Jamil is based off Jafar, an old man who lusted after a teenager and wanted to marry her, and while Jamil is horribly misunderstood by many people, he's still not treated like a bigoted monster.

A lot of people came to the conclusion that he's racist against fae, even though nothing he does indicates that. He hates magic users specifically, and of course he'll hate Malleus, Malleus is notorious for using magic for every little thing and mainly being revered for his magic.

I also think Rollo being religious/Catholic doesn't make sense for his character. Think about it. He sees magic as dangerous, a vile influence that will bring nothing but harm, but people are complacent to adore and use.

Imagine trying to tell him there's an all-powerful, essentially magical being he must submit to and worship? One which, may I remind you, many say "allows" bad things (like the death of a brother in a blazing torrent of fire magic) to happen? He'd hate that shit. He'd probably gear up to fight god himself. He wasn't even afraid when he fought Malleus, after all.

Idk, this is just from a culmination of far too many posts, memes, "analysis'", and fics portraying this incredibly complex and tragic character who challenges the ideologies of our main chast as a creepy, obsessive copy-paste of Frollo, when characters who have done much worse are adored and treated like little meow meows.

I just don't understand why people do this? Is this because he went against the fan favorite, Malleus? Is this because he's "ugly" (he's not, and it's gross how many of you think ugly = bad person)? Is it because nobody can read?

I really don't know. But it really frustrates me that the common portrayal of him is so far from his actual character, especially since I relate to him in the sense of feeling a burning rage at something that has caused suffering for you, and not being healthy in your response to it/not being able to get help.

Idk man

#back on my rollo bullshit #quinn quips #rollo flamme #twst rollo #twisted wonderland

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yoredoesmore · 4 months ago

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hallooo,it's me again:)) may I request soshiro x reader forced marriage angst but happy ending

I hope I'm not bothering you:). it's ok if you don't want to make it

a/n: i could never say no to such a beautiful request! i love writing angst muahaha

pairing: hoshina soshiro x blind!reader

cw: forced marriage, physical and emotional abuse

genre: angst/ hurt comfort/romance/fluff [wc: 2,9k ]

a/n: this story takes place in the meiji era!

a/n: i am so upset the fic idea in my head was so cute but now that im proof reading its ass 😭 i am so not satisfied with this but maybe a part two will safe it idk rip 😭 and i have to post something can't have u guys go to bed/work/whatever unfed 😔

edited a/n: is this even forced marriage omg 😭🐵

still, enjoy!

A Vision of Love | Hoshina Soshiro

The world around you had long lost its colors. Your vision was plagued, cursed to pick up the world in vibrations and tones instead of images.

The gods have plotted against your existence long before you had been born, cursing the path you were destined to walk on with failure and hardship.

“You are no child of mine!”

The feeling of your father's hand was imprinted in both your memories and mind. A gruesome sensation, one that had no problems seeking you unannounced. On some days the beast would simply barge into your chambers, striking you to his heart's content.

And for what? All for being unable to carry out his legacy.

“Blind and weak, we should have killed you the second we saw those impurities!”

No day passed by when he wasn't cursing your existence but you had been all too used to it..

You sat kneeled on the engawa of your estate, scrubbing the long corridor facing the entrance. It was one of the many tasks given to you which had to be completed by noon. Pearls of sweat accumulated on your forehead, dripping down the side of your face and staining the cloth of your clothes but that told you that you were almost done.

You heard voices chatting in the distance. Some belonging to your family members and others to the Kaseifu, yet you were able to make out three voices foreign to your ears.

“Please come this way.”

Your father greeted the guests with fake hospitality. It irked you immensely, listening to him put up an act of dishonesty but there was nothing you could have done about it.

As soon as you finished up your work, you brought away the cloth and the rag and hurried back to your room using the back entrance. No using the main entrance when guests are around– another strict rule you had to follow.

They stopped bothering you a long time ago, the harsh rules and strict regulations forced upon you by your family. It was unfortunately not just your father who harassed you but also your mother and siblings– though their approaches of breaking your spirit were more subtle. They whispered and gossiped, calling you all kinds of names to lower your spirit.

All to make themselves feel better.

Your family was a renown clan known for its fighting skills and birthing people of strong flesh. In the world of Kaiju slayers, your family stood on top with another handful of carefully selected clans. But as dysfunctional as you were, ripped of your vision at birth and your laughable body, there was no place for you in the limelight. Thus you had been hidden away in the back of your clan, mixed with the maids and housekeepers to keep the knowledge about your existence to a minimum.

But all that was about to change.

“Lady Y/n.”

The voice of Madam Kiyoko called out for you, the only woman to treat you with kindness in this place.

“Yes, Madam Kiyoko?”

The woman's voice was gentle and sweet, like honey and milk. It calmed your heart and made you feel loved in a way you were unable to experience anywhere else. But this time something lingered in her voice? A hint of grief? Frustration? Even without seeing her face, you somehow knew that the woman was not displaying a smile on her lips.

“I was sent by your father. ..You are to pack your things immediately and prepare yourself for permanent departure..”

“Permanent..excuse me?” The tone in Kiyoko's voice painted your ears, so much that you wished to cover them and hide away.

“Your father has..given you away to another family, therefore I wish to congratulate you on your engagement.” The fabrics of Kiyoko's Kimono shifted, hinting to you that she had gone down to her knees.

There was no word that could properly describe the look of horror on your face. Pain, disgust and vexation– all these emotions tugged on your heart, forcing it to fall into unbearable agony. You suddenly felt all strength leaving your legs, forcing you to fall to the ground.

Hot tears ran down your face as you allowed muffled cries to escape your mouth. You wanted to scream and curse, run over to your father and rip all air from his lungs..

But you of all people knew too well that this day would have come sooner or later.

How else were you going to get engaged? You, who was unable to leave her house without supervision. You, who was seen as garbage in her own home. This was long overdue.

“Lady Y,n..we mustn't waste any time.” Madam Kiyoko spoke, her arms wrapping around yours to lift you back up.

“No..I don't want to, they can't do this!” Although living here was torture, it was the only home you have ever know. A small part of you always hoped to just die here. Life was cruel but at least there was food and a bed waiting for you at the end of each day. There was no telling how the people outside these gates were going to treat a blind woman like you, especially a family selected by your father. The unknown was much more intimidating than the familiar horrors.

“Child, I beg of you to grasp your heart and look at the future with confidence.” The woman tried to encourage you to take the situation with pride. But you couldn't. The fact that someone had accepted you as a wife could only mean that they were worse off than you. Who else would accept such worthless and weak soul into their family? Or perhaps they were like your family, looking forward to abuse and make use of you.

“You musn't refuse your duty as a woman, Lady Y/n, as a daughter of this house. I beg you.” Madam Kiyoko pulled you back up and dusted your Kimono.

“I know that this treatment is unjust and sudden, but anywhere in this world is better than here.”

“But I don't mind the horror! The pain and the humiliation..because I have you..”

Once again the tone in the woman's voice tugged on your heartstrings. The truth in her statement tasted bitter on your tongue. You did not wish to admit that she was right, that living here was a hell your body couldn't bear much longer.

Madam Kiyoko walked you to your chambers and helped you pack your belongings. There wasn't much, only a few essentials which you held dear. As you were preparing for your departure, you heard a soft chuckle from behind you.

“I heard that the Hoshina clan is as good as useless in this modern day and age, since the Kaiju have grown in size.” One of your sisters snickered from behind you.

“Yeah, and that their sons are as incapable as they come.” Your brother mocked.

Their voices were mere background sounds, easy to blend out. Your fingers traced themselves over the silver hairpin in your hand, a gift from the Madam.

“I will forget all about you once I leave this home. The memories, your voices and your scent. What a blessing it ends up being to be born blind, as I have no faces which I will have to wipe from my memories.” Your words stung your siblings in the guts. One of them stepped forward, your brother, ready to strike you down. But madam Kiyoko quickly extended her hand to shield your body from the abuse.

“Do not dare touch the Lady. She is an engaged woman now and therefore no longer under the rule of this household. Striking her would mean raising your hands against the Hoshina clan and I highly suggest that you do not make yourself an enemy of them.”

“She won't survive a week outside these gates. Compared to the people outside, our treatment was merciful. In this day and age there is no space for those who cannot protect themselves, tsk.” Your brother gave you one last glare before he and your sister left your room.

“This family can no longer harm you, child. So look at your future and smile, don't listen to his nonsense.” The warm hands of the woman embrace you in a comforting hug. If only you could take her with you and start your new life together..it was a hopeless wish but one you hung onto regardless

Nobody came to send you off besides Lady Kiyoko. With your bag packed and your heart set to leave, you approached the front gate. You refused to look back as you walked into your new life, each step feeling foreign and intimidating.

You were raised in a traditional household. From the building to the rules it reminded you of the old times. Therefore standing in front of the public transport with no navigation or sense of familiarity deeply frightened you. You could feel them all watching, the people on the train. Surely they were judging your lack of vision and pitying your weak form.

It took you quite some time to arrive at the destination, the lack of any known directions making the journey much more treacherous. But after two hours, you finally arrived at the Houshina estate. If it had been for the old couple you met at your station who guided you all the way here you would have been lost for sure.

“That is just the path we wanted to take!”

They said and took you by the hand. It felt strange, putting your trust into two unknown strangers. For a good minute you believed that they were leading you to a nearby cliff, for whatever reason. But your doubt slowly vanished as they began to talk about their day and all the errands which they had to run.

You took a deep breath and fixed your Kimono before knocking at the gate. There was no guarantee that anybody was going to hear you but this was the only way you knew how to make yourself known.

After around five minutes and almost giving up hope, you heard a shift in motion. The gate opened and before you stood a stranger. They didn't say anything and simply looked you up and down you assumed. Then they spoke up.

“Oh, it's you.”

What an interesting dialect..

Unsure of who was standing before you, you went down on your knees to show your respects.

“My name is L/n Y/n and I am the betrothed of Hoshina Soshiro. It is my utmost pleasure to meet you.”

“There is no need to be so formal, please. And get up, ya Kimono is getting all dirty.” A pair of strong hands suddenly placed themselves on your shoulders and helped you find your way back up.

A scent so sweet was attached to the stranger, one that had a strange note to it. Yet you stayed focused and continued the conversation.

“Did you come here all by yourself??” The stranger sounded almost appalled.

“Yes..is there a problem with that?”

“Your family reassured us that they were going to send someone with you, since you are..”

His eyes locked with yours. Light gray orbs sat in your sockets, robbed of all light. Yet there was a glimmer inside them, one that shone brighter than the sun itself.

“Excuse me for asking, but who am I speaking to?”

“I am just a housekeeper. Anyway, let's get ya inside and perhaps, you must have a long journey behind you.”

“Thank you very much.” The housekeeper took your hands in his, a soft warmth spreading over your entire body. His bold action startled you slightly but you did not allow your discomfort to display on your face.

“Not having an official wedding must be quite frustrating I believe?”

Is this..smalltalk?

“I never clung to the desire of partaking in such festivity. I was told from a very young age that I wasn't deserving of a wedding, let alone marriage. My father eventually giving me away to a family with no future was to be expected.”

“A family with no future?”

“Oh my, I didn't mean it like that! I apologize for insulting your masters..”

“No offense taken. I understand what ya were trying to say.” The soft sliding of wooden doors indicated to you that you were now entering the building. Almost immediately you were greeted by the sweet scent of lavender and tangerines, two odors that completed one another perfectly.

The housekeeper continued to guide you through the building, holding on to your hand so tight you feared he was going to melt into you. Yet despite his grip being so fierce, his touch was gentle and almost protective. You were not used to such kindness, therefore you found it difficult to express your gratitude once he let go when you arrived in the space which you believed was your room.

“When will the rest of your belongings arrive?” The housekeeper asked while taking the bag from your hands. Your silence said all he needed to know.

“If you need anything, don't hesitate to–”

“Young Master? A letter has arrived from the Anti-Kaiju Defense Force, requesting your presence. Oh and has the young woman arrived already? We heard the gates–”

..Master?

Your head turned to meet the voice at the door. A young woman, you assumed, stood at the entrance of your room, her words and turn indicating that she was talking to the housekeeper.

“Oh, she is already here?? Why wasn't your father notified!” The woman scolded.

“Thank you Ayame, I will see to the letter shortly. And I wanted some alone time with her first, I'm sure my father will understand."

All the woman did was sigh, as if she was too used to his behavior and excused herself from the room.

It didn't even take you five seconds to realize what was going on. Your face froze up upon realizing, a soft gasp leaving from your lips.

“I..apologize for deceiving you.” Soshiro sighed. “I didn't know how to properly introduce myself when I saw you back then and just went with the moment.”

Embarrassed? Shame? Anxiety? You did not know what to feel first. The words you spoke only minutes ago suddenly came back to hit you like whiplash. You just told your soon to be husband that you had no faith in his family, to his face, the gods were probably laughing at you right now. Not just them, but also your siblings and parents.

Their voices rang through your ears, eating at your consciousness. Not even a day had passed and you already managed to screw up, what a twisted joke this was.

“Ya ain't upset with me, right?”

All thoughts suddenly started to disappear into thin air as his fingers once again wrapped themselves around your hands. Only now did you realize how soft they were, like sunflower petals. And the distant scent of vanilla that lingered on his skin, it was soothing in a way you could not describe.

In an instant you found yourself calming down and remembered that you were no longer in that household. Five minutes have been spent in this foreign place so far, yet it felt much more comforting than your old home. Why was that?

“Saying that your family has no future when I am the one who lacks the ability to function properly..I am so very sorry..”

“Don't tell me yer apologizing for being blind?” Soshiro placed one of his hands on your head, gently caressing your hair with his fingers.

“I don't know much about ya or what you went through before. All I was told is that your family did not think highly of ya and therefore signed you away to the next available family. But just by looking at ya I can tell that you are much more valuable than ya think.” And with that said, Soshiro gave your head a light squeeze.

These gentle touches were so new to you. Being embraced in such a loving way and taken by the hand as if you were too important to lose– and not to mention by a man you just met..it all felt quite unreal.

Soshiro suddenly started to move away from you, the lack of his warmth mildly bothering your conscience, but he had somewhere important to be.

“We shall converse more once I return from my appointment, most likely together with my father. The others will want to meet you so prepare yourself for that. If they barge into your room feel free to send them away”

“Send them away? I could never do that” Hosanna laughed although you didn't say anything funny?

“Im looking forward to future interactions.”

“I..me too.”

To have something to look forward to..did you ever have that in your life? The feelings in your heart were difficult to describe. Was it truly possible for you to find happiness in a place full of strangers and foreign emotions? To seek comfort in the arms of a man you barely even knew? As Soshiro walked out of your room, you quickly searched for the hair pin that Madam Kiyoko had gifted to you. Your fingers embraced it tight, trying to recreate the warmth which you felt moments ago.

Something deep down in your heart wanted to trust his words and believe that you too could experience true happiness in this lifetime. Therefore you desperately held onto this vision of love, in hopes that one day your future would be painted in its beautiful colors.

#yoredoesmore #anime fanfic #x reader #hoshina soshiro x reader #kaiju no. 8 #soshiro hoshina #request #romance #hoshina x reader #angst #hurt/comfort #forced marriage

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