#i think an alternate version of him with a personality like that would still like 'words of affirmation' as a love language | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mononijikayu · 2 months ago

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devotion — geto suguru.

“I thought if I gave my life to God, he would spare yours.” You stared at him, stunned, as his words sank in. “Suguru… I don’t understand.” He looked down, his hands trembling. “Years ago, when we… when we lost touch, I heard about your illness.” he explained, his voice heavy with emotion. “I was told you might not survive. I felt helpless, powerless to do anything. So, I prayed. I prayed with everything I had, and I promised God that if he saved you, I would give my life in return. I would serve him, devote myself to his cause. And you… you recovered.”

GENRE: alternate universe - modern au!;

WARNING/S: angst, fluff, forbidden romance, love, hurt/comfort, nsfw, r-18, smut, kissing, rough sex, p-i-v sex, falling in love again, sexual intercourse, pining, hurt, religious guilt, happy ending, aged up characters (suguru and reader are in their 40s), first loves rekindling their relationship, depictions of sexual acts, depiction of pining, depiction of religious aspects, mention of parting, mention of the past, mention of previous husband, father! suguru, widowed! reader;

WORD COUNT: 12k words

NOTE: i was thinking whether or not this is what i should publish for kinktober but i feel like since i've been going on this trend of giving my stories a happy ending, i feel like this is one of them that deserves it, i feel. this is the sequel of 'to build a home'!!! anyway, i hope you enjoy it as much as i did!!! and love wins all, even time!!! i love you all <3

masterlist

kinktober 2024 - kayu's version

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YOU NEVER THOUGHT YOU’D SEE HIM AGAIN. But you were getting too ahead of destiny. It has been nearly twenty years since you last saw Geto Suguru. Time had blurred the details of his face in your memory — the precise shape of his smile, the warmth in his eyes when he spoke your name.

You thought you’d forgotten him, buried him under the weight of all those years. But there he was, standing at the front of the room, his voice steady and serene as he read the eulogy for your husband.

You tried to focus on the words, tried to let them seep into your soul and cradle your grief. But all you could see was him. The lines on his face had deepened, a touch of gray in his hair, but he was still so achingly familiar. You could feel the stirrings of something old and hidden, something you thought you’d buried long ago.

You felt guilty. This was the day you were supposed to mourn your husband, to remember all the good moments you had shared. But as you sat there, dressed in black, your gaze kept drifting back to Suguru. How strange it was to see him like this — a priest, of all things. You wondered what had led him down this path, what had happened in those years you hadn’t been a part of his life.

His voice was calm and soothing, and it reminded you of the way he used to speak when you were alone together. You found yourself holding your breath, the memories coming back like an unexpected wave. The nights you spent talking until dawn, the feel of his hand in yours, the way he’d look at you like you were the only person in the world. You closed your eyes, trying to push the thoughts away, but they clung to you like a desperate whisper.

You were grieving, yes, but somehow those old feelings resurface, like they had been waiting all this time, just beneath the surface. It was wrong, you knew it, but there was something in the way Suguru spoke, in the way his eyes lingered on you for just a moment too long, that made it feel like maybe, just maybe, this was meant to be.

And as the service drew to a close, you wondered if he felt it too.

As the ceremony ended, the quiet murmur of condolences filled the room, but you barely heard them. Your heart pounded in your chest, a mix of sorrow and anticipation you couldn't quite understand. People passed by, offering their sympathy, their touches gentle on your arm, but your eyes were on him. Suguru stood at the front, still dressed in his somber robes, speaking with a few guests, his expression kind and composed, but you saw the moment he noticed you watching.

He paused, his words faltering for just a second, and then his gaze found yours. For a heartbeat, the world seemed to fall away, and there was only the two of you, standing on opposite sides of a great chasm of time. You felt rooted in place, as if moving would shatter whatever fragile connection had formed between you across the room.

When you finally mustered the courage to approach him, your steps were slow and tentative. He turned to face you fully, his hands clasped in front of him, and for a moment, you were struck by how different he looked, and yet, how much the same. The years had softened his edges, but his eyes — those deep, searching eyes — were just as intense, just as familiar.

“Suguru,” you breathed, unsure what else to say. His name felt foreign on your lips after so long, but also strangely comforting. He gave a small, sad smile, the kind that spoke of understanding beyond words.

“It’s been a long time,” he replied, his voice a quiet murmur, almost swallowed by the room’s low hum. There was a gravity to his tone that made your chest tighten, as if he was trying to convey all the things that had gone unsaid in the years between you.

You nodded, feeling the sting of tears you had not expected. “I never thought I’d see you like this,” you confessed, your voice trembling. “I didn’t know you… became our little town’s priest.”

He chuckled softly, a sound that was both strange and familiar, and something in it warmed you. “Life has a way of leading us to unexpected places,” he said, his eyes searching yours. “I didn’t expect to see you here either… under these circumstances.”

You flinched, a fresh wave of grief washing over you. “No, I suppose not,” you whispered. “But it is good to see you, even now. Even… like this.”

He nodded, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence between you was heavy, but not uncomfortable. It was filled with all the things you wanted to say but didn’t know how. You could feel the years stretching between you like a bridge you were both afraid to cross.

“You look…” he started, then faltered, his gaze sweeping over your face. “You look just as I remember, even after all these years.”

You laughed softly, a sound tinged with both sorrow and disbelief. “I doubt that,” you replied, shaking your head. “It’s been a long time. We’ve both changed.”

“Yes,” he agreed, his voice soft. “But some things don’t change. Some things stay with you, no matter how much time passes.”

You felt your breath catch in your throat. Was he talking about you? About whatever you once had? You wanted to ask, but the words stuck in your throat, caught between your grief and the unexpected flood of emotions his presence had stirred.

Instead, you simply stood there, feeling the weight of his gaze on you, feeling that old, familiar ache that you hadn’t realized you’d been carrying all these years. And when he reached out, his hand hovering just above yours, you found yourself closing the distance, your fingers brushing against his in a touch that felt like both a question and an answer.

“I’m sorry for your loss.” he said, his voice low, filled with a sincerity that sent a shiver down your spine. “I truly am.”

“Thank you.” you whispered, your voice barely more than a breath. You didn’t know if you were thanking him for the words, or for being here, or for just being him.

You cleared your throat, a delicate sound breaking the tension between you. Your heart still aches from the loss, but there was a strange comfort in his presence, a familiarity that felt almost like a balm. You glanced to your side, where your daughter stood, her small hand gripping yours tightly. She looked up at you, her young face a mix of confusion and sorrow, her eyes still red from crying.

For a moment, neither of you moved, standing there like two ghosts caught in the past. But in his eyes, you saw something flicker — a spark of recognition, of something that had never really gone away. And as the room began to empty, you knew this was not the end. Not quite. Not yet.

“This is my daughter, father.” you said softly, turning to Suguru. “Say hello, sweetheart.”

Your daughter hesitated for a moment, still clinging to you, but eventually she offered a shy smile. “Hello.” she whispered, her voice small and uncertain.

Suguru’s expression softened as he crouched down to her level, his eyes gentle. “Hello there, child.” He greeted me warmly, his tone light. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Father Suguru.”

She stared at him for a moment, as if trying to decide what to make of this stranger who seemed to know her mother so well. But Suguru had always been good with children, you remembered. There was a kindness in his demeanor that drew them in. After a moment, she nodded, accepting his presence with the solemnity only a child could muster at such a moment.

“You’ve grown up so much.” Suguru said, his gaze shifting back to you, and there was something tender in the way he looked at you, a flicker of an old memory shared between you.

Before you could respond, two young girls approached from behind him, their eyes wide with curiosity. They looked almost identical, with long dark hair and matching dresses, and they stood close together, their hands clasped as if seeking comfort from one another. You noticed the way they watched Suguru, their eyes full of trust and affection.

“These are my girls.” Suguru said, smiling gently. “Mimiko and Nanako. I adopted them some years ago. They were… lost, in a way, and I thought I could offer them something of a home.”

You felt a pang of recognition in your chest, understanding without needing to ask. He had always had a soft spot for the vulnerable, a quiet compassion that was buried beneath his strength. The girls looked up at you, curious and shy, and you gave them a gentle smile.

“Hello, Mimiko. Hello, Nanako.” you said softly. “It’s very nice to meet you both.”

They glanced at each other, and then Mimiko, the braver of the two, stepped forward. “Are you our father’s friend?” she asked, her voice small but direct. There was something almost protective in the way she looked at you, as if she was gauging whether you were worthy of her father’s trust.

You hesitated, unsure how to answer. A friend? Were you even that anymore? You wanted to say something else in the back of your mind. You were more than friends, you were lovers. You were everything to each other. Yet you couldn’t. Your lips would not move. But before you could find the right words, Suguru chuckled softly, a sound that sent a shiver down your spine.

“We used to be….close. We met each other a long time ago,” he answered for you, his gaze never leaving yours. “But we finally met again today, it would seem.”

Nanako, still holding Mimiko’s hand, tilted her head, her expression thoughtful. “Why did you stop?” she asked innocently.

You felt your breath hitch in your throat, a thousand unspoken answers rising to your lips. How could you explain? How could you sum up all the lost years, the paths that had diverged, the choices that had led you here, to this moment?

Suguru turned to his daughters, his smile soft but tinged with a hint of sadness. “Sometimes life takes us in different directions, my dear.” he said gently. “But it doesn’t mean we stop caring about the people we once knew.”

Mimiko seemed satisfied with this answer, but Nanako continued to watch you, as if trying to see into your soul. You could feel the weight of her gaze, but there was no malice in it, only a child’s unfiltered curiosity.

“I’m sorry…..” you said, addressing Suguru again, though your eyes flicked briefly to the girls. “For all the years we lost. I… I didn’t mean for it to be that way.”

He shook his head, a soft smile touching his lips. “Don’t apologize to me about it.” he replied. “We did what we had to do, back then. But it’s good to see you now, and… to see the life you’ve built.”

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. “It’s good to see you too, Suguru.” you whispered. “And to your girls too.”

He nodded, his gaze holding yours, and for a moment, the weight of the years seemed to lift, just slightly. You weren’t sure where this would lead, if anywhere at all. But you knew that something had shifted, something had opened between you, a door long closed but never quite locked. And maybe, just maybe, there was room to step through, to find out what lay on the other side.

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YOU DIDN’T HAVE IT IN YOU TO LEAVE THE HOUSE FOR A WHILE. The days had grown longer since the funeral, each one stretching into the next with a quiet emptiness you hadn’t anticipated.

The house, once filled with the familiar rhythms of your husband’s presence, now seemed to echo with a silence that settled deep in your bones. To stave off the hollow ache that threatened to consume you, you kept yourself busy — perhaps too busy.

You tended to your garden with a fervor that bordered on obsession, your hands constantly stained with earth, fingers rooting through the soil as if searching for something buried there, something that might fill the void.

The roses were blooming better than ever, their petals full and lush, as if they knew how much you needed them now. Your days blurred together in the quiet sanctuary of your backyard, kneeling among the flowers until the sun dipped below the horizon.

When you weren’t in the garden, you took your dogs for long, meandering walks. They were your faithful companions, sensing your grief in their quiet, unspoken way. You found solace in their steady presence, in the rhythm of their paws on the pavement, and the way they’d look back at you, as if making sure you were still there, still moving forward.

But your daughter, ever perceptive, noticed the way your days seemed to stretch out like a taut wire, threatening to snap. She was packing for college now, her room in disarray, and you could see the worry creasing her brow every time she glanced your way.

One evening, as you sat together at the kitchen table, your daughter set down the book she’d been pretending to read and looked at you with a seriousness that caught you off guard.

“Mom.... I.... uh…..” she began, her voice soft but firm. “I’ve been thinking… about when I leave.”

You forced a smile, trying to keep your tone light. “Oh, don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. I’ve got the garden, the dogs… plenty to keep me busy.”

She shook her head, her expression earnest. “That’s just it, though. I don’t want you to be just… keeping busy. I want you to have people around you. Friends. People to talk to.”

You sighed, leaning back in your chair. “I have friends,” you insisted gently, though you knew what she was getting at.

“Not like that,” she countered, shaking her head. “I mean… I want you to have new friends. I know this has been hard on you, losing Dad. And I just… I worry about you being lonely when I’m gone.”

You felt a lump form in your throat, a familiar sensation these days. “I’ll manage,” you murmured, but she wasn’t deterred.

“What about Father Suguru?” she asked, and you blinked, surprised. You hadn’t expected her to bring him up, not after the funeral, not after everything that had been left unspoken between you and the priest who had once been so much more.

“What about him?” you asked cautiously.

“He seems… nice.” she said, hesitating for a moment. “And you used to know him, right? Before Dad, before everything. Why not… reconnect with him? I mean, he invited you to church activities, didn’t he?”

You looked down at your hands, feeling a twinge of something you couldn’t quite name. “I don’t know… It feels strange, after all these years.”

“Maybe…..” she conceded. “But he’s reaching out, and I think it might be good for you. You don’t have to do it alone, you know? And it might help… to have someone around who understands.”

You looked up at her, seeing the concern etched in her young face, the worry that you had tried so hard to keep at bay. She was right, of course — the house was too big and too quiet, and the days too long. And perhaps, she had a point. Perhaps there was something to be said for reaching out, for finding solace in old friendships, even if they had been left behind in another life.

“I’ll think about it.” you finally said, offering her a small smile.

She reached out, taking your hand. “Just try, Mom. For me. I just want you to be happy… to find some peace.”

You nodded, feeling a tightness in your chest that you hadn’t felt in a long time. “I’ll try.” you promised, though the words felt heavier than you expected.

That Sunday, you found yourself standing outside the church, the morning sun casting long shadows on the stone steps. You hesitated, your heart thudding in your chest, but then you saw him — Suguru, standing by the entrance, greeting the parishioners as they arrived. His face brightened when he saw you, and he raised a hand in a small, almost tentative wave.

Taking a deep breath, you walked toward him, feeling the weight of the years between you like a whisper in the air. But as you drew closer, you felt something lift, something small but hopeful, as if maybe — just maybe — there was still room for new beginnings, even now.

Suguru’s smile widened as you approached, a gentle warmth radiating from him that eased some of the tension winding tight in your chest. He was dressed simply, in a way that suited him, with the plain black shirt and collar of his vocation. Yet, there was an ease in his posture, an openness that seemed to welcome you without hesitation.

“Good morning.” he greeted softly, his voice carrying a familiarity that sent a shiver down your spine. “I’m glad to see you here.”

You returned his smile, though it felt a bit shaky on your lips. “I… thought I’d take you up on your invitation.” you replied, your words feeling tentative, almost shy. “My daughter encouraged me to come.”

He nodded, understanding flashing in his eyes. “She’s a wise young woman.” he said, his tone light. “I’m sure she just wants you to have some company, some… support.”

“I think she worries about me.” you admitted, glancing down at your hands. “And she’s right. The house is quiet. Too quiet, sometimes.”

Suguru’s expression softened, and he stepped a little closer, his voice dropping to a more intimate level. “I understand,” he murmured. “More than you know. It’s easy to feel lost in the silence after everything changes. But… you don’t have to go through it alone.”

You felt your heart ache at the kindness in his words, at the understanding he offered so freely. “Thank you.” you whispered. “It’s… been hard. I didn’t think it would be this hard.”

Suguru’s gaze held yours, steady and patient. “Grief has a way of sneaking up on us when we least expect it.” he said softly. “But you’re here now. And that’s something. You’ve taken a step.”

You nodded, swallowing hard. “I suppose I have.”

He gestured toward the entrance of the church, where people were beginning to gather, a soft hum of conversation filling the air. “Would you like to come in?” he asked. “We’re having a small gathering after the service — just some coffee and a chance to chat. I think you might enjoy it.”

You hesitated for a moment, the weight of uncertainty heavy on your shoulders. But there was a sincerity in Suguru’s eyes, a quiet encouragement that made you feel like maybe, just maybe, this wouldn’t be so terrible after all.

“I think I’d like that.” you said finally, your voice is firmer than before. “I could use a bit of company.”

His smile grew, genuine and warm. “Good.” he said, stepping back to let you pass. “I’ll be right by your side if you need anything. And I’m sure there are plenty of people here who would love to meet you.”

As you stepped inside, you were immediately enveloped by the soft glow of the stained glass windows, the warm, golden light casting colorful patterns across the pews. The room was filled with the low murmur of conversation, and you felt a flutter of anxiety in your chest. But Suguru was beside you, his presence steadying, and somehow that made it easier.

He introduced you to a few members of the congregation — older women with kind smiles, younger families with children who clung shyly to their parents’ legs. You exchanged polite pleasantries, feeling a bit like a fish out of water, but everyone was welcoming, their warmth a stark contrast to the cold emptiness that had filled your days.

After the service, as promised, there was coffee and tea in the small parish hall. You found yourself standing beside Suguru as he chatted easily with a group of parishioners, his voice calm and comforting, his laugh a soft rumble that seemed to put everyone at ease. You watched him from the corner of your eye, still marveling at the way he had changed and yet stayed so much the same.

At some point, Mimiko and Nanako found their way to your side, their small hands tugging on the hem of your jacket. “Are you going to be our friend too?” Mimiko asked, her eyes wide with hope.

You smiled down at her, your heart softening at her earnest expression. “I’d like that very much, if you would allow me.” you replied, and she beamed, satisfied with your answer.

Nanako, quieter but just as curious, looked up at you with a small smile. “Papa says you used to be his best friend.” she said matter-of-factly.

Suguru chuckled softly, a hint of a blush coloring his cheeks. “Children are so honest, aren’t they?” he murmured.

You laughed, feeling a lightness you hadn’t felt in months. “Yes.” you agreed, looking at him. “They are.”

Your conversation flowed, you felt the tension in your shoulders begin to ease, the heaviness in your chest lifting, if only just a bit. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. And as you stood there, surrounded by new faces and old memories, you realized that maybe your daughter had been right.

Maybe this was what you needed. Not to forget your grief, but to find a way to live with it, to let it become a part of you without letting it define you. And perhaps, with Suguru beside you, with new connections to explore, you could start to build something new from the ashes of what you had lost.

You caught Suguru’s eye again, and he offered you a small, understanding smile, as if sensing the shift within you. And for the first time in a long time, you felt something like hope.

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TIME WITH SUGURU HEALED YOU. Over the next few weeks, you found yourself spending more and more time at the church. It had started with Sunday services and slowly expanded to weekday gatherings — a book club here, a community dinner there, little things that filled the empty spaces in your days.

Geto Suguru was always there, a quiet, steady presence. He was kind, attentive without being overbearing, and somehow, being around him made things feel just a bit lighter.

Your daughter noticed the change in you when she came home from college for the weekend. She saw the way your smile reached your eyes again, the way you seemed less burdened, and she was pleased.

“I knew you’d find someone to talk to, mom.” she said with a grin, her voice teasing. “Father Suguru is nice, isn’t he?”

You blushed at the mention of his name, feeling a strange mix of guilt and warmth. “He’s… he’s been very kind to me.” you replied. “It’s nice to have someone to talk to, that’s all.”

But deep down, you knew it was more than that. Slowly, gently, you and Suguru had begun to fall into the rhythm of your old friendship, but there was something new simmering beneath the surface, something unspoken that neither of you dared to name.

You felt it in the way his eyes lingered just a little too long when he looked at you, in the way your hand brushed his in passing and lingered a moment too long. There was a magnetic pull between you, a quiet longing that seemed to grow with every passing day.

And yet, there was a line you both knew you could not cross.

Suguru never spoke of it, but you could see the conflict in his eyes, the way he caught himself when he stood too close or when his hand brushed yours in a way that felt almost… intentional.

He would smile, pull back, and busy himself with something else, as if to remind himself of the boundaries he could not breach. You could sense the struggle within him, the way he tried so hard to remain the devoted priest, the man who had chosen a life of service and sacrifice.

It was during a rainy afternoon, after a small charity event at the church, you found yourself in his office, helping him sort through donations. The rain pattered softly against the windows, casting a muted glow over the room.

You were both seated on the floor, sorting through clothes and toys, when your hands brushed again. This time, neither of you pulled away. Geto Suguru’s breath caught in his throat, and you felt your heart race in response. The air between you grew thick, charged with an energy you could no longer ignore.

He looked up at you, his expression conflicted, torn between the desire you both felt and the commitment he had made. “I shouldn’t…” he began softly, his voice barely a whisper.

You swallowed, feeling the weight of his words. “I know,” you replied just as quietly. “I know it’s… complicated.”

Suguru’s eyes searched yours, as if looking for something — some kind of understanding, or perhaps, absolution. “I’ve… I’ve given my life to this.” he murmured, his gaze dropping to the floor. “To the church, to God. I made a vow.”

You nodded, your heart aching at the pain in his voice. “I don’t want to make things harder for you.” you whispered. “I don’t want you to have to choose.”

He shook his head, a bitter smile crossing his lips. “It’s not that simple.” he said, a hint of frustration creeping into his tone. “I… I made that vow because I had to. Because I felt it was the only way I could atone for something. Something I never told you.”

You blinked, confused. “Atone? For what?”

He hesitated, the struggle evident in his eyes. Then, finally, he spoke, his voice trembling with the weight of his confession. “I became a priest because… because I thought it might save you when you got in that accident.” he said, his words barely more than a breath.

You held your breath for a moment. You don’t know how you were going to deal with what he might say to you. What truths may come out. What can you say, what can you say and do after all these years? He'd hidden all that, he'd kept his silence for more than twenty years and you don't know what to do.

“What do you mean to say?”

“I thought if I gave my life to God, he would spare yours.”

You stared at him, stunned, as his words sank in. “Suguru… I don’t understand.”

He looked down, his hands trembling. “Years ago, when we… when we lost touch, I heard about what happened.” he explained, his voice heavy with emotion. “I was told you might not survive. I felt helpless, powerless to do anything. So, I prayed. I prayed with everything I had, and I promised God that if he saved you, I would give my life in return. I would serve him, devote myself to his cause. And you… you recovered.”

Your breath caught in your throat, a whirlwind of emotions crashing over you. “You did that… for me?”

He nodded, his eyes wet with unshed tears. “I did. And I couldn’t break that promise, not when He answered me. I couldn’t… I still can’t. Not like this.”

A lump formed in your throat as you realized the depth of his sacrifice, the weight of the promise he had made. “Suguru, I… I don’t know what to say.” you whispered, feeling a mix of gratitude, sorrow, and something else — something deeper, more complicated.

He reached for your hand then, his touch gentle but firm. “You don’t have to say anything, okay?” he replied softly. “I just… I needed you to know. I need you to understand why I can’t… why can't……..”

You nodded, tears blurring your vision. “I understand.” you said, your voice breaking. “I won’t ask you to break your vow. I just… I just don’t want to lose you again.”

He squeezed your hand, his expression pained but resolute. “You won’t.” he promised. “Not as long as I can help it. But we have to be careful. We have to… to find a way to be friends again, without… without crossing that line.”

You nodded again, swallowing back the tears. “I can do that.” you said quietly. “I can try.”

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YOU COULDN’T HELP UNDERSTAND WHAT TO FEEL.The days after your confession were a blur of forced distance and unspoken words. Every time you passed by his office or saw him in the hallways, there was a tension, a gravity that threatened to pull you back in. But you resisted, reminding yourself of the vow he had made and the reasons why you had to keep your distance.

His promise was not something to take lightly. You knew that, and so did he. There were obligations, personal codes, things he held dear, and breaking them meant more than just a fleeting moment of passion. It meant betrayal — to himself and to the values he had sworn to uphold. You couldn’t be the reason he wavered, no matter how much your heart ached with the memory of that moment in his office.

The memory haunted you. The way his eyes softened when you spoke, how his gaze lingered just a little too long, how his lips parted, ready to say something that never came. It was both a promise and a plea, something unspoken but understood between the two of you. Yet, you knew it couldn’t be.

So you did what you thought was best. You put distance between you, told yourself it was the only way to keep things under control. You busied yourself with anything and everything, trying to ignore the weight in your chest that grew heavier each day. But it wasn’t just you who pulled back.

He, too, kept his distance, his demeanor cool and composed, almost like nothing had ever happened. But there were cracks — moments when his eyes would meet yours across a crowded room, moments when his voice would catch ever so slightly when speaking to you.

In those moments, you wondered if he was feeling the same pull, the same struggle to keep his distance. Was it difficult for him too? Did he regret the way things were left, or was he relieved that you had taken the initiative to step back?

Despite the pain of staying away, you told yourself it was for the best. It was the right thing to do, even though every fiber of your being wanted to run back to him, to let yourself fall into whatever this was between you. But you couldn’t — you wouldn’t be the reason he broke his vow. Because as much as you longed for him, you respected him more.

Still, late at night, when you were alone with your thoughts, you couldn’t help but wonder: What if? What if you hadn’t walked away that day? What if he had been the one to break the distance? The uncertainty gnawed at you, leaving you with a bittersweet longing that neither distance nor time could seem to quiet.

But the distance only seemed to make things worse.

At first, it was easy enough to stay away. You busied yourself with gardening, taking the dogs for longer walks, filling your days with mundane chores and errands. But the quiet nights were harder.

Your thoughts would drift back to Suguru — to the way his eyes softened when he looked at you, the way his voice dropped to a whisper when he spoke your name. You’d catch yourself imagining the brush of his hand against yours, the warmth of his body close to yours, the way he had leaned in just a bit too close, as if he might kiss you if only for a second.

You knew you shouldn’t be thinking about him like that. He was a priest. He had made a choice, a vow, and you respected that. But the more you tried to push those thoughts away, the more they seemed to creep in, filling the quiet spaces of your mind.

Suguru was struggling too. He tried to focus on his duties, on the congregation, on the children who relied on him. He threw himself into his work with a fervor that bordered on obsession, trying to drown out the thoughts of you that seemed to linger no matter how hard he prayed.

But late at night, alone in his quarters, he found himself thinking of you. Of your laugh, your smile, the way you had looked at him in his office, your eyes filled with understanding, with something deeper that had taken root in his chest and refused to let go.

He would close his eyes and imagine what it would feel like to reach for you, to pull you into his arms, to taste your lips, to feel the heat of your skin against his. He hated himself for it, for the desire that surged through him like a tidal wave, threatening to sweep him away from everything he had promised to uphold. He’d kneel by his bed, his forehead pressed against his clasped hands, and pray for strength, for guidance, for something — anything — to take this longing away.

But the longing only grew.

One evening, as you sat on your porch, the sun dipping below the horizon, casting a soft golden glow over the garden, you felt the ache of loneliness settle deep in your bones.

You had spent the day trying to distract yourself, but nothing seemed to help. Every thought circled back to Suguru, to the way he made you feel alive in a way you hadn’t felt in years. You found yourself wondering what he was doing, if he was thinking of you too, if he was struggling as much as you were.

Without really meaning to, you reached for your phone. You typed out a message, then deleted it. Typed another, then deleted that too. You sighed, setting the phone aside, telling yourself to stop, to let it go. But your hand hovered over the screen, and before you knew it, you were calling his number.

The phone rang once, twice, and then his voice came through, soft and uncertain. “Hello?”

Your heart skipped a beat. “Hi.” you said, your voice barely more than a whisper. “I… I hope I’m not bothering you.”

There was a pause, and you could hear the hesitation in his breath. “No.” he replied finally, his voice gentle. “You’re not bothering me.”

You swallowed, your throat suddenly dry. “I just… I wanted to see how you were.” you admitted. “It’s been a while.”

He let out a soft sigh, and you could almost hear the smile in his voice. “It has.” he agreed. “I’ve… missed you.”

You closed your eyes, the words sinking into your skin like a balm. “I’ve missed you too.” you confessed, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. “I’ve been trying to stay away, but… it’s harder than I thought.”

He was quiet for a moment, and you could hear the rustle of fabric, the soft creak of a chair. “I’ve been trying too.” he admitted, his voice strained. “But it’s… it’s not easy.”

There was something in his tone, a rough edge that sent a shiver down your spine. “Suguru…….” you whispered, your heart pounding. “What are we going to do?”

He let out a breath, and you could feel the weight of his struggle, the battle raging within him. “I don’t know....." he replied honestly. “I’ve been praying for guidance, for… for something to help me make sense of this. But every time I close my eyes, all I see is you.”

Your breath hitched at his confession, the honesty of it slicing through you like a knife. “I… I feel the same.” you whispered. “I can’t stop thinking about you. About… about what it would feel like to…”

The words were right there, lingering on the tip of your tongue, but they felt too potent, too dangerous to release. You swallowed hard, your pulse quickening, your heart pounding in your chest as you stood there, teetering on the edge of a confession you weren't ready to make.

You wanted to say it, to let it all out — the weight of your feelings, the yearning that had grown over time, the way you couldn’t stop thinking about him, couldn’t stop feeling for him. But the moment felt too fragile, too charged. One wrong word and the delicate balance you both had maintained for so long would shatter. And so, you trailed off, your voice faltering, the unsaid hanging thick between you.

But he knew. The air in the room seemed to shift, charged with a tension that neither of you could deny. You could hear it in his breathing, the way it hitched, just for a moment, as if he was caught off guard by the depth of what you almost said. His chest rose and fell with a newfound heaviness, each breath more labored than the last, betraying the calm facade he tried to maintain.

He didn’t look at you right away, as if turning to face you would confirm everything — the longing, the hesitation, the unspoken desires that had been building between you both for far too long. But when he finally spoke, his voice trembled, a slight quiver beneath his usual steady tone. It wasn’t much, barely noticeable to anyone else, but to you, it was everything.

It was proof that he understood that he was feeling the same thing you were, even if neither of you could fully articulate it. His words, whatever they were, seemed like an afterthought, just filler to mask the emotions surging beneath the surface. Yet, the tremor in his voice betrayed him, and for a moment, you wondered if he would be the one to break first.

But he didn’t. Instead, you both stood there, suspended in the weight of your silence, the unspoken words pressing against your lips like a dam about to break. You could feel the heat of his presence, the way the space between you seemed to shrink without either of you moving an inch. There was so much you wanted to say, so much you wanted to hear, but neither of you dared cross that invisible line.

Even though nothing was said aloud, the room felt full — full of everything you couldn’t bring yourself to admit, full of everything he had already understood. The weight of it pressed on you, thick and heavy, and you realized that sometimes, words weren’t necessary. Sometimes, the silence, the shared breath, the trembling voice, said everything that needed to be said.

And in that moment, you both knew.

“I know.” he whispered, his voice raw with need. “I’ve thought about it too. More than I should.”

Your heart raced, a flush spreading over your skin as the heat of his words washed over you. “Maybe… maybe we could just see each other.” you suggested tentatively. “Just… just to talk. Nothing more.”

He hesitated, and you could feel the conflict in his silence. But then he spoke, his voice thick with longing. “Just to talk, like back then....” he agreed. “But… if it becomes too much…”

“I’ll leave.” you promised. “I don’t want to make things harder for you. I just… I just need to see you.”

He sighed, a sound of both relief and resignation. “Okay……” he said softly. “Come to the church tomorrow. After the evening service. We can… we can talk.”

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see you, your heart racing with anticipation, with fear, with desire.

“Okay.” you whispered. “Tomorrow.”

When the call ended, you felt a strange mix of emotions — excitement, anxiety, a deep, pulsing need that you couldn’t ignore. You told yourself it would just be a conversation, just a chance to clear the air, to find some semblance of peace in this storm. But deep down, you knew it wouldn’t be that simple. Nothing between you and Geto Suguru had ever been simple.

And as you lay in bed that night, staring at the ceiling, you wondered what tomorrow would bring, and whether you’d have the strength to resist the pull that had only grown stronger with every moment you spent apart.

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YOU DON’T KNOW ABOUT WHAT TO DO. The next evening arrived like a cold weight pressing on your chest. You stood outside the church, your clothes soaked through as the rain beat down relentlessly, its bitter chill sinking into your bones.

Each gust of wind cut through you, but the storm raging around you was nothing compared to the turmoil within. You had rehearsed what you might say over and over, yet as you stood before the old wooden doors, the words felt distant, unreachable.

With a shaky breath, you reached out, your hand trembling as it grasped the iron handle. The door creaked, groaning under the pressure of your push, the sound amplified by the hollow quiet inside.

Stepping across the threshold, you could hear the echo of your footsteps against the stone floor, each step amplifying the pounding of your heart, which beat in sync with the thunder rumbling outside.

The church was nearly empty, its vast interior engulfed in an eerie stillness. The last remnants of the evening service had long since faded, leaving only a few flickering candles scattered around the altar.

Their faint, wavering light sent shadows dancing across the old stone walls, casting strange shapes that seemed to twist and shift with every gust of wind that rattled the windows. The air smelled of damp wood, incense, and something ancient — a scent that seemed to settle deep in your lungs, grounding you in the moment yet unsettling you all the same.

You paused just inside the doorway, wiping the rain from your face, and took in the silence that surrounded you. Despite the stillness, the weight of the space pressed down on you, amplifying your anxiety. You weren’t sure if it was the setting or the reason for your presence that made your chest tighten, but every breath felt like an effort.

The soft hum of the storm outside was barely audible within the stone sanctuary, creating a strange sense of isolation. You found yourself both soothed and unnerved by the contrast — the chaos outside, the fragile calm inside.

And yet, even within this tranquility, there was a tension, a palpable sense of anticipation that settled in your gut. You were here for a reason, but now, standing in the dim light of the church, the reality of it felt heavier than you had imagined.

You walked slowly down the aisle, your footsteps echoing off the vaulted ceiling, each step measured, deliberate, as if delaying the inevitable. The pews were empty, save for a few scattered hymn books and prayer pamphlets left behind.

The rows stretched endlessly before you, and every flicker of the candles seemed to emphasize the emptiness, the vastness of the space, making you feel smaller with each passing second.

As you approached the altar, your breath hitched in your throat. This was the place where vows were made, promises were sealed, and lives were intertwined — for better or for worse. But you weren’t here for such formalities.

No, your visit was shrouded in uncertainty and the kind of unspoken tension that you had no idea how to resolve. The closer you got to the altar, the more the anticipation surged, twisting inside you.

You hesitated, standing just a few feet away from the altar steps. The candles flickered, casting long shadows that stretched toward you like fingers reaching from the past, urging you to move forward. But you remained still, heart pounding, breath shallow. The moment felt suspended, like a string pulled taut, ready to snap.

In the stillness, you wondered what awaited you — what words would be exchanged, what truths would be revealed. The anxiety gnawed at you, and yet, beneath it all, there was a strange undercurrent of hope. Maybe, just maybe, this night would bring clarity, an answer to the questions that had haunted you since the last time you were here.

And so you stood there, fighting the urge to turn back, knowing that what happened next could change everything.

You could hear Suguru’s voice in the distance, speaking quietly with one of the parishioners. You waited near the back, your hands clasped in front of you, trying to steady your breathing. When he finished, he turned and saw you, his expression softening in a way that made your chest ache.

"You're here." he said, walking over to you. His voice was low, and there was a flicker of something in his eyes — relief, maybe, or hesitation.

"I am." you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. "I… I needed to see you."

He nodded, his gaze sweeping over you, lingering for just a moment too long. “Come with me.” he murmured, gesturing toward a small room off to the side. His office, you realized. The room where it all started.

You followed him, your footsteps echoing softly on the stone floor. The air felt thick, heavy with unsaid words, with unspoken need. Once inside, he closed the door, and you both stood there for a moment, staring at each other, unsure where to begin. You could feel your heart pound at each step you took. Your breath hitches as you walk with him, many thoughts racing over and over in your head.

Suguru took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair. "I’m glad you came." he said, breaking the silence. "But I… I don’t know if this is a good idea."

Your chest tightened at his words, a mixture of frustration and longing bubbling to the surface. “I don’t either.” you admitted, “but I don’t know what else to do. I can’t just… ignore this.”

He looked at you, his eyes darkening with an emotion you couldn’t quite place. “Do you think it’s easy for me?” he asked, his voice rising slightly. “Do you think I don’t feel it too? This… this pull?”

You took a step closer, feeling a spark of anger mixed with desire. “Then why are we fighting it, Suguru? Why are we pretending like this isn’t happening?”

He shook his head, his frustration evident. “Because I made a promise, you know that.” he snapped. “Because I dedicated my life to something bigger than myself, and I can’t just… I can’t just throw that away!”

You felt a surge of emotion, a frustration that had been building for weeks. “I’m not asking you to throw anything away!” you shot back, your voice louder than you intended. “But you can’t just… you can’t just pretend you don’t feel anything. That we don’t feel anything!”

His eyes flashed with something you couldn’t quite name — anger, maybe, or desire. “I’ve spent years pretending, trying to bury these feelings,” he said, his voice low and raw. “But every time I see you… every time I hear your voice…”

He stepped closer, his breath hot against your skin, his eyes locked onto yours. “It tears me apart. And I don’t know…..” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ve tried to stay away. God knows I’ve tried. But I… I can’t.”

You could feel the heat radiating off him, the tension between you thick and suffocating. “Then don’t.” you whispered, your voice trembling. “Don’t stay away. Don’t push me away…Please.”

His breath hitched, his hands twitching at his sides as if he was fighting the urge to reach for you. “This is madness.” he murmured, but his voice lacked conviction. “This… this is wrong.”

“Is it?” you challenged, your heart pounding in your chest. “Is it really so wrong to want… to feel…?”

He closed his eyes, a pained expression crossing his face. “I don’t know anymore.” he admitted, his voice barely a whisper. “I don’t know what’s right or wrong when it comes to you.”

Before you could think, before you could stop yourself, you reached out and grabbed his hand, pulling him closer. “Then stop thinking.” you said softly, your voice trembling. “Just… just feel.”

For a moment, he froze, his breath catching in his throat. Then, something inside him seemed to snap. He surged forward, his hands cupping your face, his lips crashing against yours with a force that took your breath away.

The kiss was desperate, hungry, years of longing and frustration pouring out in a single, electrifying moment. You felt his hands tangle in your hair, his body pressing against yours, his breath hot and ragged against your skin. You kissed him back with equal fervor, your fingers gripping his shirt, pulling him closer, needing to feel him, to taste him, to know that this was real.

Your back hit the wall, and he pressed against you, his mouth moving against yours with a ferocity that made your knees weak. You could feel his heart pounding in his chest, could taste the salt of his tears on his lips. You were drowning in him, in the scent of him, in the feel of his body against yours, in the way his hands roamed your back, pulling you closer, deeper into the kiss.

But then, as quickly as it began, he pulled away, gasping for breath, his hands still holding your face, his forehead resting against yours. “We… we can’t.” he panted, his voice broken, torn. “This… this isn’t right.”

You were both breathing hard, your chest heaving with the effort to calm the storm raging inside you. “I know,” you whispered, your voice shaky. “I know it’s not. But… but I need you, Suguru. I need you so much.”

He closed his eyes, his hands trembling against your skin. “I need you too.” he confessed, his voice choking with emotion. “God help me, I need you too.”

And in that moment, as you stood there, pressed against the wall, your breaths mingling in the darkened room, you both knew that something had changed. A line had been crossed, a boundary shattered, and there was no going back.

The world outside seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you, tangled together in a moment that was as intoxicating as it was forbidden. And for the first time, you allowed yourself to feel the weight of what was between you, to acknowledge the depth of your desire, the strength of your longing.

Suguru’s lips brushed against yours again, softer this time, more tentative, as if he was afraid to break the fragile moment. “What are we doing?” he whispered against your mouth.

You closed your eyes, feeling his breath warm against your skin. “I don’t know.” you admitted, your voice barely more than a breath. “But I don’t want to stop.”

He swallowed hard, his forehead still pressed against yours, his hands cradling your face as if he were afraid you might disappear. “Neither do I.” he confessed, his voice breaking. “Neither do I.”

His breath was ragged, his hands shaking as they cupped your face once more, his lips finding yours in a kiss that was both desperate and tender, as if he were searching for something he had lost long ago.

The world around you seemed to dissolve into a blur, leaving only the two of you in this sacred, forbidden moment. Tears slipped down your cheeks, and he felt them against his skin, his own eyes closing tight as if he could hold back the storm of emotions threatening to consume him.

He kissed you again, harder this time, a low, shaky sigh escaping him as his hands found their way to your waist, pulling you against him with a strength that bordered on desperation.

“Forgive me.” he murmured against your lips, the words barely audible, his voice thick with emotion. “God, forgive me…”

But even as he spoke, he knew there was no forgiveness for what he was about to do, no absolution in this moment of need and longing. He felt the weight of his vows, the promises he had made, the life he had chosen… and yet, when it came to you, every vow seemed like a distant memory, every promise a faint echo of a past life.

His hands moved to your shoulders, pressing you back against the wall, his lips trailing down your neck, kissing every inch of skin he could reach as if he were worshiping at an altar.

“I’ve sinned so truly and endlessly for all these years.” he whispered, his voice raw, broken. “I’ve sinned, loving you… wanting you… needing you…”

You gasped, your fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer, needing to feel him, needing to know this was real. His lips moved lower, tracing the line of your collarbone, his breath hot against your skin.

“You’ve always been my god.” he confessed, his voice a breathless prayer. “And I… your most devoted follower…”

He sank to his knees, his hands sliding down your sides, his lips brushing against the fabric of your dress. He looked up at you, his eyes dark with desire, his expression a mixture of longing and torment.

“I can’t stop.” he whispered, his voice barely a breath. “I won’t stop…”

His fingers hooked into the hem of your dress, lifting it slowly, reverently, his lips pressing kisses to the exposed skin of your thighs. You shivered, your breath catching in your throat as he continued, his hands trembling against your skin.

“I’ll sin for you… over and over.” he murmured, his lips brushing against the curve of your hip. “Because I can’t let you go…”

He kissed lower, his mouth trailing down the inside of your thigh, his breath warm against your skin. He paused for a moment, his hands gripping your thighs, his forehead pressing against your belly as if he were fighting some inner battle. And then, with a sigh that seemed to come from the depths of his soul, he kissed you again, his lips finding the center of your desire, soft and demanding all at once.

You moaned, your head falling back against the wall, your hands gripping his shoulders as his tongue flicked against you, tasting you, savoring you like the sweetest sin.

He groaned, the sound vibrating against your skin, his hands tightening their grip on your thighs, pulling you closer as his tongue moved in slow, deliberate circles, each stroke a prayer, each touch a confession.

He kissed you there, over and over, his mouth moving against you with a fervor that was almost holy in its intensity. He could feel your body trembling beneath his hands, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps as he worshiped you with every ounce of devotion he possessed. His tongue swirled around your clit, teasing, tasting, the heat of his breath mingling with the heat of your skin.

His hands gripped the soft flesh of your thighs, his fingers digging into your skin as he held you steady, his mouth never leaving you, his tongue moving faster, hungrier, seeking to draw out every cry, every moan, every shudder of pleasure. His own breath came in ragged bursts, his heart pounding in his chest, his body trembling with the force of his own desire.

He couldn’t stop — didn’t want to stop. You were his sanctuary, his salvation, and in this moment, he was lost in you, lost in the heat of your skin, the taste of your desire, the sound of your breathless gasps. He moaned against you, the sound filled with need, with longing, with a hunger that bordered on desperation.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, urging him on as he continued, his lips and tongue moving against you with a fervor that was almost frantic. He felt your body tense, heard the soft, breathless moans that escaped your lips, and he knew you were close. Suguru wanted to push you over the edge, wanted to hear you cry out his name, wanted to feel you shatter against his lips.

And so, he continued, his tongue flicking faster, his lips pressing harder, his hands gripping your thighs as if he could anchor himself to you, as if he could hold you here, with him, in this perfect, sinful moment forever.

You cried out, your body arching against the wall, your hands tightening in his hair as you came, a soft, breathless moan escaping your lips. He groaned against you, his tongue never stopping, his lips moving against you with a fervor that was almost holy, almost desperate, as if he were afraid to let you go, afraid to let the moment end.

And in that moment, he knew — he knew he would never be able to stop sinning for you. He would never be able to walk away, to forget the taste of you, the feel of you, the sound of your voice crying out his name. He was yours, body and soul, for better or for worse, for all eternity.

He pulled back, his breath ragged, his lips glistening, his eyes dark and filled with a longing so deep it nearly broke your heart. He looked up at you, his hands still gripping your thighs, his expression a mixture of awe and torment.

His voice was hoarse when he spoke, as if every word took effort to push past the weight of his desire. "I can't... I can't stop this." he confessed, his forehead resting against your stomach, his breath warm against your skin. His hands slid up your sides, pulling you closer as if anchoring himself to you, needing the connection as much as the air in his lungs.

You tangled your fingers in his hair again, your pulse still racing, the aftermath of the moment leaving your body humming with a mix of exhaustion and anticipation. You could feel the tension in him, the battle between what he wanted and what he knew was dangerous, and yet you both understood — there was no turning back. Not now.

Slowly, you tilted his chin up, guiding his gaze back to yours. His eyes, still dark with desire, searched yours, and you could see the fear in them — fear of the depth of this thing between you, fear of how much it already consumed him. But beneath that, there was something more. Something tender, vulnerable, almost fragile.

"I don't want you to stop." you whispered, your voice soft but firm. "I don't want this to end.”

Suguru's eyes softened for a moment, then clouded with guilt. His hands trembled as they cupped your face, his thumbs gently stroking your cheeks. "I'm sorry." he murmured, his voice breaking with regret. "I'm so sorry… I led you to sin. This desire—my desire—it’s wrong, I’ve tainted you. I should have never let it go this far."

You shook your head, heart pounding, and leaned into his touch. "No." you whispered fiercely. "You didn't lead me anywhere I didn't want to go. I chose this. I chose you. If we're sinners, then I'll carry that sin with you. Together."

Without hesitation, you captured his lips in a kiss that was hard, desperate, and messy, like you were trying to devour him, to merge with him completely. And Suguru, filled with equal need, responded with the same raw intensity. His hands roamed your body, hungry, claiming, as if trying to make sure this moment, this choice, could never be undone.

In one swift motion, he lifted you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carried you to the confession box. The small, sacred space that had once held secrets and forgiveness was now your altar of passion. You both fumbled with your clothes, hands frantic, lips still locked in that feverish kiss. When the last piece of fabric fell to the floor, he broke away just long enough to whisper.

"You are my god. I was never meant to devote worship to anyone else."

His words sent a shiver down your spine, and the intensity of his devotion left you breathless. When he finally entered you, filling you completely, your body arched, as if instinctively trying to get closer, deeper, into the space where the boundaries of pleasure and need blurred into something beyond comprehension.

The moan that escaped your lips was loud, unrestrained, ripped from your throat like a prayer answered after too long in the desert. And as if answering your plea, Suguru thrust harder, deeper, his breath ragged, his skin slick with sweat as the storm outside raged in perfect synchrony with the chaos inside you both.

Thunder cracked, the air vibrating with the sound, but neither of you cared. It was the storm that gave you permission to be loud, to scream, to lose yourselves in this forbidden act. The rain pounded against the windows, a constant drumbeat to the rhythm of his body pressing into yours, over and over, until your mind was lost in a haze of pleasure so blinding you couldn’t tell where your body ended and his began.

You came, hard and fast, your body trembling uncontrollably in his arms, but he didn't stop. He couldn't stop. His pace grew more desperate, each thrust pushing deeper, more insistent, like a prayer that had to be spoken aloud, no matter the cost. His worship of you was not gentle; it was fierce, almost frenzied, as if the very act of being inside you was the only way he could breathe.

"Suguru." you gasped, barely able to speak, your voice broken and breathless. But the sound of his name on your lips seemed to spur him on. His hands gripped your hips tighter, pulling you impossibly closer, his movements becoming rougher, more urgent. Every thrust pushed you higher, every stroke making your body shake, your legs trembling as you gave into the pleasure that threatened to overwhelm you.

He was relentless, his need for you all-consuming, driven by something more than mere desire. It was devotion, pure and raw, a longing that had been pent up for far too long. His words from earlier echoed in your mind — You are my god — and you could feel the truth of it now, in every touch, every movement, as he gave himself to you completely.

You whimpered as your body responded to him again, another wave of pleasure building as he moved deeper inside you, filling every part of you until there was nothing left but him. The tension between your bodies, the heat, the raw, primal hunger, grew too much to bear. Your nails dug into his shoulders, your body clinging to him, needing him, wanting him, as he pushed you closer to the edge again.

The storm raged outside, lightning flashing, illuminating the room in brief moments of stark white, and in those flashes, you could see the look on his face — dark, intense, a man consumed by his love for you, by the act of giving himself over entirely, as if nothing else mattered in this world.

And maybe it didn’t.

"Suguru..." you moaned, feeling yourself break once more as your body surrendered to him completely, trembling violently against his as he continued to claim you, over and over, as if this moment would never end.

Suguru’s pace never faltered, his body pressed relentlessly against yours, each thrust deeper than the last. His eyes were half-lidded with a raw, burning need, his hands never loosening their grip on your trembling body.

Even as your voice broke into breathless cries, your hands clutched desperately at him, grounding yourself in the overwhelming sensations that coursed through you. He was utterly lost in you, consumed by the devotion he had promised — his worship of you unending, fervent, and wild.

Your body ached with the pleasure of it, shaking beneath him as he continued even after you had come. He was relentless, his hips driving against yours in a rhythm that sent shivers down your spine, each movement feeding the fire that burned between you. You felt overwhelmed, consumed, your body unable to keep up with the intensity of his desire, but you didn’t want him to stop. Not ever.

“Suguru……” you whimpered again, your voice cracking, barely able to speak as his thrusts grew rougher, more desperate. “Please…”

But whether you were begging for more or for a moment’s reprieve, even you didn’t know. He responded with a low, guttural moan, his forehead pressed against yours, his breath hot and ragged against your lips. His eyes, dark and wild, locked onto yours as he murmured in a voice thick with lust.

“I need you… I need you more than anything. You’re everything.”

Your heart pounded, his words igniting something deep within you as your body gave in completely, surrendering to him as if you were both caught in the grip of something sacred and sinful all at once. He pushed deeper, each thrust taking you to the edge of what your body could handle, the pleasure blending with a delicious ache that left you trembling against him.

The thunder outside roared, masking your moans as his worship grew more fervent, his devotion unrelenting. Your body shook beneath him, every nerve alight as he claimed you over and over. Your hands slid up his back, your nails digging into his skin, marking him as yours as he took you higher, his pace unbroken, his rhythm fierce and untamed.

Lightning flashed again, casting the room in harsh light, illuminating the way his muscles strained as he drove into you, his face twisted in both agony and ecstasy. His voice, hoarse and filled with desperate reverence, reached you between the booming thunder.

“You’re mine… only mine.”

The words broke something in you, your body shaking as the pleasure surged through you once again, your cries swallowed by the storm. You clung to him as wave after wave of ecstasy crashed over you, your body collapsing into his as the intensity of it all took you to the brink of delirium.

Suguru wasn’t far behind. His movements grew frantic, his body trembling with the effort of holding back as long as he could. But in the end, he couldn’t resist any longer. With a low, primal groan, he buried himself deep inside you one last time, his release washing over him as he collapsed into you, his entire body shaking with the force of it.

For a moment, neither of you moved, tangled together in a haze of exhaustion and bliss, the sound of the storm outside slowly fading into the background. His breath was heavy against your neck, his lips brushing your skin as he whispered.

“I’m never letting you go.”

And as you lay there, wrapped in each other, you knew the truth of it — this was something neither of you could escape. Not the sin, not the pleasure, not the way you were both hopelessly bound to one another. For better or worse, you were his, and he was yours. Bound in sin, bound in love, bound in something far more powerful than either of you could understand.

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epilogue

The car hummed softly beneath you as you drove, the highway stretching out ahead, quiet and serene in the early morning light. Your daughter sat in the passenger seat, her backpack nestled between her feet, her gaze fixed out the window as the city gave way to the open road leading toward the airport. The silence between you was comfortable, but there was an unspoken tension — the weight of goodbye looming just ahead.

You glanced over at her, your heart swelling with pride and a little bit of that inevitable ache that comes with watching your child leave. She had grown so much, blossomed into a young woman full of ambition and dreams. College was her next chapter, and you were ready to let her go, even if the thought tugged at your heart.

As if sensing your thoughts, she turned to you, her brow furrowed in concern. "Are you gonna be alright, Mom?" Her voice was soft, careful, as if she was more worried about you than her own big journey ahead.

You smiled at her, reaching over to give her hand a reassuring squeeze. "Yes, sweetheart. I'm going to be fine." You paused, your smile growing a little softer. "I have Suguru."

She smiled back, a knowing look in her eyes. She had grown up with Suguru around, seeing the way you two fit together. Over time, she understood the depth of your bond, even if she didn’t know the whole story.

"I’m glad." she said quietly. "He’s good for you."

You nodded, your chest tightening a bit as the airport came into view. "He is. And I’m going to miss you. But you know you can come back anytime, right? This is always your home."

She smiled, though it was tinged with the same bittersweet feeling you carried. "I know, Mom. I’ll come back as soon as I can."

After pulling up to the drop-off zone, you hugged her tightly, savoring the warmth of her embrace. "I’m so proud of you." you whispered, holding her just a little longer than usual.

"I love you, Mom." she murmured back before pulling away, her eyes a little misty. She gave you one last smile before grabbing her bag and disappearing through the airport doors.

For a moment, you sat there, watching the entrance as people hurried by, the world continuing on as always. You felt the pang of her absence already, but you knew that she was ready for this new adventure. And so were you.

With a deep breath, you turned the car around and headed back toward town, a quiet excitement building in your chest. Suguru was waiting for you. As you neared the church, the sight of it stirred something in you. It was the place where so much had started, where your life had taken a turn you could never have predicted.

Suguru had officially left the priesthood some time ago, and now, he was finishing the last bit of paperwork to close that chapter of his life. His decision had been made with a clear heart, for both of you and for the daughters he had taken in, Mimiko and Nanako. The three of them had already moved the rest of their things to a house just outside of town, the place where you would begin your new life together.

As you pulled into the small parking lot of the church, you spotted him standing near the entrance, his dark hair tied back, his expression calm but focused as he signed the last of the documents. He looked up when you parked, his lips curving into a soft smile as you approached.

"All set?" you asked as you reached him, your fingers brushing his in a quiet greeting.

He nodded, setting the paperwork aside. "It’s done. Everything’s in order." His smile widened, that familiar warmth in his gaze. "I’m free."

You exhaled softly, the weight of his words filling the space between you. He had left the priesthood not for the sake of running away from something, but for the chance to fully embrace the life he wanted — the life he wanted with you.

"So," you asked with a playful tilt of your head, "where to next?"

Suguru smiled, reaching out to take your hand in his, his touch grounding and steady, as it had always been. "I want to devote the rest of my life to you," he said simply, his voice gentle yet filled with unwavering certainty.

Your heart swelled at his words, a rush of warmth flooding through you. He had always been devoted, but now it was different. Now, there were no barriers, no walls between you. It was just the two of you, ready to build something beautiful together.

You smiled, stepping closer and resting your head against his chest, his arms wrapping around you in a way that felt like home. "Then let’s go, hm?" you whispered. "Let’s start the rest of our lives."

And as you drove away from the church together, toward the house that would soon become your shared home, the future felt wide open — a new chapter, a new beginning. You had Suguru. You had love. And for the first time, you felt entirely free.

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nartothelar · 4 months ago

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I just had a thought while thinking about your possession au.

So I know you posted some joke art about Ingo confronting a Zoroark acting as his (possessed) brother, but what if the Zoroark WAS trying this time.

So imagine ; Ingo with maybe Lady Sneasler and Irida walking through the Alabaster Icelands, and they get confronted with a Zoroark. It takes Emmet's form and starts terrorizing Ingo, taunting him with "You'd never hurt me!" and everything F!Emmet said before.

And Irida watches as Ingo, her cool and collected if a tad lost warden just... shrink back in fear.

Now just about any sane person would be afraid of a Zoroark, but she can tell that this is MUCH more than just that. This is *personal*. He normally never hesitates fighting Zoroarks when they take the forms of others, but this time he is terrified of hurting the man behind the illusion, and of the man himself.

Judging from everything the illusion of Emmet is shouting (even illusions and how they behave have *some* truth to them), and the way Ingo is terrified, she deduces that maybe the place or family Ingo originally came from wasn't ideal, to say the least. Ingo frantically telling Irida that he loves his supposed abuser only reaffirms her concerns.

Eventually, this becomes somewhat of an open secret among both clans that Ingo's 'man in white' is, to say the least, not good. And how is Ingo supposed to dispute that? He loves this person, and he vaguely feels protective of him, but he also feels afraid whenever he think of him.

Cue Emmet somehow getting into Hisui.

For some extra angst, he took care of his F!Emmet situation, somehow. (Maybe when they both went to Dialga to go to Hisui, he went 'wait a moment, you're not supposed to be there' and separated them)

Naturally, when Irida finds out that the man in white is actually here, she panics. Everyone tries to a. Keep Emmet from finding out Ingo is even here (which doesn't work, he came here KNOWING Ingo is here so he can tell everyones lying to him), b. Know Emmet's location at all times, so that c. They can steer Ingo in the opposite direction of where Emmet is, for his own safety until they can either get Emmet to go back to where he came from, or do some (incredibly biased) investigation.

Cause Sinnoh help them if Emmet IS actually as bad as they suspect, cause if he is even half as good as Ingo, then the amount of people who could potentially stop him can he counted on one hand.

Sure, he SEEMS nice if a tad intense, worrying about his brother, but who's to say he's not just a good actor?

I dunno, maybe the climax is Emmet finding Ingo but the Ingo protection squad (consisting of Irida, Sneasler, etc.) is keeping him back and throwing the not completely baseless accusations at Emmet, him saying "hey I was possessed by a future alternate version of myself, but hes gone now I swear" ("well that's awfully convenient"), and Ingo has NO IDEA what do to (cause he said that once, didn't he? He said that the thing was gone, but then it wasn't, so he has no idea if he can fully trust him or not).

OR, F!Emmet arrives still in Emmet's body and just starts tearing through everything to find Ingo. He's an unstoppable force that will not stop until he finds his brother. And he is nearly everything that Zoroark showed Irida. They are desperately trying to keep Ingo away from him, to no avail.

What're your thoughts on this? Do with all this what you want, and thanks for reading my rant.

OK SO THIS WOULDN'T BE CANON PER SAY (more like an offshoot au?) BUT SOME INTROSPECTION ->

so i might have explored this very idea in a couple of discord dms! but for the most part, yes, ingo would be very much scared of the man in white/the zoroark since his last days with emmet were very much tainted with future emmet's influence, but i wouldn't say f!emmet went so far as to abuse him - emotionally torment for sure tho. still, ingo would very much react, even with amnesia, with a sense of fear and apprehension to seeing him. mixed and very confusing feelings

when emmet does finally get to ingo in hisui in the actual au, him and his future self has actually teamed up (as the last installation suggests). that isn't to say emmet is angry at his future self (bc he is FURIOUS even now at how his future self treated ingo and made the last few weeks he had with his sibling so miserable for everyone) but they have a sort of ceasefire since they want the same thing rn

but similar to your ask, ingo doesn't react positively. he still doesn't remember much but he knows that: 1) he knows this figure and that he is someone important to him 2) does not want any harm to come to him 3) he, for the life of him, is scared of him. the clan is rightfully ultra suspicious of them and maybe puts him on watch (and maybe subjecting him to various interrogative talks to get him to explain everything) that the emmets accept without much fight -> f!emmet feeling extremely guilty for what he has done and believes he deserves the treatment/deserves to not be forgiven + emmet knows that the clan is protecting his brother and can't fault them for handling the way they do

f!emmet and emmet both have a lot of work to do if they want things to go back to the way they were, if they even can

BUT YEAH VERRRRRRRY LONG RAMBLE BUT VERRRY INTERESTING NONETHELESS SKSKK

#poor traumatized ingo skskks #possession au #emmet #kudari #subway boss emmet #ingo #nobori #clan leader irida #irida #abuse mention #long post #pla #pokemon legends arceus

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a-spes · 9 months ago

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| THE PLACE WE'VE BEEN DREAMING OF - Imagine (1,109 words).

| Summary - when Natasha enventually gives in, and accept her wife's demand to adopt a pet.

| Tags & warning - Men & Minors DNI, soft dark!wandanat x R, not really pet play but R is reffered to as one (stray/mutt/it), a man being mean, mentions of death, hints of (past) abuse, pure fluff/comfort.

| Author's note - I wrote that quickly because it has been on my mind for so long, and I definitely needed to share it with the world, but hope you'll enjoy it anyway! I'll definitely write a longer version of it when I've time, but for the moment, here goes the first introduction to The place we've been dreaming of alternative universe (and it's only the beginning because i've so many thoughts to share about it) <3

| MASTERLIST — ✧ — TO SAY SOMETHING

it was wands' idea. she had begging nat for years, talking about how good it would be to have a pet, just to bring a bit of life in the household.

and that's exactly what natasha feared. because she likes how quiet, and tidy, her house is. she likes the routine she built with her wife over the years, and she is reluctant to bring another piece in her house.

but how could she deny her wife when she begs her with those puppy eyes?

so she eventually gave in, and they went into a place that's only known by the richest persons. it's kind of a shelter, but instead of animals, human being are sold.

they walked in, wands looking in the cages while nat roll her eyes everytime she tries to have her opinion. "did you find what you want?" the seller asked, and nat looks at her wife that seems to hesitate. "what's over here?" she asked back, pointing to a noisy alley that constrats with the quiet one they've just travelled.

the sellers just dismissed her question, "they're unfit" he just replied, "they're going to be send off tomorrow". "where?" wands asked. "to be killed", he replied, but when he tried to get the conversation back on his best goods, wanda ignored him: she wanted to see these ones. nat isn't surprised, her wife always having a thing for saving broken being, but she still roll her eyes, thinking about the additionnal trouble it'll bring.

so, before the man could say anything, they walk in the alley. the ambience is different. yells, cries, and dark glances greet the women, while in the first alley, everyone's was perfect. nat cringes while her wife walk around, until she crouches in front of a cage that, at the first sight, appears to be empty.

except that, that you are here. in the back of the cage, hiding where the light can barely find you, trying to forget where you are. the noise is frightening you, but your hands covering your ears isn't enough to reduce it. the yells from the other still bugging you.

you've no idea for how long you've been here, but it felt like an eternity. you've been sent back here by your previous owner, it was your last chance, you've been told, and you don't know what's going to happen. when the door clicked, you thought your hour had come, and it only made you curl up further.

but the hand that came for you wasn't harsh. it hasn't tried to grab you. when you eventually open your eyes, your met by the sight of a woman, that's trying to get you to come to her. her voice is sweet. she doesn't yell as you thought she would when you didn't move at first.

the men had to bang against the walls to get you out, which earn him a glance from both of the women. he ignored them. "this stray has one of the worse behavior. she bites, is noisy, messy, agressive, ..." but wanda isn't listening anymore. she is just looking at you, sitting in front of her, unable to ignore the look on your eyes. the fear, and the exhaustion.

you didn't bite. you didn't made a noise. you didn't try to run away.

you only flinched when she reach out to stroke your cheek, but a second was enough for you to lean into her contact. it was so sweet. so gentle. and, for the first time, it felt genuine, and even the slap or the harsh grip you were waiting for never came. she was looking at you with pity, and something you couldn't name yet.

"... she couldn't behave even to save her life, we've tried everything. she's trouble", he adds, still talking even if none of the women is caring about his opinion, "believe me, she'll be better dead", and nat muttered something how he should be the one to die, while wanda didn't listen at all to his speech, all her attention being on you right now.

"you're sure that's the one you want, wands?" she asked, but she already knew her wife would nod, and she is definitely not going to fight her, especially when she sees how attached she already seems to be.

she looked at her while she take a biscuit out of her pocket, just to give a bit to you, but ends up giving you everything when she notices how you inhaled it. her brows furrowing together, but she doesn't say a word. she knows it would be useless to start a scene right now, this man perfectly knowing how bad he is treating you, and everyone else here. or maybe he doesn't, and doesn't realizes, thinking you deserve it, and then it would be pointless to argue with him. in that instant, she wishes she could take them all home, and if she can't, she can at least save one life.

"we didn't even bring her home yet that you're already spoiling her" nat complained, rolling her eyes. a whispered, "she deserves it", is muttered under her breath while the man seems annoyed, "if you're too lenient, you're going to regret it. you need to be firm with these things, you know." "and how would you know?" nat would ask, "apparently it didn't work well, from what you said earlier" and she smirks when she notices he starts to loose his temper, his voice being harsh when he replies, "then do not even think about taking her back when you'll realize how bad she is," just to nat to assure him that he "doesn't need to worry about that".

she isn't found of her wife's choice. she would have prefer it if she choose one of the perfect pet from the first alley. one of the one that wouldn't disturb her peace. but obviously her wife had to go for a stray, a mott, and a broken one by the way. but if there are two things she enjoys it's seeing her wife smiling, and pissing off men that thinks they know everything. if adopting that one allows to do it both at the same time, then she's all for it. a part of her wanting to prove the man that he is just wrong, and is the problem in that story.

#a spes writing #imagine #the place we've been dreaming of universe #wandanat #wanda maximoff x natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x wanda maximoff #wandanat x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #reader insert #fluff writing #soft dark wandanat

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signanothername · 2 months ago

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How do you see Nm's and Ccino's relationship? Is it different from canon?

Ngl didn’t expect people to be this interested dhdhhdhdh

Kay so, ngl, i’m still kinda refining how I interpret Ccino and his Au as a whole, so what imma say is just a few paragraphs of the gist of how i think of it so far dhxghxhxh

Nightmare found out about fluffytale and by extension Ccino through doing research of different AUs, as Nightmare has a tendency to study AUs to understand how they work and how he can apply it in his own plans/take advantage of them

The reason Fluffytale even caught Nightmare’s attention at all, was for 2 reasons:

1- the Au no longer has any Alternative timelines as there only seems to be one single timeline left, meaning, it’s the one singular unique Au, single main Au with no copies that illustrate different events, and the code of the Au seems completely corrupted, meaning the very concept of new timelines being created is impossible

Nightmare isn’t completely sure why every other timeline seems to have been erased out of existence and why the code is corrupted, but he guesses it’s Error’s work

2- the Au has a cafe which is open to host whoever in the multiverse, regardless of who they are, whether infamous for violence or known for their kindness, whether they are a person who’s part of another Au, or an outcode, it welcomes everyone, including his twin, and by extension himself

Not only did Nightmare see potential in having another set of eyes on the outside world and a great source of info, but even as a source of negativity considering the misery in that universe in general

Nightmare eventually visits the Au himself and watches the cafe from afar for a few weeks before actually visiting the cafe himself

Obviously, with the intent to make a “deal” with the owner of the cafe (Ccino)

Ccino is completely unaware of the state of his Au, thinking that other timelines do exist, and by extension, having a bit of courage to refuse Nightmare’s “offer” at first

Nightmare being the bitch who never takes “no” for an answer, threatens Ccino that he will destroy his Au, and kill his family, and let him watch it happen, which again, Ccino is fine with (lie) as long as he knows there are other timelines in which they live peacefully (he’s not actually fine with it, he’s terrified of Nightmare and his threats, but the idea of other timelines existing gives Ccino a little bit of hope that even if he dies, another version of himself and his brother are out there happy and safe)

And that’s when Nightmare tells him about the state of his Au, and even proving that there’s only this one timeline, and that crushes any sort of hope and confidence in Ccino, and well, Nightmare takes that as a chance to manipulate Ccino into a deal

The deal Nightmare’s trying to entrap Ccino into is for Ccino to be an outside source of info on the multiverse and what happens within it, considering his cafe is open to anyone out there, and an active info source at that, so if Dream were to visit the cafe, Ccino is to report that to him immediately, if anything happens within the cafe that could be good info that might benefit Nightmare, Ccino is to report that to him, if Nightmare were to visit himself, he expects a full report of what’s been happening out there when Nightmare’s been busy with his own nuisances, however Ccino isn’t allowed to provide info about Nightmare or his gang to anyone else

Ccino however, wouldn’t just accept Nightmare’s deal without his own terms, so he tells Nightmare that if he were to provide info, Nightmare’s forbidden from harming his Au or anyone in it (including people who visit his universe from other universes, no matter who it is, even if it’s Dream) which Nightmare (reluctantly) agrees to, and so the deal is made

So now, Ccino acts like an outsource spy to Nightmare without anyone’s knowledge, so an innocent Dream who thinks he can tell Ccino whatever thinking Ccino’s a good confidant would have the shock of his life if he ever found out anything Ccino was told went to Nightmare

Ccino obviously, finds no joy in this, and he even tries to keep somethings from Nightmare, it’s just hard to do that when your soul starts beating fast and fear grips his nonexistent throat and Nightmare catches his fear and starts questioning him :)

Ccino carries a lot of guilt for it, but just like any victim under Nightmare, Ccino is forced to do shit he isn’t proud of or want to do, it eats away at him and is just making his mental health worse than it already is

Ccino hears from Dream about how much Nightmare means to him, and so, since his job is to “provide info” he also relays those sweet conversations to Nightmare, hoping it might stirr something inside his cold soul, Nightmare barely twitches at such comments tho (further crushing whatever false hope he may have)

I plan for Presso (Fluffytale Paps) to also have a big role in the story and how it all connects to Nightmare, but I’m still working on that part so uhh nothing to say about that for now zhxhhdhdhhs, all I know is that I want Persso to also fall into making a deal with Nightmare shshhs

Ngl been working on a comic with Nightmare’s and Ccino’s “deal” but i’m far from done dbbdbxbx here’s a lil snippet tho

#anothers ask #anothers art #dreamtale #fluffytale #nightmare sans #ccino #ccino sans #presso #fluffytale papyrus

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maythearo · 1 year ago

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" Welcome back to Night Raven College's 'Ghostly Gossip'! The school's unofficial main online source for the latest news, articles and trending topics circulating around campus! "

" Your eyes don't deceive you. He really is real. And an actual monster too, not just a 'weird looking dog', as those funny human legends say... "

Navigation:

R. Rosehearts - T. Clover - C. Diamond - A. Trappola - D. Spade - L. Kingscholar - R. Bucchi - J. Howl - A. Ashengrotto - J. Leech - F. Leech - K. Al Asim - J. Viper - V. Schoenheit - R. Hunt - E. Felmier - I. Shroud - O. Shroud - M. Draconia - L. Vanrouge - S. Zigvolt - Silver

Messy design notes:

I have mixed feelings over his design. On one hand, the outfit itself looks cool... and on the other hand it turned out to be nothing like what I had envisioned in the beggining 😭 I wanted to stick with muted colors, in the vibes of that pic next to howleen's I guess, but it's like Ruggie's design had a mind of its own, and would always lean to more punk-looking no matter how hard I tried to avoid it, which don't get me wrong- punk style does fit him well, the problem is that I had it reserved for another character already, and I wanted to repeat themes as little as possible between entries of this project.. that just may be my perfectionist side speaking though, and there is no reason why I shouldn't post this version here for the time being! If I don't get tired of working on this series by the time I finish all the main cast's designs, then I suppose I could try to make an alternative version of Ruggie with a slightly different theme! I'd do the same with Jamil's entry since he is yet another character I have mixed feelings about the design lol

Aaaanyway, the mood for chupacabra Ruggie is grunge/thrifted fashion with diy details he would add to make his looks feel unique to him I think? The spikes on his skin, although he can partially control (?) them, still get stuck on cloth every now and then. Nearly all items of his closet are a bit torn from it, but he doesn't mind all that much. I got no particular designs for the pins and badges he wears, maybe except for the brazilian flag and the trans pin which I rlly wanted to include somewhere on his clothes whsdbdshewbdi

The chupacabra's appearance vary from place to place, but for this, I based his looks on how I personally grew up hearing and imagining this creature to be like! Baisically a fucked up looking dog, sometimes with spikes and scales on its body? Yeah 👍

And he remains the same personality-wise in the AU, pretty much! At the moment I can't think of many fun facts or character quirks for him, aside from how impossible it is to take a selfie with him, much to Cater's dismay. He swears he doesn't do it on purpose! The moment the camera clicks his body moves on its own to be out of frame. Ruggie's entire instagram (or whatever the monster high equivalent of that may be) account are either pictures of a moving blur or a vaguely distinguishable sillouette of him, taken from far away and zoomed in 10x

I think that's all I remembered to say? Here's a Ruggie core meme I found on reels as extra content lol

#.the ghostly gossip #ruggie bucchi #twst #twisted wonderland #my art #twst fanart #monster high #twst au #monster high fanart #savanaclaw #I'm so sleepy i hope I was at least a bit coherent on this post ejrh3jrej ⚰️⚰️

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sp0o0kylights · 1 year ago

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Steve and Gareth as Cousins, no longer a warm-up and now called Lifelines, part three! I’ll throw it up on A03 when I finish the fourth part.

Prior parts can be read here: Part One / Part Two

First things first, the most amazing @ sereinpetrichor managed to track down the OG Twitter thread this runaway train is based off of!

It was this thread by @gatorthots, the Tumblr version of which can be read, here. All blame for this idea firmly rests on their brilliant, plot bunny inducing shoulders.

The other, follow up thread I mentioned was this one by Silas, whose tumblr name I do not know.

As always and forever, shout out to the most amazing @chalkysgarbagefire who helps me edit/plot/pats my head while I’m crying in their inbox bc the words aren’t wording right.

Warnings: Steve and Robin are canon (S3) drugged. I took a slightly (kinda sorta) more realistic approach. Vomit mention, canon threat of violence/guns (the Russian guards) Mention of pantsing/past bullying, Steve and Robin’s drugged asses not understanding personal space, Dustin’s canon...Im gonna go with assholishness? but like, I think its more than he’s a young kid and doesn't quite have the emotional growth/awareness yet in this kind of insane situation to know how to react to the whole address/torture bit (really who does)/its a defense mechanism--and Gareth sort of has a panic attack.

Whatever the hell they had been drugged with, Steve and Robin went from 'giggly happy fun time' to 'vomiting into toilet bowls while loudly wishing for death’ awfully fast.

Gareth was not an expert on drugs. He knew Eddie wasn't either (the guy never dealt anything stronger than your average psychedelic--had some agreement with his Uncle about only selling "the 70s basics") and repeated looks towards him proved Eddie was still trying to figure out what Steve and Robin were on.

Answers hadn't exactly been forthcoming--Eddie's gently made attempts at ferreting out information had only caused more confusion.

Like why the two of them were so freaked out about a gate, or what had made Robin gasp, and then laugh so hard she cried when Steve had made a particularly rough noise then muttered; "Even that sounds better than Tammy Thompson."

Either way, Gareth was mostly trying to figure out what the hell they were going to do, because sobering up in a busy, public mall wasn't exactly the best idea.

"I regret," Robin tried to say, in-between gagging. "I regret--hrk--"

"Me too." Steve moaned, head resting against the stall wall. Gareth, still caught up in panic, had been permanently regulated to door guard while Eddie alternated between sweet talking, rubbing backs and offering quietly whispered advice.

"Let's go back in time and ignore the whole silver cat thing." Robin continued, slumping back down onto the floor.

"Wouldn't have mattered." Steve muttered. "Dustin would have figured it out without us. Kid’s too damn smart."

"So?" Robin grumbled, quietly thanking Eddie as he once again brushed her hair out of her face.

"So he would have gone down there anyway, which means I'd be down there anyway." Steve concluded. "We shouldn't have gotten you involved though."

He shakily pushed himself up, staggering to his feet and looking like bambi on ice while doing it.

Eddie quickly came round to offer his help, hands spread as Steve groaned out a curse and clutched his head.

The older took a step forward right as Steve lurched back, unbalanced and shaky.

"Oh shit." He said, eyes wide as he crashed backwards into Eddie, the latter catching him with a grunt.

Despite the entire situation, Gareth found himself stifling a laugh as Eddie wrapped his noodle arms around Steve's chest, trying to hold the other up without falling himself.

"Come on big boy, why don't we just siiiit back down." Eddie said, slightly breathless as he helped guide Steve back to the floor. "There we go…"

They did so outside the bathroom stall, Eddie sinking into a kneel as Steve sort of flopped down on top of him.

Blinked a few times, like the drop had rattled what little sense he’d managed to recover in the last few minutes.

A pleased noise came out of his cousin's throat, and holy shit was Gareth going to have blackmail for life, because rather than vacate Eddie's lap, Steve just turned around in it.

Reached up with one finger outstretched and proved himself to be very much still under the influence as he touched Eddie's nose.

"Boop!" He said, and then giggled as Eddie dropped onto his ass in surprise.

Gareth watched Robin as she took the whole thing in, from Steve's snickers to Eddie's shocked expression, eyes growing wide in excitement.

He failed entirely to cover his own amusement when Eddie abruptly found himself with two sailors invading his personal space, each taking turns to boop his nose.

“Uh.” He managed to get out, blinking rapidly and at a loss for words. “Ah.”

Steve caught the metalhead’s awkward, red-faced expression and proceeded to drop his head to Eddie's shoulder, muffling his laughter against the man's vest.

The helpless look his best friend sent him was one Gareth would remember for a long time.

“O-kay.” Eddie said, frazzled, as Steve recovered far too quickly, turning to rest his cheek against a slim shoulder as he walked two fingers up Eddie’s battle vest and towards his hair. Likewise, Robin had discovered Eddie’s wallet chain, and had begun fiddling with it.

One finger curled around a strand of brown hair and Eddie jerked his head, removing the tempting piece away from Steve’s hands.

“I know you’re used to getting whatever you want, your highness.” He said, his own hand smacking against his waist before Robin figured out the other end of his chain ended in a handcuff, “But you of all people should know the hair is off limits.”

Completely undeterred, Steve just gave him a loose, easy grin. “It’s so pretty though.” He complained, fluttering his eyelashes in a blatant attempt to try and turn on the ol’ Harrington charm. “You can touch mine if you want.”

Yeah, Gareth’s blackmail was getting better by the second.

He might even get a new piece for his drum kit out of it, if this kept up.

Free weed too, considering Eddie’s blush was now fire-engine red.

“Man,” Eddie said in a clear bid to deflect the entire situation (and Steve’s fingers) away from his hair, “the last time someone called me pretty was right before I got pantsed—-is Tommy H hiding in one of the stalls again?”

Steve picked his head up, confusion crashing down his face.

“Did he do that?” He asked.

Then, with growing horror; “Do you think I’d do that?”

Eddie raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t that your whole little court’s M.O.?”

Steve sucked in a breath, looking downright hurt. "I wouldn’t do that." He insisted, eyes wheeling from Eddie to Gareth and back, as though hoping Gareth would back him up.

“I’m not--I’m not friends with Tommy anymore.” Steve continued, voice growing smaller as he spoke. “I’m not friends with anybody anymore, except maybe Dustin.”

It sounded so defeated; trodden on and subdued that Gareth stepped forward automatically, to do--something.

Provide the fucking comfort his cousin was oft denied and hug the guy.

As always, it turned out to be the wrong move.

"Oh thank god." A kid said, seconds after bulldozing through the main door and nearly bowling Gareth over in the process. "I found them!" He shouted over his shoulder as swept into the room.

“Speak of the devil.” Steve said flatly, and even drugged, he managed to pull himself back together from distressed to stoic in mere seconds.

The curly-haired kid--Dustin apparently--stormed right up to the pile of humans splayed on the floor, hands on his hips. "What the hell. We told you two to stay put!"

Steve rolled his eyes as Robin booed him.

“Have you forgotten what’s happening? Or how we’re kinda in a Red Dawn situation?” Dustin continued, looking like he’d just escaped from a summer camp.

The kid even had a walkie talkie clutched in one hand, of all things.

“We know.” Steve and Robin deadpanned at once, before looking at each other; Steve pointing a finger towards Robin and Robin pointing one back.

This caused the kids to trade their own long suffering, “can you believe this shit” faces.

"We need to go, and the only way we’re gonna get out of here unnoticed is if we blend in with the crowd." Dustin said impatiently. “Now come on Steve, get up already, you've had worse.”

"I really don't think I have." Steve muttered, but moved to push himself to his feet anyway.

Eddie beat him to it, and he and Gareth both hovered nearby in case Steve was still unsteady.

Thankfully, the kids' presence seemed to sober up Robin and Steve both.

Not actually sober, that wasn't how drugs worked, but whatever was left of the fun was sucked right out of the bathroom, replaced by two teenagers who were sort of functional on whatever they'd been drugged with.

Stress and adrenaline, Gareth knew, could overcome a lot of things. Including Russian "truth serum" apparently.

“Yeah well you're lucky you got found by these guys and not anyone else. " Dustin continued pointedly, before turning his attention towards Gareth and Eddie both. "Thanks for watching our friends, but we've got them from here."

Gareth made a sort of unhinged, disbelieving noise.

“No, no you do not.” He declared, anxiety clawing at his gut at the mere thought of abandoning Steve to two children.

"I don't think you heard him." The girl stepped forward, braids swinging about her face as she lifted her chin and nailed him with a cold glare.

As if this entire situation couldn’t possibly get weirder, Gareth suddenly realized she had a helmet in her hands and knee pads on.

"He said we got this. So scram." She flicked her fingers out in a dismissive sort of "shoo" gesture.

"And leave my drugged cousin with his new girlfriend behind!?" Gareth challenged right back, emotions far too raw and frayed to care he was snarling at a little girl. "I don’t think so!”

"Cousin!?" Dustin bit out, sounding almost betrayed for some reason, at the same time Robin who'd been climbing to her feet with Eddie’s help, shouted; "I am not his girlfriend!"

Steve, clearly unwilling to entertain whatever fight was brewing, clapped his hands together.

"Yes cousin, Dustin. It's a type of family member." Steve said, after they all flinched and looked to him. He at least looked steadier on his feet this time, though Gareth still lingered nearby in case he took a wrong step.

"I know what a cousin is, Steve!" Dustin shot back.

“Then why are you acting like a lunatic?” Steve complained, and Gareth got to watch in real time as Steve pulled on the persona he often wore in high school down around him. “You said it yourself, we don’t have a lot of time. Worse, I don't know if anyone saw Gareth and Munson here with us.”

He jerked a thumb sideways in Eddie’s direction, not that anyone couldn’t figure out who “Munson” was.

“They stay with us until we’re out of this mall.” Steve finished, before he started towards the door.

One step he was Gareth’s cousin, drugged and vulnerable because of it.

The next he stood taller, talked smoother, took charge with an aurora that said he expected everyone to listen to him.

It was fake as hell, but it worked.

“I know you’ve got a plan Dustin, so spill it.” He commanded as he walked.

Dustin, despite all the squawking, did just that.

xXx

Of all the things Gareth had expected to see upon escorting their little ragtag crew out of the bathroom, groups of intimidating, mean looking assholes wasn’t on the list.

He found himself repeatedly nudging Eddie in the ribs, unable to take his eyes off what was clearly a checkpoint as he staggered to a halt.

It was one thing to be told people were after Steve and the “Scoop’s Troop” As Robin had jokingly named them.

It was another entirely to see the security guard directly in front of him look over a woman’s ID before apologizing to her, a sleazy grin matching his oily pony-tail as he waved her on.

They really were looking for someone.

Not someone, Gareth realized in dawning horror.

Them.

Robin apparently, came to the same conclusion seconds later, because she snatched Steve and Dustin’s arms both, hauling them backwards.

“Argue about Dustin’s address later, we need to find a different way out.” She hissed quietly as she tried to slowly reversed direction, movements still a bit sloppy.

She might have even gotten away with it, had Sleazy Pony-Tail not turned and made eye contact with Gareth right after she spoke.

His eyes swept over him, then to the rest of the group, freezing like a cat that had spotted its prey.

“Abort, abort!” Dustin sputtered, wheeling about on his heel.

Erica, whose name Gareth had learned when she kicked him in the shin after he asked why an actual infant was running around with Steve and Robin, pointed towards the escalators before she beelined over to it, ducking into the center and riding it down like a slide.

Something Eddied was downright delighted to copy.

Gareth might have enjoyed it himself, had he not been looking over his shoulder to see not one, not two, but four security guards giving chase--and gaining.

“Fuck, fuck, fuckikity fuck.” He heard Robin chant as she shot past, Steve planting himself at the top as he made sure everyone got down to the next level before sliding down himself.

"Do not let them leave!" One of the guards yelled to the others, accent clear as a bell.

"Holy shit that guy's actually Russian." Gareth found himself saying as he skidded across the floor and bolted after the others, Steve hot on his heels.

He had kinda expected the Russian thing to be some sort of drug influenced inside joke and not an actual, honest-to-God Soviet.

Which led to the question of why the fuck adult men in security uniforms had drugged random teenage retail workers.

Food workers.

Whatever the fuck one called a two people who scooped ice-cream in sailor costumes.

"There's another group up ahead!" Eddie yelped, swerving sideways and nearly taking Erica out while doing it.

Noise erupted ahead of them in the form of foreign shouting and loud, harshly barked commands to “Freeze!”

‘Oh hell no.’ Gareth thought wildly, as he caught the form of the giant fricken gun the guard closest to him held.

“Split up!” Dustin howled, and before anyone could comment about how bad an idea that was, Gareth found himself being yanked sideways.

Steve swore loudly behind him as Robin, who’d crashed backwards, pulled him in the opposite direction and in a second their group broke in two. Gareth, Eddie and Dustin going one way, Steve, Robin and Erica another.

"This isn’t happening." Gareth muttered, words made in a sort of pleading denial as he and Eddie turned the corner and immediately vaulted over the counter of an Orange Julius. “I smoked or drank or did something and this is a hallucination that is not. Actually. Happening.”

Dustin at least, was smart enough to dive around the counter instead of over it, sliding towards them on his knees.

Eddie quickly yanked him down to the floor in-between himself and Gareth once he was close enough to grab, one hand going over the hat to shove the kids head down.

Annoying or not, he was at least several years younger than them, and Gareth could practically feel Eddie’s protective instinct kick in as he kept his hand on Dustin’s head.

Together they tried to silence their breathing as the guards’ shouting continued on behind them.

What was worse than their noises though, was when they unexpectedly and suddenly, went silent.

Gareth’s breath felt far too loud as the stillness gained a suppressive weight, pressing down harshly against him and making it harder and harder to inhale.

‘Panic attack.’ He realized, thoughts a touch detached. ‘You can’t afford to have a panic attack right now.’

Not when it had a high chance of getting them all killed.

Slowly he moved his own free hand, placing it atop of Eddie’s, fingers gripping down in a way that was no doubt painful.

Eddie glanced over to him and Gareth thanked every single time he’d smoked way too much weed, because his best friend immediately clocked what was wrong.

Turned his hand over, so that Gareth could hold onto it atop Dustin’s hat.

It didn’t help with the knowledge that his very much still drugged cousin and his equally drugged not-girlfriend were also hiding somewhere, or that there was significantly more Russians than there where terrified teenagers (and one--whatever age Erica was.)

Flashlights cut shapes into the wall overheard, trailing along the Orange Julius menu. Quiet voices covered even quieter footsteps and Gareth had the sudden realization the probability of there being more than one guard carrying a huge gun, was very, very high.

Worse?

This part of the mall wasn’t that big. There were only so many places to hide, and as such, only so many places to look.

Death comes for everyone eventually, but Gareth hadn’t exactly expected it to show up before he hit twenty.

Not that they could do anything but wait. Pray to God and the universe and any other higher power he could think of to intervene, head pressed hard against the wood behind him as the small noises drew nearer.

What he hadn’t expected was for said prayers to get answered in the form of a of a fucking car being thrown into the Russian’s like bowling balls.

“Run!” Dustin shouted, and Gareth wasted absolutely no time in doing just that.

The only goal on his mind was to find Steve, get out, and then have a very long discussion about what the hell this all was, in that exact order.

#fun fic facts I kept writing Orange Julius as King Julian #so thats my new fake 80s store #Tagline can be “yay I’m a sacrifice!”#Pre steddie #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #gareth emerson #platonic stobin #gareth is eddies robin #gareth is steves cousin #gareth and steve cousin au #Poor Dustin is mad jelly steve has a cousin that isnt him #we will dig into that later #tw drugs #tw vomit #tw guns #tw panic attack #Steve and robin have already had their scene I just moved it back so he is aware she is a lesbian #I will make it clearer in the next part #Drugged steve has no personal boundaries and homeboy would not at this point consider the stuff wit heddie flirting with Robin ALSO #digs into later #that was gay steve #HELLA gay #the more robin gets to know steve the more shes convinced half the basketball team is queer af #0o0 fanfics #denial is a river in Egypt that Gareth is struggling to swim down

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strawberry-cowmilk · 2 months ago

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silly things I think the brothers have done

not proof read, also I did all of the things on these lists so it's kinda like the brothers as things I have done hehe ( I couldn't come up with some stuff for some of them so forgive me for some brothers having shorter or more boring lists)

alternative title: the brothers as real things I have done (I swear I'm not that insane)

-----

lucifer

use whatever the devildom version of red bull is as an 'emergency tool' to quickly stop being tired only when he really needs to (don't do this)

accidentally sent a formal important email to somebody completely unrelated because it was 3am and he wasn't sharp (poor person had no idea what he was talking about) (this still haunts me)

one time when he was at a farm a peacock kept following him and kept opening its feathers to him no matter how many times he walked away

mammon

always buys something one of his brothers or mc will like in a store when he sees it for them

bought expensive perfume and quit his job two seconds afterwards

made the mistake of online shopping while being drunk and then cried over a mini bag and bought it because it would be cute for his future child

accidentally almost burnt down a school chemistry lab because he put a plastic tube over the fire (the teacher warned him not to do that) (everything was fine the tube was just a little on fire it only had like salt water in it)

leviathan

met his favorite artist and accidentally dropped his bags right before the picture in front of said artist (the artist tried to help him but he said nono its okay while fixing the mess) (he dropped the bag 1 second after asking if it was okay to put it down) (this still haunts me I'm so sorry to the artist for having to see me fight a bag)

messed up karaoke one time when he was home alone and destroyed his voice for the next week

attended a vocaloid concert

satan

accidentally made somebody believe he has a child because he calls a cat his baby or his son and forgot to specify he's talking about a cat

saw a cat meow and paw at somebody he didn't know's front door and he felt bad for it so he rang the doorbell and asked the guy who lives there 'is this your cat?' but the cat already went inside (luckily it was his cat or else that would have been super awkward)

cut his own hair once out of protest because somebody kept forcing him to cut it (they never forced him to do anything with his hair again so it worked) (I was like 11 years old when I did this)

asmodeus

wore platform heels while hiking because he refused to wear hiking shoes (those were the only shoes he brought to the vacation too) (there was no room to bring more because he already overpacked)

when somebody was being rude for no reason over his fashion choices he accidentally said 'not my problem you're allergic to slaying' out loud (I said this to my mom I almost died)

packed a full suitcase and a big tote bag for a one night hotel stay (the suitcase had an extra bag in it too)

sent his profs emails telling them he's sick so he can go to his beauty salons (this happened more than once)

beelzebub

traveled to a different city to buy a lot of a specific type of food and then came back

sometimes has to function as an alarm clock for one of his brothers (belphie) because its impossible to wake him up

stays home with his brothers when they're sick so they don't have to be alone

tried to make an oven pizza in the microwave with his brothers because the oven was not working (don't try this) (it turned out literally wet by the way)

belphegor

planned a way to skip certain class times every day without getting in trouble to sleep more

woke up from a nap extremely disoriented and asked someone what his name is

I'm so sorry I tried to come up with more things for him but I can't its been a week of thinking

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me swd #obey me nightbringer #obey me scenarios #obey me imagines #obey me headcanons #obey me lucifer #obey me satan #asmodeus obey me #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #beelzebub obey me #belphegor obey me

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winterdaphne2 · 5 months ago

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Favorite Johnlock Fics (BBC Sherlock)

I went on a bit of a fic-reading spree this spring, and this list of favorites is the result! There are many other fics that I’ve enjoyed reading, but these are the ones that I’ve really loved for one reason or another.

I’ve tagged the authors whose tumblrs I could find. If that’s you, thank you so much for sharing your writing with us. If your work is on here, you wrote something that I really treasure.

1. A River Without Banks, by Chryse. E, 203,286 words. Starts right after Season 3. A mix of Sherlock’s perspective, John’s perspective, and the perspectives of other characters. Sherlock-focused for the first half.

Author’s summary: “‘You love this, being Sherlock Holmes.’ He had once. When had it all gone so wrong?”

This is my absolute favorite. The author’s characterization of Sherlock is amazingly accurate, and Sherlock’s character development over the course of the story is breathtakingly executed and moving. The plot is fantastic and takes you on a page-turning emotional roller coaster, especially for about the first half of the story. I was also continually impressed by how many details from the show and references to earlier parts of the fic the author was able to weave in throughout while still keeping the story creative and original. Most importantly, though, I love this fic for the message that it sends about Sherlock and John’s love, which is a far more positive message than the one that the actual show settled upon in the end. I’m grateful that we have this version of their love story, and, personally, I like to pretend that this was Season 4 and how the show ended.

2. Another Country, by Chryse. E, 67,414 words. Starts right after the end of TAB. Sherlock’s perspective.

Sherlock spends one month and three days under house arrest in 221B, trying to get clean from the drugs, track down the new Moriarty, and figure out what the hell is going on between him and John.

Another fantastic work by Chryse. This author really gets Sherlock’s character, and once again the characterization of Sherlock is spot-on and convincing. There are a few other elements that also make this a compelling story, including smart use of minor characters, a solid central mystery, and a complicated relationship between Sherlock and John that includes a pretty convincing post-Season-3 version of John. Excellent.

3. walk through ghosts, by @augustbird. M, 6,125 words. Written between Seasons 2 and 3. Sherlock’s perspective.

Author’s summary: “The thing is: Sherlock thought that the two of them would have forever to figure it out.”

This is the saddest fic I have ever read, and so beautifully written. The author captures Season 2 Sherlock’s character perfectly; the fact that this story feels so real is what makes it devastating. The day after I read this, I couldn’t stop thinking about it and walked around with my heart physically aching in my chest.

4. Nature and Nurture, by @earlgreytea68. M, 203,273 words. Set sometime after Season 2. Alternates between John’s and Sherlock’s perspectives, but mostly told from John’s.

The British government clones Sherlock. He and John decide to raise the baby.

A true fandom classic. The premise sounds super cracky, but somehow it really works. This fic is surprisingly serious at times, but overall it is the cutest and funniest thing I have ever read in my life. Basically 200,000+ words of Sherlock and John being adorable gay fathers together and working through some feelings, with line-by-line some of the most hilarious dialogue ever. The five accompanying ficlets that the author wrote as short follow-ups are also worth checking out; my favorites were School (T, 4,753 words) and The Radovljica Apicultural Museum (T, 4,540 words).

5. To a Friend Who Sent Me Roses, by @algyswinburne. E, 16,147 words. Set sometime after Season 4 (but ignores TFP, as we all should lol). Sherlock’s perspective.

Author’s summary: “Five times Sherlock is mistaken for John’s partner and Rosie’s father, and one time it isn’t a mistake.”

This fic is sad, sweet, and hot by turns. Absolutely lovely to read in so many ways, and with so many great details and lines. I think this story offers convincing portrayals of what Sherlock’s and John’s characters might be like after it all and how they might finally get together. This and A River Without Banks are my favorite alternate endings to the show. Beautiful!

6. for all that bitter delights will sour, by @darcylindbergh. E, 9,585 words. Set sometime after Season 3. Sherlock’s perspective.

John initiates a sexually and emotionally abusive relationship with Sherlock.

The second saddest fic I have read. I would never want what happens in this fic to happen to Sherlock and John, so I don’t exactly recommend it as a Johnlock fic. But as a short story, this is a gem, full of absolutely gorgeous and incredibly moving writing. It depicts difficult themes very deftly, in lines and paragraphs that I had to stop to read over and over. I appreciate this as an emotionally powerful and thought-provoking piece of writing inspired by Sherlock, so for that reason I think it deserves to be on this list.

7. The Ground Beneath Your Feet, by Chryse. E, 68,803 words. Set after Season 3, but as if the last two minutes of HLV never happened. “The plane went on to Eastern Europe, and this is what came after.” John’s perspective.

This fic is pretty dark; the author describes it as “a PTSD story in which John was wholly devoted to Sherlock.” I don’t love it quite as much as the other two fics by Chryse that I’ve listed here, but that’s mostly because those two are just so amazing! I still really enjoyed this one. It was wonderful to see a kind and caring version of John emerge out of Season 3, and the story had several memorable moments, including one particularly nail-biting scene. I also really liked seeing John and Mycroft become friends as they bonded over their shared concern for Sherlock.

8. The Adventures of a Single Girl in London (Plus a Consulting Detective), by @earlgreytea68. M, 32,913 words. Set soon after Season 3. Alternates between different characters’ perspectives.

Bored with life at her new cottage in Sussex, Janine returns to London and moves in with Sherlock at 221B. Hilarity, heartbreak, and eventual Johnlock ensue.

This is a Season 3 fix-it fic that features an absolutely lovely friendship between Sherlock and Janine and the best version of Janine that I’ve come across in a fic. Sherlock is vulnerable and sweet, John is an absolute idiot, Janine is perfect, and the last two chapters just make me scream. Great stuff.

And that’s it for now! If you know of any other fics that I might like based on the above, I’d be happy to hear about them, so drop me a line!

Happy reading 😊

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fuckyeahisawthat · 6 months ago

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I was thinking about an alternate ending to Furiosa that I would have found more narratively satisfying, that dealt with the two third acts problem without radically altering other parts of the movie.

Imagine if you will:

The climactic action sequence is the one at the Bullet Farm and maybe a bit of the chase after. Same setup. Furiosa has the best chance she's ever had to get home, but she can't make herself leave Jack. Goes back to fight for him. He still dies--not in the same horrible drawn-out way, but Dementus kills him. Furiosa gets caught in a wreck or something with her arm pinned. Echoes of Max leaving the guy handcuffed to the burning car in Mad Max 1. He can live if he chops his arm off. And chop she does. Not in time to save Jack, but in time to kill Dementus. That's not long and drawn-out either but he is very clearly dead by her one remaining hand.

Maybe that's when the backup from the Citadel that they called for when everything went to shit arrives. Furiosa gets brought back to the Citadel, probably without much choice at that point because she's barely conscious due to rapid unplanned disassembly of arm. She is welcomed by Joe as a hero for slaying his enemy. Promoted to Imperator and told she will lead the War Rig crew when the rig is rebuilt new and better than ever. She was Jack's second-in-command after all.

Everyone is treating it like a victory for her but we feel it as a defeat, because she still lost the one person she cared about, and in the aftermath of that it seems like she has given up on trying to get home. Accepted that a high-ranking position in Joe's armada is the best she's gonna get. Maybe we even see her planting the peach tree at the Citadel as a sign that she's accepted she is never going home.

(We know she'll try again in Fury Road, but it doesn't look like she knows that.)

In this version of events, I think Joe would gift her the prosthetic arm. You are part of my war machine now. She has proven herself valuable enough to be taken care of, like the History Man advised her. Valuable enough to be repaired instead of discarded.

I am chewing on the parallels. At the beginning of the movie she has a chance to escape, but she can't leave her mom. She goes back and watches her mom die and gets trapped by Dementus. At the end she has another chance but she can't leave Jack. She goes back and watches Jack die and gets trapped by Joe. It's the kind of dark ending that works for a prequel when we know she is going to have her moment of victory in Fury Road.

I'm imagining the image of her being brought back to the Citadel in hollow triumph after killing Dementus. She's half-dead, one-armed, riding on the front of a car like the end of Fury Road but she's being kind of propped up like a trophy. Versus the end of Fury Road and its moment of real triumph--a return she never intended but this time to a place that maybe can be a real home for her at last.

#maybe i've got hollow victories on the brain because of the other desert movie but i genuinely think this would have slayed #plot bunny #free to a good home #srsly i am most likely not gonna write this so someone else is free to run with it #mad max #furiosa #furiosa a mad max saga #alternate ending #tumblr fic

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astroboots · 1 year ago

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Every You Every Me | Issue #7

COLLABORATED WITH @thirstworldproblemss

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

Summary: You finally get some answers out of Miguel about who you are to him.

Word count: 5,700 words.

Series Masterlist | Spiderverse Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist | thirstworldproblemss' Masterlist

[Previous] [Next]

"So let's take it from the top," you tell him, as you sit down and put down the Trenta-sized caramel flavored hot chocolate with extra whipped cream and chocolate syrup in front of the man named Miguel O'Hara.

The two of you are sitting across from each other at a small booth at the nearest Starbucks you were able to find, seeing as you're homeless now, and there's nowhere else you could think of to go.

He's dressed in a large fitted hoodie that drapes down to his thighs. Where he's managed to find something that is oversized in length on him, you don't know because he's not exactly short.

"I'm from a dimension known as Earth-928," Miguel says.

Before he can continue, you raise one hand, and you can see his right eyebrow twitch unhappily at the interruption.

"Yes?"

"Just to clarify, so we don't have another ‘coffee cake’ misunderstanding. When you say Earth-928, do you mean a different version of the Earth we’re on now? Or is this a habitable planet in another galaxy that happens to be partially named Earth?"

"It's a parallel universe characterized by distinct physical parameters and initial conditions, accounting for the diverse manifestations of our observable universe. So still Earth," he says, sweeping his gaze across the café, nose wrinkling the way one does when there's something off-putting in their vicinity. "Just a little bit less primitive."

Of course he would say that, wouldn't be able to resist the jab would he.

You peer up at him across the table. He is very technical and thorough with his explanations. But as grateful as you are for him finally being willing to answer your questions, you hadn't expected those answers to be quite so information dense. You need to pick your questions more carefully or you are going to have to go down the street to buy yourself a notebook in order to keep up.

"How did you end up on this Earth?" you ask.

"Where I'm from, I'm a scientist, a researcher. One of the things I studied was the theory of physical cosmology and the existence of the multiverse. My work was concentrated on the theoretical ability to navigate between distinct universes within a hypothetical multiverse–”

Ah shit, you should've been more narrow in your question. Should have asked him to simplify it a bit more for you. Because now you're sitting here blinking up at him, pretending you understand half of what he's saying.

It makes sense that he’s STEM. He speaks like the type. Smart as hell with none of the social skills to gauge whether the other person is following the conversation.

Listening to him reminds you of that time in college, when you'd walked into the wrong lecture hall, wound up in advanced chemistry instead of your math class, felt too awkward to leave and just sat there drawing doodles with an attentive expression until the class was over.

And he’s still at it, “– employing advanced mechanisms that manipulate or transcend conventional spacetime frameworks, enabling exploration–"

"Okay, wait, hold on a sec," you interrupt, once it becomes obvious he’s not going to stop any time soon on his own. "Can you... simplify, please?"

He stops mid-sentence, taking a deep breath as he looks up at the ceiling and considers your request, with a serious expression as if he's thinking really hard on it. "I’m a scientist. I study the multiverse. I built a parallel universe traversal device, it allows me to visit different dimensions." Your brain feels insulted that it clearly took more mental effort for him to dumb it down for you than to just give the supergenius version.

“So… a machine that allows you to jump between alternative universes?”

“Yes.”

There’s a pause between you as you run through the questions in your mental list you want to tick off now that he’s turned cooperative and talkative. But with everything that’s happened in the last handful of hours, a lot of the questions you previously had seemed outdated. The one question, the most important one, you’ve wanted to ask from the start though remains.

"Who am I to you?"

Miguel takes the large sized drink in his even larger hands and somehow this big paper cup still manages to look tiny in his grip. "You and I were... involved," he says.

You frown. ‘Involved’ is such a vague term. It belongs in the trash with other useless terms to describe relationships: “situationship”, “complicated”, you hate them all.

"So I was your girlfriend?"

"Yeah, something like that," he concede, fidgeting with the thin gold chain looped around his neck, his eyes not quite meeting yours, like he's embarrassed to use the term.

‘Something like that,’ you chew on his answer unhappily, sympathizing with your other dimensional self and how the other you seemed to have snagged a commitment phobe.

Other-you, who isn’t here in this dimension with Miguel. You wonder why that is.

"What happened to me?" you ask.

His eyes are glued to the table, not looking up at you as he answers you in a voice so quiet you can barely hear it. "She died."

"Oh."

The revelation shouldn’t take you by surprise.

Every time Miguel’s brought up your other self, it’s been tinted with earth-shattering sadness. It's not hard to put one and one together and come to the conclusion that whatever happened to you in this other dimension didn't end happily.

Still it's an odd feeling to know that out there, somewhere, a version of you has died. A version of you that was clearly very important to the man in front of you.

"I'm sorry," you tell him.

It feels silly to say. It's bizarre to give your condolences over your own parallel death, but Miguel looks so heartbroken. He’s slumped in his seat, large shoulders rounded until his frame looks so much smaller than you're used to, and you don't know what else to do.

"So what is happening to me now," you start, not sure how to word what the phenomena that you're going through is, "these continuous near-death experiences, is that how she died?"

"Yeah."

"And do you know why that... kept happening to her? Why is it happening to me?"

"I don't, and I don't know how to stop it. Believe me I tried."

He cradles the paper cup in his hands, the grip a little bit tighter now until he's creasing the paper and the caramel liquid oozes and leaks from the top.

"What I do know is that the universe isn’t going to stop trying to kill you, no matter what you do. And with every near death incident you manage to survive, these incidents will escalate in nature, until..." he stops, eyes flickering away from the cup to meet yours, but it's like he loses courage and doesn't want to say the last part.

"Until, what?" you prompt.

"Until your dimension collapses."

The blood freezes in your veins. "Wait, collapses!? What do you mean?"

"I can't guarantee it will happen again. But that's what happened last time. When the other you kept cheating death, the universe eventually started to collapse in on itself."

You slump back in your chair, trying to process what you've just been told. What does that mean? That even if you managed to defy all odds to survive, doing so would doom the rest of this universe as you know it?

"When will that happen?" you ask, and you're surprised you manage to get the words out because there is a hard lump in your throat that makes it hurt to even swallow.

"Judging from the trajectory and escalation of events, you have about three months give or take."

The two of you sit in heavy silence, for the moment you're not sure what else to ask him. Because it feels like you are trapped in a building looking for an exit sign, but all that’s tacked onto the brick wall is your death certificate, waiting to be signed and formalized.

There’s no way out. Nowhere to go.

"Give me your hand," he says, breaking the silence.

You give it to him without hesitation, watching, puzzled, as he takes off his watch and secures it around your wrists.

"Why are you giving me your watch?"

"It's not a watch," he says, then he presses something on the face of it, and an image of a young woman flickers into existence in the space above your wrist, vaguely see-through. A hologram!

"This is Lyla," he introduces.

Wait, wait? Lyla? As in your mom Lyla? You watch the tiny woman floating above your wrist. Short bob-cut, and flashy heart-shaped sunglasses, with a twinkle in her eye.

The hologram looks nothing like your mom. You part your mouth, about to ask about the name but you're interrupted by the energetic buzz of a female voice greeting you.

"Boss-girl! Long time no see. Want me to catch you up on the latest multiversal gossip? I compiled an edit of highlights set to Despacito."

"Lyla," Miguel warns, tersely. "Not now."

"Ruuuuude! You're the one who woke me up you know."

"Lyla, go back to sleep."

The female avatar grumbles, but then her image flickers away and the watch turns back into, as far as you can tell, just an ordinary watch.

"Why did you name the watch Lyla?"

"It's not a– " He cuts himself off, sighing with exasperation. "Lyla is an advanced A.I. she's going to be with you at all times. She's an added layer of security, built to protect you."

He didn't answer your question. Completely sidestepped it as if the two of you are having two different conversations.

Built to protect you, he'd said. Does that mean he still intends to do that?

"So you're not going to leave?" you ask him.

He leans back in his seat, eyes drifting towards the table. "No."

You look up at him, stumped. Not sure you're understanding what he's saying. Because not even a few hours ago, when the two of you were in your apartment, this man was adamant there was nothing to be done to save you. That he was going to leave and you were never going to see him again.

Right now though, his actions seem to be contradictory to that. You can't make heads or tails of him. Hot and cold doesn’t even begin to cover it.

"Why not?" you ask, "I mean, not that I’m not grateful, but you seemed pretty set on the whole ‘I can’t save you’ thing. What changed your mind?"

“You did.” His eyes narrow as he looks down at you, crossing his arms ever his chest, "You told me you wanted to live. Have you changed your mind already?"

“Wha– NO! I just want to know why you changed yours.”

“I–” He hesitates, another wave of sadness passing over his face. “I’m a superhero. I save people… or try to. It’s what I do. I’m not gonna just leave you to die after you tell me you want to live.”

It’s a good answer, even if you don’t buy that it’s the whole truth.

You look down at your wrist, and the shiny chrome of the not-watch he's just gifted you winks back up at you. "Do you think I have a chance of surviving all this?"

"It's pretty hopeless," he says, and there’s no break in his expression as he continues. "Your chances of making it out alive are pretty much mathematically impossible."

It's odd though. Even though he's outlining the futility of your situation, basically telling you to raise the white flag and surrender, there's something contradictory in the tone of his voice.

"What do you want to do?" he asks you.

It’s a challenge, you realize. An encouragement. He has faith in you. It's all of these things rolled into one. As if he's telling you to prove the universe wrong.

"I want to live," you answer. "If the universe collapses in three months, then please stay with me. Give me time to solve this and find a way to stay alive."

His mouth curls into a hint of a smile. The very first you've seen from him since you've met. It's bright and boyish, erasing the harsh lines of his stern expression until it gives way for something much softer underneath that makes your heart leap in your chest with triumph.

You grin, a strange elation of happiness buzzing in you as you stretch out your hand to him, in an invitation for a handshake to seal the deal.

"Deal?"

Miguel leans over the table, clasping your hand in his much larger one as he squeezes it back gently.

"Deal." That small smile from before is still there. "So what's next?" he asks.

The thing you never realized, being an ordinary person bereft of super genes or other superhuman powers is just how convenient commuting can be if you have them.

No longer do you have to brave the Lynchian nightmare that is the NYC subway system. Half-naked manic street preachers giving sermons as you’re held hostage, with nowhere else to go in the carriage. Being chased down by a drunk trumpeting Mariachi band. Instead, all you need to do to get from point A to point B (A: being the Chrysler building and B: the building formerly known as your home) is to hold on tight to Miguel as he swings you both above the city gridlock.

You imagine that this is what paragliding must feel like, except it's so much better because here you don't have to do the safety training beforehand or pay $3,000 for the privilege.

The city skyline is a dark evening blue, dotted with the sparkling lights of office buildings, cab roof lights and street lamps, as the wind ruffles through the fabric of your clothes.

It's such a different sight when you're flying above instead of walking on the streets below, that you don't even clock that you're in your neighborhood, until you see a building with a collapsed wall that's been blocked off, looking like a crash site. Only then do you realize... you're home.

Miguel carefully sets you down on your feet on a small patch of concrete that is clear of the rubble and destruction.

"Why did you want to come back here again?" he asks.

It’s a good question. Now that you're here, standing in the middle of charred debris and cracked bricks, you're not sure either. You had some vague plans of seeing what you could salvage, hoping for some clothes, maybe your electric toothbrush, or really just any of your stuff. Something that’s yours, no matter how small, to hold on to after the events of today have ripped away life as you know it.

But there’s nothing left. The furniture, all your books and knick knacks, and even your dirty laundry piles have been demolished. Your home as you know it is gone. There's only piles and piles of rubble and traces of white fire extinguisher foam on the ground. The fire has been out for hours, but the pungent smell of smoke and sulfur still pervades the air.

"You okay?" Miguel asks.

He's still standing at the outer edges of the apartment, close to where your window would have been if a helicopter hadn't crashed through it.

"Yeah... I guess the silver lining is that I didn't have anything expensive. Though it'd been nice if I could've saved my mom's Le Creuset set or at least the nanny-cam so I could return it and get a refund," you joke glibly.

You nudge aside some concrete rubble with the cap of your shoes. There's nothing under there, no treasured memorabilia that's still miraculously intact. Just more burnt concrete and rubble.

"Why did you have a nanny cam?"

You turn around at his question, to see him hovering close to you, one eyebrow raised with an unhappy set to his jaw.

From the displeased expression on his face, he's probably misunderstanding something here. Probably thinks you're operating a very unlucrative Onlyfans business, when what you've really been doing is spy on him and his nightly visits. You don't know which is worse to confess to, so you don't confess to anything.

"No reason," you say, ignoring the way his already raised eyebrow twitches with irritation at your lack of an answer.

"Come on, let's go," he says, and he waves towards you in a come hither motion like he's commanding a dog.

"Go?" you ask him. "It's past midnight. My place, as you can see, is wrecked. Go where exactly?"

Miguel shoots you a strange look. "A hotel," he says, like it's the most obvious thing, and– okay, he's not completely wrong in that assumption.

Problem is, you didn't have time to pick up your wallet or phone before your impromptu interdimensional visit. They’ve been incinerated along with all the rest of your worldly possessions, which means you don't have any way to pay for a hotel.

Plus Manhattan hotel prices average $400 a night. Even if you still had access to your debit cards, your budget’s pretty tight right now after all the capital you invested in your unhinged quest to trap the superhero before you.

"In the city? I don't have that kind of money and it will take months for any insurance payouts to come in."

You should know. As an insurance claims adjuster, you know you’ll be lucky if your claim is processed before the end of the year. And, ugh, just the thought of the paperwork you’ll have to fill out is enough to give you an anxiety migraine.

"I’ll cover the room," Miguel says casually before holding out a hand to you, "Come on, let’s go."

When Miguel said he’d cover it, you expected a reasonably-priced room at one of the Days Inn across the river or the like. Hopefully a place with no rats or bed bugs, and maybe clean bedding over a somewhat comfortable mattress for you to pass out on if you were lucky.

You didn't expect this.

Standing in front of the Midtown Four Seasons, you find yourself on sleek marble so polished you can see your own reflection. You haven't even stepped a foot inside yet and there are two old fashioned doormen, wearing immaculately fitted suits, with an even more impressive posture opening the majestic double-set doors for you as you approach.

It's swanky as hell, and you can’t help gawking like a tourist, eyes glued to the decadent carved ceilings that must be at least 30 feet tall, soaring above you. Honey-colored limestone that looks like it’s been looted from Ancient Rome.

You feel more than a little bit out of place. This is way outside of your budget. You could probably work your job for a lifetime, and not have enough disposable income to stay the night at a place like this.

"Uhm, Miguel... this place is way too–" you start, turning towards him.

But as you were busy lamenting the state of the housing market, he's already walked away from you (for such a bulky guy, he moves swiftly and silently) and as you whip your head around to find him, he's already standing in front of the receptionist.

Damned antelope legged man, would it kill him to wait up for you once in a while? You run up after him and have to tip-toe in order to see over his shoulder because the giant mammoth is blocking the check-in counter.

And wow, even the receptionist here is of a different caliber than the ones you'd find at Holiday Inn. A fashionable bob-cut with razor sharp edges, looking like a model cut out from a Vogue cover.

"Do you have a reservation, Sir?"

You half-expect him to say no, and that the two of you would have to tuck your tail between your legs and walk out of here to the backdrop of a sad trombone playing.

To your astonishment he says your name. The receptionist tip-taps away at her keyboard and then she nods and smiles gracefully at you both.

"Yes of course. After reviewing your reservation details, I am pleased to inform you that all necessary arrangements have already been made, including advance payment and verification of your identification. Your room is ready for you, we trust you will enjoy your stay."

She flashes you a pearly white smile so shiny it's almost blinding and hands you a hotel key card.

When you turn around, to your confusion Miguel is no longer next to you. How does he keep disappearing like this?

"Cielito," Miguel’s voice calls. The nickname doesn’t register at first. It doesn't even occur to you that he’s referring to you, until he barks it out a second time.

Your head darts up to see him standing by the elevator, tapping his feet impatiently as he waits for you to make it over to him.

"How did you do that?" you whisper loudly to him as you step into the elevator. "Where did you get my ID? How did you make a reservation? How did you--"

He takes your hand, mid-sentence, turning your wrist upwards and taps the watch.

"The computer systems in this universe are child's play for Lyla to manipulate. Reservations, money, ID, she can take care of all of that easily," he explains.

"She can do that?" you ask, and Miguel merely nods at you as the elevator closes behind the two of you.

You tip your head down to inspect your gifted watch. In awe of this technical marvel that would make Siri look like it’s from the stone-ages. You wonder if she can boost your credit scores. She could probably hack any wi-fi password so you'd never have to worry about data throttling again. She could get you table reservations for Libertine! The possibilities are endless!

You turn to Miguel. "Can Lyla get me Beyoncé tickets?" you ask.

He just shakes his head at you with what almost qualifies as an amused smile.

The room upstairs is massive.

It’s easily three times the size of your little studio apartment, and the ceilings are twice as tall, with a hanging glass chandelier that’s sparkling bright enough to blind you. It looks like one of those places featured in Architectural Digest.

Everything is in an art deco style, with expensive looking furniture and even more expensive art hanging on the one spare wall that isn’t covered in floor to ceiling windows. There are large shelves and a sleek looking kitchen, complete with an opulent looking velvet lounge chair of emerald green that looks like something a Roman emperor would be fed grapes on.

In this colossal space of a room, there is only one bed. One colossal, plush-mattress-topped, goose down duvet and probably 1,000,000,000 thread count sheet covered bed.

You tense up, not sure what the arrangements Miguel had in mind. Did he want the two of you to sleep in the same bed?

Miguel did pay for the room, so you’re not going to start voicing objections. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time in the short time span that you two have known each other to do that. This bed is also a lot wider than your tiny double bed, so it wouldn’t be the cramped disaster it was last night. You’d just have to make sure to use the bathroom before bed this time so he doesn’t jab your full bladder in the morning again.

Without saying anything, Miguel strides across the length of the room with impatient and determined steps. His hand reaches for the balcony doors and slides them open.

"Wait wait, where are you going?" you ask him as you run up to the middle of the room.

“I’m sleeping outside,” he says over his shoulder, and your mind boggles with that.

“Why? Isn’t it better for you to stay here?”

"This is the 62nd floor. That’s about as safe as you’re going to get. I’ll keep a lookout to make sure no more helicopters come crashing in.”

You’re not sure if he means the last part as a joke or not, but as you watch his broad back retreating as he walks away from you, a sickening sort of the deja vu twists through your chest.

I can’t save you, he’d said back in your apartment, Nothing can.

The feeling clawing at your chest feels alarmingly like panic. It screams that he’s leaving you. That he’s never coming back. That you’ll never see him again.

You’re being irrational, and you know it. You remind yourself that he wouldn’t have done this much for you only to bail in the middle of the night, but that doesn’t stop the fear that’s festering, sharp and urgent, under your skin, or the way your heart races, your whole body flashing hot and cold at the same time.

You want him to stay.

“Miguel,” you call out, and he immediately stops and turns to look back at you, one eyebrow raised in a skeptical question.

Please stay.

You open your mouth, but the words won’t come out. You can’t ask this man—this big, sarcastic, rude hulk of a man—to have a sleepover with you because you’re scared to be alone in the dark. He would laugh you out of the hotel room.

“Uhm… thank you,” you say instead, but it’s no less sincere, “For everything.”

His eyes soften, the sharp narrowness of them easing up. “It’s fine,” he mumbles, and despite the cold chill of the evening, you think you can see a faint flush blooming in his cheeks, before he quickly ducks his face from you. “I’ll be right outside if something happens.”

He turns back around and walks out, closing the patio doors with a gentle click behind him, leaving you by yourself.

It’s quiet.

You survey the empty room you’re in. Without Miguel’s large frame taking up space, it seems even bigger than it did before.

It’s a beautiful room. Something that you’re pretty sure you’ve seen in a movie set. You don’t know why you’re not as excited as you were before. This is you living your Pretty Woman moment. You should be filling up the big jacuzzi tub you saw with bubbles. Heck, maybe ask Lyla to order you a bottle of champagne from room service.

Instead, your eyes linger on the glass patio doors leading to the balcony terrace. You walk over to the bed, perching yourself down on the edge of the mattress, then flop down.

Might as well try to sleep, you think to yourself as you climb under the covers and switch off the light. The best thing you can do right now is catch yourself some rest so you’ll be alert while trying to figure out your next steps tomorrow.

3 months… That’s what Miguel told you.

That’s all the time you have left.

That means you don’t have time to waste, but you also have no idea where to start. The local library doesn’t exactly carry any resources on how to stop the universe from trying to kill you.

The Universe.

An infinite cosmos, grander than any human being can possibly comprehend. This vast space containing all the galaxies with its billions of stars and planets, where an individual being does not even register as a speck, and it wants you dead. How can you possibly fight against those odds?

You lie wide-eyed and awake staring into the dark of the room, and the feeling of dread gnaws into you.

You don’t want to be alone right now. Turning in the bed, your eyes find their way back to the blank slate of the pitched night outside the balcony doors.

You really wished he had stayed with you.

Sitting upright in the bed, you consider your options. You can lie back down. Suffer insomnia and the existential horror of knowing the universe is trying to murder you. Or you can man up, swallow down whatever tiny morsel of your pride you have left and ask Miguel to come back inside and stay with you.

Flinging the duvet from your body, you get up to walk over to the balcony. You hesitate for a moment before tapping the window pane the way you might knock on a door, giving a polite head's up before you slide the balcony patio open. But when you poke your head out, turning your head left and right, Miguel's nowhere to be found.

Okay, that’s weird. He said he’d be right outside if you needed him. You walk up to the ledge of the balcony terrace, leaning over the rail and peer down to see him dangling upside down, from the ledge of your balcony. The sight nearly makes you scream.

"Miguel!”

At you calling his name, he pulls himself up, one clawed hand gripping at the concrete wall as he climbs his way up and over to you. He makes it look easy, as if gravity does not exist for him, and it’s only a moment until he’s perched on the ledge of the balcony, facing you.

“What’s wrong?” he demands, eyes concerned, and you’re suddenly aware of how very close he is. His face mere inches from yours, your noses nearly touching.

“What’s wrong? You’re hanging upside down from the 62nd floor! What are you, a bat?!"

“Why did you come out here?” he clarifies, and his words give you pause. You try to gather your thoughts after the bizarre sight you just walked into and remember what you came out here for.

He’s still looking at you with his full and intense concentration that makes your skin prickle with warmth.

God, it’s embarrassing to ask. You feel like you’re five years old, asking your parents to turn the nightlight on, even though you know you’re a big girl now and aren’t supposed to be afraid of monsters hiding under your bed any more.

You look down on your hands, where you’re wringing them together, then back up at him, and make yourself spit it out, "Could you… maybe… stay with me tonight?"

His eyes widen at your question, but he doesn’t actually answer you and gives you no physical indication one way or the other.

"I feel safer when you're with me,” you admit.

“I am with you out here,” he counters, because of course he can’t make this easy for you.

“I can’t see you out here.”

The line of his shoulder eases, and he ducks his head down with a resigned sigh. "Fine. Get back inside, Cielito. You're going to catch a cold like this."

You shuffle back inside to your bed, watching out of the corner of your eye as he follows you inside and settles himself on the lounge sofa. He’s so tall that his feet are sticking out over the armrests, like a long-legged stork.

Hiding a smile, you climb back into bed, wrapping the bedding all around yourself.

“Good night,” you call out, and he makes a grumpy noise of acknowledgment.

Your head drops back onto the soft pillow, and you close your eyes, ready to sleep. It’s such a nice bed. The sheets are cool and soft against your skin and smell of fresh eucalyptus. The mattress is the most comfortable you ever remember resting on, firm but somehow soft at the same time. You feel like you’re sleeping on a cloud.

Moments go by, and you revel in the sumptuous bed, waiting for the best sleep of your life to claim you.

Except it doesn’t.

Somehow… you still can’t fall asleep. Is it… too soft maybe? You turn in the bed, twisting your torso to get into a position you can comfortably sink into, but something doesn’t feel right. There’s no lumpiness like at home, but that should be a good thing.

Except… despite the decadent softness of the bed. Despite the fact that the sheets probably have a thread count with more zeros than your checking and savings accounts combined. Despite all of the luxury that surrounds you, you still find yourself tossing and turning and wide fucking awake.

The bed is too big. You don’t know what to do with all this space. Your body is not accustomed to this sort of decadence. What if you suffocate sinking into this soft fluffy pillow in your sleep? What if you toss and turn until you fall off this massive bed and break your neck? Maybe that’s how out of all of the universe’s attempts to kill you, you end up dying?

Fuck!

You can’t sleep.

You turn to your side and stare into the velvet lounge chaise on the opposite side of your room, where Miguel is.

Quietly, you pad up to his still form until you’re standing in front of him and hunch over, trying to decide how rude it would be to wake him up again when there's nothing he can do about your stupid insomnia anyway.

In the dim light, you spot something glinting at you. Looking closer, you notice that the thin chain looped around his neck has escaped his shirt to pool on the fabric of the sofa cushion under him. You gently drag the loose end of the necklace toward you, and find a smooth golden band threaded onto it.

Picking it up cautiously, you flip it in your hand and find that there's something engraved on the inside. It's hard to see in the darkness, but when you lean closer and squint your eyes, you can just make out what it says.

'MO'—undeniably the initials of one Miguel O'Hara.

Twisting the ring slightly, you find a tiny plus sign followed by your own initials, and your heart drops into the pit of your stomach.

Oh.

The memory of sitting across Miguel at Starbucks returns to you, when you had asked him who you were to him. You think of the avoidant gaze and how he couldn't look you in the eye.

‘Something like that,’ huh?

Guess the other you wasn't just his girlfriend after all, you think, chest drawn so tight it’s painful.

Holding the wedding band in the palm of your hand, you slide down to sit down on the floor with your back pressed against the chaise lounge.

Your heart aches for the man in front of you and everything he's lost. You really, really hope you're not going to end up as just another regret on his list.

~ Next Issue

Dedication & Credits: As always to my best friend @thirstworldproblemss I am half asleep and running on fumes. I'm wording things poorly but I just want you to know that I am very happy I have you. Thank you for being my friend and for the time we get to spend together. I have the most fun when I'm with you.

Also to @guruan who is my muse, my source of inspiration. This chapter is dedicated to her because have you seen this beautiful piece of artwork she did for EYEM?!

#miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara fic #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara fanfic #miguel o'hara fanfiction #spiderverse #oscar isaac #across the spiderverse #marvel #spiderverse fanfiction #miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara #miguel ohara x you #marvel mcu

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