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studiogrimm810 · 1 day ago

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Dreams Come True

pairings: (pining) sam winchester x gn!reader, dean is kinda there

summary: the brothers request your help with hunting a djinn and after being under its manipulation, you realize you can't ignore your feelings for sam forever

warnings: angst, graphic depictions of crime scene images, open but happy ending, unspoken feelings

word count: 5,138

A/N: i don't know how to write shorter stories. pls send help, thx

———————

As you pulled into the parking lot of some dingy diner you scanned the area in search for a particularly sparkling Impala that stood out like a sore thumb. Upon the confirmation of the vehicle, you knew Sam and Dean were waiting for you inside. It had been a few months since you'd last seen the brothers and it caused a low churning in your stomach, a sickening curl to your intestines that made you nauseous. You love the Winchesters, you truly do, and you would drop everything if they needed a hand like now, but your problem was in fact that you loved one specific Winchester a touch too much. It was exhausting.

Ever since you could drive, you have been on your own. Your parents weren’t much help to your development, and honestly the only real reason you’re as functioning as you pretend to be is because of your Uncle Rufus who stepped up in raising you. He kept an eye on you when his brother failed but you had always had a sharp sense of independence. So, the second your uncle's friend, Bobby, fixed you up a car to claim as your own, you were gone.

And you pretended it didn’t hurt when Rufus didn’t put up a fight.

The forced and minimal choices of your life lead you to be fiercely independent and taught you not to rely on anyone for a thing. You had your own car, your own way of living, and your own set of personal, strict, rules that you follow to a T.

Rules that come so close to being bent in the presence of one, Sam Winchester.

You force yourself out of your car and through the parking lot to the lightly rusted doors smudged with greasy finger-prints. That’s it, next time you get to choose where you and the boys meet up. Surely the food here is good, and the waitress who is taking Sam and Deans drink order looks kind enough, but being on the road most of your life leads you to have a distaste of cheap and greasy spots where their healthiest item on the menu is probably the tomatoes that top their hangover burgers.

Sam and Dean have sat on the same side of the booth and they both smile warmly as they spot you enter the diner. The stale but warm air laced with french fries and left over maple syrup from breakfast washes over you and your mouth waters at the thought of a sweet dessert topping that’s become socially acceptable first thing in the morning.

Eh, maybe this diner isn’t so bad.

Making your way to their delicately selected booth, your stomach twists in a tight knot again at the sight of Sam. A beautiful splitting smile that cracks his face to allow little beams of whatever the fuck makes him so stunningly happy at this moment is partnered with a trademark dimple threatening to suck you in and never loosen up. You smile back at both of them.

“Hey, kiddo,” Dean beams as he and Sam stand in unison to greet you. Dean hugs you first, a firm grip that’s a little too tight because he knows you can handle it and he doesn’t really want to help himself. “Missed ya,” he pulls away to ruffle your hair and you try to glare at him while swatting away his hand but you can’t wipe off the smile these two have infected you with.

Sam is next, wrapping his strong arms around you. “Been too long,” he utters out with a slight groan that often accompanies a hug like this, but maybe it’s also because you can tell he had more to say. His arms are big and encompassing, wrapping around you like a cloak that shields away just enough of the outside hustle and bustle to let it just be you two in this moment. It’s so protected and safe in this moment that you can’t help but reply with an equally weighted echo of, “too long.”

After warm hugs that seem to stop time, the boys sit back in their spots and you take the roomy booth opposite of them. Dramatically stretching out your arms, you shoot them a sly but innocent smile. “Good choice in table, boys. ‘S comfy,” you yawn involuntarily.

“Glad you’re livin’ it up, your highness,” Dean teases, tapping the table idly as the waitress returns. You control the attitude threatening to manipulate your face as Dean gives the poor woman googly eyes masked with a quite dashing smirk.

After a harmony of simple orders, the waitress smiles out of obligation for a tip and heads to her next table.

“How’ve you been?” Asks Sam, and damn him. He just has to keep watching you with eyes that are warmer than the coffee Dean insisted on having this late. You settle in your seat, leaning back and running your nails along the beveled edge of the table.

“Good, same old, same old,” you shrug. It really has been quite boring with you recently. You worked a case a few states over, then picked up a few odd jobs to rake up some money again to get you through another case.

“How’s the Toyota?” Dean looks out into the lot for your white sedan parked across the lot. It had been an inside bit between the two of you, he liked to tease you for sticking to such a confident opinion that your little ‘match-box car’- as he coined it- was in fact a more comfortable and reliable ride than his baby. You really didn’t have such a strong opinion, but for the way it ruffles his feathers, you’d die on this hill.

“As good as ever, and grandpa?” You tick your head to the 40 year old car in the lot. Dean clutches his chest with an offended inhale and twisted look of hurt at the Impalas nickname, gifted by you.

“Immoral,” Dean’s face is straight with a flash of cocky know-it-all holding his chin high.

One day you’ll admit that the common denominator between the two cars would most definitely be the servicer of Singer Auto Parts. The man performed miracles on any old hunk of metal you took him.

“Okay, okay, put the measuring tape away,” Sam chuckled, enjoying the bickering between you two. Dean bit back a ‘they started it’ and just took a far too big gulp of his coffee to shut himself up.

“How ‘bout you two? What made you call me out here tonight?” You ask, looking out the window that overlooks probably 80% of the town that is really only a grocery store, a main street with a handful of vendors, and a couple other buildings that you didn’t take the time to specifically identify at the moment. Sam’s warm smile that tore all eyes from the moon cast high in the sky melts down to his polite not-so-fantastic-news smile.

“We’re tracking a Djinn,” Sam explains, pulling out a few books, topped with John's journal, from his computer bag. He sets out the books and snatches one specifically to flip through and turn for you to look at. You scanned the page: silver, lambs blood, poison, dreams? You had vaguely heard about Djinn before but you never really took them seriously. It was one of those creatures like fairies that just seemed so out of your league that you never put too much time or effort into researching it.

“Thinking it’s going along I-81, collecting victims where it can and bleeding ‘em dry,” Dean explains, his own expression turned serious as well. He tracks his finger along certain lines in the text that highlight an important note: ‘Djinn use a poison through physical touch to incapacitate their victims and keep them in a comatose state as they drain their blood over any given period of time. Djinn often give their victims a false reality that some describe as “too good to be true” to keep their bodies calm, stable, and comfortable in such a neglected state of being.’

“They feed on blood? Like vampires?” You ask, cringing slightly. Although you envision yourself to be a strong, smart, quick hunter, blood is your downfall. You make a point to avoid vamps by yourself for this very reason and the boys know this, so they must really need help if they’re asking for your assistance in a case like this.

“Kinda, yeah. Same diet, different harvesting,” Dean shrugs, making the connection for you that makes you want to gag. You force down a few sips of water to settle the tickle in the back of your throat before continuing.

“So how are you tracking this thing? Like how do you know someone has been its victim?” You ask, wondering what the physical proof left behind on a person was inflicted by such a creature was. Sam shuffles through the stack of literature, pulling out a dull, manilla folder and setting it in front of you.

“It’s sloppy, doesn’t clean up after itself at all,” Sam’s hand rests on the top of the folder, holding it closed so that you don’t open it too fast. “It leaves its victims strung up,” Sam explains, removing his hand but still watching you with a silent warning at the contents behind this thin veil. You open the folder and immediately cringe, your head turning to look away but your glued eyes prevent you from turning too far. The first image is a young woman, probably couldn’t even legally drink, with her wrists tied above her head. She’s dirty, bruised, decayed. An IV still connected her neck to a metal frame next to her that would supposedly host plastic blood bags. “Some Djinn passively feed, others drain to save for later.” You swallow thickly as you realize the IV was to rid her of her own blood.

The thought is sickening.

The image is beyond words.

But you persist. Your now unsteady fingers reach to flip the image, finding a police report behind it. The woman was 19- just a girl. Your chest aches, this really is the hardest part of the job- the loss. Her name was Amani and she was going to college for journalism. She was reported missing when she didn’t show up for her editorial meeting on campus. Her boyfriend reported it. Her parents followed up. There was an image attached, from her and her boyfriend on Valentines Day. She looked so happy and so full of life.

You close your eyes to get a hold of yourself. You swallow down your emotions, opening your eyes again to flip the pages again.

The next picture was of another woman, displayed in a similar manner. Her blonde hair stained with rotted blood and you almost mistook her for a brunette. Smeared makeup lined her vacant eyes and a beautiful necklace rested along her clavicle. Turning the page, you learn this woman's name was Eliza, a 39 year old mother of four. A portrait framed a lovely family. She wore the same necklace and you assume it was a gift from her husband who stood tall and proud next to her.

You closed the folder, unable to take in any more. You nodded lightly, looking between the boys. “I’ll help, just tell me what I need to know,” you state. The hardest thing about this job was also your biggest motivator. Preventing this awful fate from befalling another innocent family.

You felt that it was too late for your own chance at love, life, happiness, but that it was now your responsibility to make sure that was an option for as many people as you could save. You felt it was your one true purpose.

This was something that Sam admired about you, your relentless need to help others. To use your knowledge for the betterment of others. Yet, it was still something he wished you were more selfish with. He could tell the effects that the stories and images of these poor victims had on you but you ignored your own limits and boundaries to fight for those who still stand a chance. It was a horrible hero’s curse, really.

Sam’s smile reassures you, even if it’s the sweet, pitying one that he offers those in distress, because something in the glint that shines in his eyes tells you a truth you want to ignore.

“We can kill it with a silver dagger dipped in lamb's blood. We just need the blood,” Dean pulls out his phone to check his messages. “Which is ready for us, courtesy of Frankie,” Dean tips up his phone as if to cheer. Frankie was another hunter friend in rotation, he wasn’t really someone you would team up with, but you’d accept his tools and supplies anytime.

Sam packs up his stack of books, stuffing them in his bag. “Dean has to drive out about an hour to meet Frankie, you and I can stick back and I’ll catch you up on the lore.” Sam offers, zipping his bag up and shoving it aside.

———

The rain outside was persistent, heavy, and unforgiving. You stood at the motel window, glaring out to your car getting a half-assed wash that it so desperately needs. After packing in as much Djinn knowledge as you could get, you and Sam decided to call it quits for the night and wait on Dean.

“So what’s the plan? Do you know how to find where this thing is going to be next?” You asked, turning over your shoulder to spot Sam who was cleaning up his gun, shiney metal parts lined neatly on a cloth next to him.

“We have a hunch, another woman disappeared from her workplace last night. Amani, the college student, was found in an abandoned greenhouse that no one used anymore on campus. The mother, Eliza, was found in some old stock room at the animal shelter she volunteered at. The woman who disappeared last night, Carmen, worked at a museum as a tour guide. There’s a ruined exhibits graveyard in the basement, I’m betting she’ll be there,” Sam explains, continuing to clean his gun. His hands flow in precise motions over the weapon, cradling it and caring for it like a delicate piece of glass.

“Are we checking it out tonight when Dean gets back?” You ask, moving to sit on the free couch that will end up being your bed. Sam glanced out the window that you no longer silhouette, checking for headlights, before returning to finish reassembling his gun.

“Yep, that’s the plan,” Sam nods, setting the pristine gun on his bedside table and putting away his kit.

Once he’s finished, he stays sat on the edge of the bed, glancing over at you as you pick at the tears in your jeans. You couldn’t get those images out of your head and you itched to save Carmen before it’s too late.

“How’re you feeling?’ Sam asks with kind words that don’t mean to pry but just to chip what he can. He knows how much time you spend alone on the road. You’re such a sheltered and lonely person but he doesn’t want that for you. Sam can see past the tough exterior and into the shell of just a person who craved to be loved and taken care of. He wanted to be that person for you.

“Antsy. Dean should be back by now, no?” You ask, continuously picking at your jeans but gazing out the window once more. Sam follows your lead, nodding in agreement but returning his main focus back to you.

“He’ll be more careful in the rain,” Sam explained, his soft eyes holding room for the tension he captures behind them. “The others had been missing for at least a week before they passed, we have time,” Sam assures, hoping that you don’t stress yourself out too much over this.

“Talk to Bobby recently?” Sam continues, missing the small talk that you two haven’t really shared yet. He can tell you’re more tense than usual, it’s like you’re distancing yourself. You look up from your knees, the messy pit that makes you sick stirring in you yet again as his eyes match yours.

“Last week, just to check in,” you said, offering a suspiciously less amount of information than usual. Your leg bounces against its prop on the coffee table before you.

“You can talk to me,” Sam urges, keeping his eyes on you as you dart from your knees to the window and then to him. You don’t know what’s with you right now specifically, but the tension of the unspoken feelings bubbling under your ribs is becoming a real bitch.

“Just a stressful few weeks, nothing I can’t handle,” you smile assuringly. He can see right through it, but he decides to let it go for now since the familiar rumble of the Impala growls outside, awaiting its two passengers. Sam lets out a defeated breath, standing and grabbing his coat and gun. You jump to your feet, ready to get this show on the road. You slip on your own coat and check yourself over to make sure you have everything you need.

“What’s a little more stress, huh?” Sam jokes sarcastically, making a mental note to keep an extra close eye on you. You scoff a dry laugh, leading the way to the Impala while Sam locks up the room. The ten feet to the vehicle being enough to soak halfway through to your skin.

“Fuckin’ rain!” You exasperated, sliding into the back seat and letting the comforting heat of the Impala warm you right back up.

“Tell me about it, can’t see a damn thing,” Dean complains, his wipers on full blast and his defroster bellowing a low hum through the car that you had to speak over.

Dean’s years and years of constant driving cause for good reflexed and skilled roadwork as he navigates the slick roads, leading you three to the main event.

After a pop-quiz and mostly dried clothes, Dean pulls the Impala around the museum and to the back entrance that neighbors cellar doors that lead straight down. Once everyone is caught up, loaded with the proper weapon, and ready to get soaked again for a measly few feet of travel, they pile out of the car and to the latched and locked doors. Dean skips the pleasantries of Sam simply picking the lock and just shoots straight through the already rusted metal.

Dean descends first, followed by you, and finished by Sam.

The room is inky black and thickly dank, the moisture almost making it difficult to breathe. Echoing drips of supposed leaks from the rain sing around the trio, making it nearly impossible to locate one specific stream. Dean kicks on his flashlight and you and Sam follow.

“Stay close, stay alert,” Dean instructs, going to look up a nearby hall while Sam checks a few closets and you scan the main area for clues. There are dozens of totes down here full with scrapped art supplies, broken furniture, and piles of betrayed books. Nothing is standing out, though, so you follow behind Dean who has progressed up the hallway. Sam watched both yours and his brother's backs.

A loud clunk echos from the opposite side of the basement but the echo makes it bounce around to the main room you three had landed in. Sam jumps to double check to make sure that behind them was clear and Dean retreats from the room to see what’s going on. You shrug at Dean's raised brow and progress further into the hall, taking the lead.

You turn down a corner to find an even longer hallway with more off-shoots that basically make this place a maze. You sigh heavily, dropping your light a tad and look back at the brothers who have closed the distance between you surprisingly fast.

“There's too much ground,” you whisper to them both. Sam’s face contorts into a ‘no way, don't even think about it’ but Dean's interruption stops Sam from speaking his protests.

“They’re right, Sammy, we’ll cover more ground,” he whispers, trying to reason with his brother, “just stay close, no more than shouting distance,” Dean lays it out like he’s your father, but you listen because you trust his judgement. At the moment at least.

You have a hard time being too far from Sam, though. Seeing the aftermath of the Djinns' torment makes the uneasy swirl in your stomach worsen, but this time it isn’t at the ball of nerves that Sam's presence tweaks, it’s the thought of him being strung up there like a piece of meat. You have to rationalize that Sam is a grown man. You have to take a deep breath and assure yourself that he can handle this. After all, it is him and his brother who invited you to this hunt. You were the novice here.

After scanning over a few rooms, you progress further down the hall, and the further you go, you start to hear it. Soft whimpers, like helpless cries, sirening you to a room at the far end of the hall. You know you should grab one or both of the brothers’ attention, but you can’t help yourself. The images flash again- desiccated husks of once lively people dangling like a crude ornament. This has to be Carmen and you have to help her.

Your heart races as you get closer to the cracked door that pours out the skin-crawling whines. As you turn the corner, there she is. You're halted for a moment, frozen as you take in her state. A poor woman with her hands bound above her head and a dried trail of blood staining her temple. She has a similar IV but she isn’t still like you imagined, it’s almost like she’s experiencing sleep paralysis.

The poison is running out. Sam told you about this, you remember. The poison inflicted by touch only lasts so long and the Djinn needs to come back to dose its victim again. The Djinn will be back soon if it isn’t stalking around already.

You really should’ve grabbed the boys’ attention.

It’s too late for that now, though. You fish out your pocket knife, flicking it open and approaching the zip-ties that cinch Carmen's wrists.

“You’re okay, I’ve gotchyou,” you murmur quietly, hoping to god she can hear you just a little bit. Just enough to know that she’s safe now. You look around the room, keeping an eye out for the Djinn. You support most of Carmens weight into your side, stepping cautiously back out into the hallway. You almost make it past the barrier but a low growl from behind you makes you jump.

The figure behind you is a dark frame, shadowy and devoid of any light under the glowing blue tattoos and beams of eyes. It’s like the creature is pure nothingness despite its veins of sapphire lining its figure. As it steps out into the light, moonlight floods in just enough that you can actually see past the light-polluted skin of what looks to be just man. Well, a man that’s almost eight feet tall and glowing like he just stepped out of the Chernobl blast.

Carmen starts to stir, muttering something incomprehensible, but you ignore it because there is no time anyways. You stumble back, the Djinn looming over you. You manage to set Carmen down gently enough to leave while you lead away the creature that lurks closer and you can tell it’s furious with you. You can see it in his eyes. The cool blue that should be a calming, and if anything- dull, color instead pierced through your chest like an alarming red. You take bigger steps back before flipping a table in your path and darting the opposite way.

The piercing metal followed by an angry growl was definitely enough to get the boys’ attention and startle Carmen to be fully conscious again. The brothers call after you, their words dying in their throats as they round the corner to see Carmen on the ground. Somehow, during your short-lived rescue mission, you managed to settle your coat over her shoulders. Sam instantly recognizes that it’s yours and while Dean quickly crouches to her aide, Sam flashes his light to the mess of a spilled table on the floor. A few paint bottles are still rolling along the cement.

“Dean, get her out of here, I’m going after them,” Sam says without looking Dean's way at all. This time it’s Deans protests that go unspoken.

—---

Freshly ground coffee is Sam's specialty after being gifted a gourmet coffee bean grinder for Christmas. Ever since then, he’s gotten up before you, just like usual, but spent the better half of his morning crafting the perfect blend of coffee that you got to taste test along with blueberry and lemon muffins that Dean and Cas brought last time they visited.

Your guilty pleasures usually starred your mornings, overly sweet breakfast items followed by way too much caffeine from many taste-tests, and even a special morning delight from yours truly.

Your mornings were the absolute highlight of your day and a great way to start the day too.

Comfortable footsteps climb the steps outside of your bedroom door, and soon, Sam’s large figure spills through the frame, filtering in like an early sunrise. Sunshine that is hopeful, trusting, blindly accepting of things to come. His eyes rake over your body that’s half out of the blankets due to overheating from the night and he looks along the sleeplines you have acquired on your thigh, up your hip, and stretching out to your lower back. Exposed, lush skin, calling him in like a lustful sin.

“Good morning, my love,” his voice wakes you up enough to smell the mouth-watering blend of fresh coffee and warm muffins. You prop your head up just enough to smile fondly at him as he sits on the open bedspace by your legs. He sets the muffin wrapped in a paper towel on your bedside table along with your steaming coffee.

“What’s the concoction today?” Your sleep-dampened voice makes Sam smile a bit brighter. His hand rests on your exposed leg, running his palm up your thigh, over your underwear and back down.

“I mixed some of that Brazilian blend with the last of the hazelnut dark roast,” he tilts his head so his face is level with yours, still running his lightly calloused hand up your skin, untainted from the survival of The Life. You hummed in delight from the goosebumps that blessed your silky skin and also in anticipation at the mention of one of your favorite flavors.

You close your eyes to stretch and Sam just watches as your body twists to land on your back, but as you go to sit up, his face falls into a grimace as his hand quickly comes up to pin you down. You’re fully alert now, heart racing.

“S-Sam.?” You test, unsure of why he’s acting this way so suddenly.

“N-No, don’t go, you can’t leave me,” he shakes his head, a heartbreaking expression painting his gorgeous face.

“I’m not going-.”

“You need to wake up!”

Another Sam echoes in your head, and your own face contorts in confusion. Your heart is aching.

“Don’t go, please,” the Sam that pins you down begs.

“Please come back to me…”

He sounds broken, scared, so lonely. You shake your head, shoving Sam off of you. He looks offended, hurt. But this isn't right. No, Carmen, The Djinn. No.

No.

The poison.

The facade.

No.

The poison.

“C’mon, you’re okay. You have to be okay,” roughly calloused hands run over your cheek, a thumb tracing under your eye. You’re dizzy and disoriented, but you already can tell that this is what’s real. This Sam is real. The fogginess in your ears clear up as the pattering of rain fills the noise. When you can pry your eyes open enough, you see Sam crouched in front of you. He breathes out a heavy puff of air, a soft laugh escaping his lips. An expression that is strictly joyous lights up his face like a guiding moonlight in the dead of night. The kind of light that exposes the danger of things, and the price at which they come.

It’s the kind of light that floods everything about your dream downstream, carrying away the silly scenario. The kind of life that people like you and him never get.

“You’re okay,” he repeats, but this time he believes it.

A crack of thunder lights up the sky. A shocking mix of light you don’t quite understand. It’s not a beacon you can fizzle down to some self-justifying reason because it’s just a simple flash of electricity. It’s a crack in the storm above. It’s not some metaphor to make you feel better about your choices. It is a singular bolt that shatters through the night sky, starting you because you didn’t expect it.

Just like you didn’t expect the man in front of you to be the man that he is. He isn’t some ignorantly blissful lazy morning, and he certainly isn’t some moody, grey reflection of light that pulls at your dread. He is simply the split second vein of light that came out of the nowhere storm that is your life. But unlike the crackle of light in the sky that disappears before it’s even heard, he’s not flickering away because he found his conduit that will house his stay.

It’s him.

It’s you.

And you realize that you’ve been a fucking fool.

You push up to hug him tightly, eyes wide and heart still racing.

“Sam.” His name blesses your lips for the first real time. This time you’re accepting it, you’re allowing it.

His arms secure you close and he buries his face in your neck, taking in your scent. You can’t pinpoint the exact moment the boundaries between you two broke, but you knew they were crumbled to dust by the way he held you.

One of his hands wrapped all the way around your back to rest against your ribs on the opposite side and his other cradled the back of your neck.

This wasn’t a hug out of just a close call, this was a hug that made up for lost time. It wasn’t just the rush of saving your life, it was the flood of allowing yourself to feel what you so desperately have been hiding for too goddamn long.

This was a brand new hug with murmurs of brand new names and a brand new set of rules for the both of you.

This was the start of you.

———————

thank you so much for reading!! <3

>pictures are not my own, i have the originals linked here (pinterest) >>check out my other works here

#supernatural #sam winchester #fanfiction #dean winchester #supernatural fanfiction #sam winchester x reader #supernatural x you #sam winchester oneshot #sam winchester fanfiction #sam winchester x you #sam winchester angst #supernatural angst #spn fanfic #spnfandom

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4klovver · 2 days ago

Text

dancing in a jazz bar.

musicteacher!reader asks scienceteacher!matt to go out after work.

a/n: shes long again sorry!! I loved writing this even tho ive never written angst before, theres not much of it but its there!! I feel like I rambled so lmk in the comments Have fun reading hop you enjoy! This is PART 1 so yea! Contains; drinking, kissing, dancing, angst, crying!

wc; 2,270

After weeks of endless coffee runs, hanging out during free periods, sitting with each other in meetings, you finally had a great idea.

“Let’s go out tonight!” you beam as you sit down. This idea came to you a couple of days ago. Matt was always so clean, no, professional…? You desperately wanted to see a new side of him, and this was just the answer. Matt looks at you weary; you know he’s not the “going out” type, but it’s worth a try.

“Please, please, it would be so fun. I know his cute little bar with cute tables and a live jazz band.” You pause to look at him, and he’s just staring back at you thinking. “Matt, a live jazz band” You say, looking through your eyelashes at him.

“Okay, fine. But I would still be in my work clothes.” He points down to his light blue button-down that’s rolled up to his elbows, and his dark work pants.

“Matt, we’re going to a jazz bar; this is fine. I have to see if I have something else; this isn’t really ‘bar’.” You gesture to your frumpy sweater and work jeans. “I usually have concert stuff in my office…” the sentence trails off as you think about what you have.

“I think what you’re wearing looks great; I don’t see a problem with this.” He says this so matter-of-factly like it’s a fact in one of his biology textbooks. It makes you blush, and you don’t know how to hide it, so you just turn away.

“Thanks, Matt, but I think I’m gonna change; meet me outside of my room after school, okay?” You pack up your stuff as you say this, and Matt gives you a small nod. You were excited; a night of drinking in a dimly lit jazz bar, maybe some dancing, with a cute guy. What else could a girl really ask for!

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

You did, in fact, change. It was a black halter dress with light blue embroidered flowers on it. It was casual enough to look like a coincidence. Even though you did bring this dress to school 2 weeks ago just in case this very plan worked out.

“You did change; you look…” He trails off, not being able to find the words as you gather your purse and touch up your lip gloss.

You turn to him smiling; he also changed. He’s now wearing a white button-down shirt with a black tie. It’s not a huge change, but he looks…different; maybe it’s the sun setting, but everything about this is different. “Wow, thank you, Matt. I see you also changed.” You look into his eyes and you can’t help but blush. You turn away, walking towards the door.

“This is just my parent-teacher conference shirt. I keep it in my room…” He looks down, smoothing his shirt down, fixing his tie, and clearing his throat.

“This place isn’t that far. It’s only a couple of blocks.” You two walk together, shoulder to shoulder, fingers brushing together slightly as you walk, but no one moves.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

You walk into the bar, taking your jackets off, brushing off the cold of Boston. The place was already buzzing with people talking and dancing. The band was already there. The minute you walk in, you immediately get a burst of confidence, becoming your usual energetic self.

“Okay, common, let’s sit!” You are beaming with energy. You’ve been in the place for all of 5 minutes, and it’s already one of the funnest nights. You grab his wrist, leading him to a booth near the back. Smooth jazz is spilling into all the cracks of the bar.

“This place is so…you.” Matt says, looking around at the place. The dim lighting, the thrifted and collected decor.

You grin at his comment. “Yeah, I used to be a regular here a lot during uni. Actually, one of my old scores from there is hanging somewhere here.” You gesture to the many piled-on decorations all around the bar.

“Good evening, guys! I’m Jillian. I’ll be your waitress. Can I get ya’ started on anything?” She comes over, notepad in hand, smiling at the two of you.

“Hi, I’ll just take a vodka cran’ on the rocks.” You smile at her again while she writes down your order. “And for you, sir?”

“Uhh, I’ll just take a whisky, neat.” He looks at you at the end of his order, like he was getting approval from you. “Okay, I’ll get those right away!” Your waitress leaves with a smile, and you look at Matt, resting your cheek in your hand.

“What?” he says, turning his head to look at you.

“What? Oh, nothing. Just that you like…whisky.” You say the drink name like it’s foreign to you.

“Well, even your drinks are grossly sweet.” He looks like he automatically relaxes when you speak.

“Grossly sweet, pfft, even your drinks are bitter.” You lean into the small table, making the gap smaller between the two of you. He scoffs and does the same. The two of you looking at each other, not a hint of awkwardness in the air.

“Okay, I got a vodka cran and a whiskey neat.” The waitress places the drinks down on the table. Your rings clicking against the cup of vodka tickling your tongue while sipping your drink.

He leans back in his part of the booth while sipping his drink. All you can do is stare at him while sipping your drink and crossing your legs, taking in the scene.

You don’t know if it’s the alcohol or your confidence, but you lean back into the table, putting your drink down. “Hey Matt,” you say whispering. “What?” He grins, leaning into your foreheads almost touching. “We should go dance.” You look at the dance floor, the band playing ‘Come Live With Me’ by Marvin Gaye. “I’m not really a dancer—” before he could finish, you’re dragging him to the dance floor. “Shut up, just dance!”

For a moment, you two are just standing hand in hand, swaying side to side to side, looking into each other’s eyes, but then Matt pulls you in closer, closing the gap between you and pressing your bodies together. The dance floor was packed with couples, but it couldn’t matter at all; it’s like you were the only ones there. Matt leads you to sway at the beat of the music, your hand making its way to the back of his neck.

“I’ve never seen this side of you before, Matt…I like it,” you whisper into his ear, leaning into him more.

“You bring out some side in me, y/n. I can’t explain it.” He pulls away, looking at you like there are words left unsaid.

The rest of the night was filled with dancing and drinks flowing. Every time you would be dancing, Matt would just give you this look. It makes your face heat up and your stomach hurt.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

You walk out of the bar. The moon is already out, the cold air making your face sting.

You turn toward Matt, sucking on your teeth, smiling. “Matt, I had a really fun time tonight. I haven’t had one like this in a while.” You step closer to him, grabbing his hand. “I’ve never experienced something like this. You are just so… amazing.”

“Oh, you and your compliments,Matt. Well, I guess I should be going home now.” The last sentence is slow, hinting at something more.

“Y/n, I can’t let you walk home alone this late. Please let me walk you.” He follows after you, walking by your side. “Well, if you insist.” You don’t try to hide your happiness at the fact that you get to spend more time with him. All he does is huff out a laugh at your comment as you walk down the busy street.

“I can’t believe my feet don’t hurt. I danced so much…” You two start making small talk again while walking, getting into a rhythm.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The normally long walk felt ridiculously short once you got to your door. All you want to do is take matters into your own apartment and talk all night and spend your morning with him. He makes you feel some weird type of way you’ve never felt before, like you could say something crazy, but at the end of the day, he will still be there. You don’t know how to ever thank him for becoming someone so constant in your life.

Before you get your keys out, you turn to Matt, looking at him. You step towards him, and he doesn’t the same. Only inches between your faces. You can hear the first song you danced to in the back of your head. You think, ‘This is it. I have to do it.’

You lean into him, hesitant for a moment but evidently closing the gap between the two of your lips, touching. His unsure hands come up to your waist as yours reach his face; he leans into the kiss, his tongue finding its way into your mouth. The two of you get into a rhythm.

When you pull away to catch your breath, chest moving up and down, you look up at him with a smile. You can’t read his face; the dim light coming from the moon casting a shadow on his face. You lean in for another kiss, but he abruptly stops, making you confused.

“I’m sorry, Y/n. I can’t, not like this. I-“ He fidgets with his hands nervously. His words barely register in your brain; all you know is that you need to get out of there.

“Oh, I see. Goodnight, Matt.” You swiftly open your door, tears forming in your eyes. Embarrassment makes your chest hurt. You close the door in his face, not caring to hear another word. You feel gross; you dressed up all nice, put yourself out there just to get rejected.

Matt stayed outside of your apartment for 5 minutes, listening to you move around your apartment. Hearing you cry made him feel horrible, but he’s never done this before. He’s scared, so the best thing for him to do in his mind is give you space. As much as you need, and if you never talk to him again. He’ll understand.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

You get in the shower, washing off the sweat and makeup. Cold water hitting your skin sobering you up. You grab some ice cream and a spoon and sit in your bed, watching trashy reality TV shows. You look around your room at the decorations, the music, your clothing, and all you can think about is the fact that Matt wouldn’t enjoy this. Maybe you thought he enjoyed your loud clothes and crass personality, but he’s the exact opposite of you, and you need to accept that.

a/n: ahhhh hope you guys enjoyed hopefully I didn't leave you too sad. Please leave some love on the post <3 have a wonderful day bye byebye

more scienceteacher!matt x musicteacher!reader here

#fanfiction #downtown girl #matt sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #girl blogger #matt sturniolo headcanon #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo fluff #sturniolo triplets fanfiction #chris sturniolo #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo

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kakushigotofanclub · 11 months ago

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Me: I should write a cute wholesome Obamitsu happy ending AU!

My brain: Okay hear me out: it starts with Kaburamaru fucking dying

Me: WTF NO!!

#unfortunately this is how my brain works #see i try to write fluff and it becomes angst #i try to write angst and it becomes crack #i try to write crack and it becomes fluff #and despite knowing this is how it works i still haven't figured out how to cheat the system #demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #obamitsu #iguro obanai #mitsuri kanroji #obanai iguro #kanroji mitsuri #kaburamaru

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dollishmehrayan · 1 month ago

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# “WHY ARE YOU CRYING LAIN.” ── .✦ ( what it takes for batboys to cry about their s/o btw I don’t see this as angst!reader but I’m writing a angst fic soon!! )

a/n: this is a request by (here) anyways 620 followers under a month?!?! What the hell tysmm this was shocking to wake up to anywayss um yeah here, I genuinely think this was like only a general hcs of what only batboys cry over but I turned it into like a s/o hc too so sorry tags: ( batboys x s/o )

DICK GRAYSON ── .✦

Losing You, Even Momentarily: Dick is the type to wear his heart on his sleeve, so the idea of losing you whether you’re hurt, missing, or even distant emotionally breaks him in ways he doesn’t know how to hide. If you were ever critically injured during a mission or got caught in the crossfire or a health scare, he’d hold you in his arms, tears streaming down his face as he begs, “Don’t you dare leave me. I can’t lose you. You’re everything to me.”

When You’re Hurt Emotionally: Dick is empathetic to his core. If he ever caught you crying, struggling silently, or feeling like you couldn’t talk to him, he’d break down too. “Why didn’t you come to me? You’re not alone—you’re never alone.” His voice would crack as he hugs you, feeling helpless because he wants to fix it but doesn’t know how.

A Fight That Goes Too Far: Dick hates arguing, but sometimes even he loses control. If words were exchanged that hurt you, he’d cry after you left, clutching his face in his hands because he knows he messed up. He’d spend the entire night trying to fix it because the thought of you being upset because of him kills him. (He has a bit of people pleasing tendencies like me 😭)

JASON TODD ── .✦

Thinking He Doesn’t Deserve You: Jason has deep-seated feelings of unworthiness, and if he ever felt like you deserved better or like you might leave because he’s “too broken,” he’d quietly lose it. You’d find him sitting on the edge of the bed, tears in his eyes as he mutters, “Why are you even with me? I don’t want to ruin you too.”

You in Danger: Jason prides himself on protecting the people he loves, but if there were ever a moment where he couldn’t save you where you were hurt or out of his reach he’d shatter. Holding your unconscious body, he’d whisper through gritted teeth and tears, “This wasn’t supposed to happen. I’m sorry—I should’ve been faster. Stronger.”

Fighting and Losing Control: Jason fears becoming the worst version of himself. If you ever fought and he lost his temper, saying something he didn’t mean, he’d be crushed afterward. He’d cry silently in his room, replaying the fight over and over in his head, scared you wouldn’t forgive him.

TIM DRAKE ── .✦

You Pulling Away: Tim doesn’t always know how to balance his work and love for you. If he noticed you drifting away or feeling neglected because of his vigilante life, he’d hit a breaking point. One night, he’d find himself sitting alone, staring at his phone, tears silently falling as he whispers, “I don’t want to lose you. I’ll do better—I promise.”

When You’re in Pain: Tim’s logical brain often protects him from his emotions, but seeing you in pain—physically or emotionally would be his undoing. He’d try to keep it together for you, but once he’s alone, he’d sit at his desk, head in his hands as sobs wrack his body because he hates seeing the person he loves suffer.

If You’re Gone (Even Temporarily): If you ever went missing or were presumed dead, Tim would break in ways no one else would see. He’d bury himself in work, desperately trying to find you, but in the quiet hours, he’d collapse on the floor surrounded by papers and maps, tears streaming down his face as he murmurs, “Please come back to me. Please.”

DAMIAN WAYNE ── .✦

Failing to Protect You: Damian is fiercely protective of the people he loves, and if you were ever hurt on his watch, it would destroy him. He’d stay at your bedside, barely speaking, but his tears would fall silently as he holds your hand and says, “You are strong so much stronger than me. I am sorry I let this happen.”

Realizing You’re Hurt by Him: Damian doesn’t always know how to express himself, and if he ever unintentionally hurt you—through sharp words or coldness—he’d crumble. He’d isolate himself, his back to the door as he mutters to himself, “I am unworthy of their love. I am no better than the monsters I fight.”

If You Were Gone: Damian doesn’t cry easily, but if he lost you, he’d lock himself away for days. No one would hear his sobs as he grips something of yours—a sweater, a necklace and whispers, “I failed you. I should have been stronger. I would trade anything to bring you back.”

GENERAL ( WITHOUT LOSING YOU OR GETTING HURT YK? ) ── .✦

Dick: He’d cry watching you do something incredibly mundane—like laughing at a joke or helping a stranger because he realizes how lucky he is to have you. The thought of a life without you, even for a second, shakes him to his core.

Jason: He’d cry when he thinks about how you’ve accepted him so completely. “You don’t look at me like I’m broken,” he’d say through tears, pulling you into a hug. “You love me. No one’s ever loved me like this before.”

Tim: He’d cry in relief after a near-miss—maybe you were almost hurt on patrol, but you’re okay. He’d break down in your arms, holding you tightly. “I can’t lose you. You’re everything I didn’t know I needed.”

Damian: He’d cry quietly while watching you sleep, overwhelmed by how much he loves you. He’d brush your hair from your face and murmur, “You are my heart, beloved. Without you, I would have none.”

BRUCE WAYNE ── .✦

The Fear of Losing You: Bruce has already lost so much his parents, allies, and people he couldn’t save. If you were ever gravely injured or put in harm’s way, he’d be stoic at first, tending to your wounds or making sure you’re stable. But when the danger is over and he’s alone, the walls would finally break. He’d sit in the Batcave, hands trembling, staring at the blood on his gloves and whispering, “I can’t lose you too. I couldn’t survive that.” His tears would fall silently because he rarely lets himself cry but for you, the thought of losing you would be unbearable.

When You Break Down First: Bruce is emotionally guarded, but if he ever saw you crying really crying because of something he caused or something he failed to protect you from, it would destroy him. He’d pull you into his arms, his voice shaky as he mutters, “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I swear on everything, I will never let this happen again.” When you’ve fallen asleep, he’d sit beside you, quietly crying to himself because the person he loves more than anything is in pain.

During a Rare, Heated Argument: Bruce doesn’t lose control often, but when he does, his words can cut deep. If a fight escalated to the point where you walked away, leaving him standing there in silence, the guilt would eat him alive. He’d find himself sitting alone in the dark manor, hands in his hair as he whispers, “I can’t believe I let that happen. I promised I’d be better.” He wouldn’t hesitate to apologize immediately, but he’d cry later when he realized how close he came to pushing you away.

Realizing You’re the Light in His Life: Bruce is haunted by his past, and sometimes, the weight of his mission makes him forget the beauty in life. But when he sees you—laughing, smiling, or simply existing—he realizes you are the brightest thing in his world. He wouldn’t cry in front of you, but in a rare, quiet moment alone, he’d sit in his study with tears in his eyes, overwhelmed. “I don’t deserve them. But I won’t let anything happen to them. Ever.”

If You Were Gone: Bruce would completely unravel. He’s already built his life around loss, but you? You were his hope, his reason to believe in something beyond the cowl. Without you, he’d wander the manor like a ghost, sitting by your favorite chair or staring at a photo of you for hours. In the dead of night, when no one is around, he’d finally let himself grieve—hands gripping the edges of a desk, shoulders shaking as he whispers your name like a prayer. (Madonna ref?)

MOMENTS WHERE BRUCE GETS EMOTIONAL ── .✦

Seeing You Safe After a Scare: If you ever came home late or after a dangerous night out, Bruce would hold you tightly, kissing the top of your head and murmuring, “You’re home. You’re okay. That’s all that matters.” His voice would crack slightly, betraying the emotion he tries to hide.

When You Remind Him of His Humanity: Bruce isn’t always good with words, but when you’re there—kissing him goodnight, teasing him about his brooding, or cooking something terribly but with love he remembers what happiness feels like. He’d quietly brush a tear away as he watches you, thinking, “They make this life worth living.”

If You Call Him Out on His Guilt: If Bruce ever tried pushing you away because he thought you’d be safer without him, and you confronted him with a heartfelt speech about loving him no matter what, he’d break. He’d pull you into his arms, tears falling as he whispers, “You don’t know how much you mean to me. I can’t lose you. I need you.”

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norikuna · 2 months ago

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CREAM SODA — gojo satoru minors dni

prologue. → you've always known that gojo satoru is a real piece of work. arrogant, haughty. definitely has a praise kink for when people always call him 'the strongest.' but you're not even friends anymore, so this isn't any of your business...right?

what you didn't know is just how nasty he is, caging you in front of a mirror to lick away blood that he spilled from the veins of another man, one who dared to touch you.

pairing. gojo satoru x afab!reader

warnings+. secondary love interest in the form of a random oc, jjk lore being mildly twisted, history around the world, in-jujutsu universe (not an au), gojo going feral and batshit bonkers, rough séx, créampíe, INSANE glass-shattering jealousy, hate séx but only a bit, brééding, oràl (f. receiving). enemies to lovers, former friends, PLOT AND WORLD BUILDING BTW this isn't pẃp, éxhibitionísm, mirror séx, overstímulàtion, bratty reader but with a reason to be a hater, working together on a mission, mentions of alcohol and the crime underworld, DEFINITELY a bit dark because reader goes through emotional whiplash, descriptions of a fight and heavy injury, biting because i always somehow write gojo as a vampire type of freak?? the PRIME example of the miscommunication tropes and a case where neither person is in the right...nuance is your friend here, fake bodyguard!gojo, reader wears a dress + makeup for a formal event, angst, hurt, lashing out, some comfort and fluff

excerpt: part of you knows that you just aren't seeing those pearly gates of heaven.

you know there's going to be a bouncer at the doors, with your face printed on a photo titled: dni! fraud! liar! the world's most incompetent jujutsu sorcerer! would bounce into a criminal's bed at first chance!

word count. 22k!!!!!!! AURKAY!! song inspiration. cream soda — exo, is there someone else — the weeknd

a/n. spent way too long trying to learn ps for the header 😭 wrote this only because of the new grey suit gojo art <3 there's a secondary love interest in this for the ✨ plot ✨ but he's just a character i made up for this story. i would have used one of the other jjk men but it would made it into an au that i didn't feel like expanding on 😭

mp3.. feel that tinglin', that silky smooth cream, each swirl deepens the flavor, babe. baby, go dumb dumb!

"f-fuck, if i had known it felt like this, would've stuck my fingers in h-her a long time ago," gojo unfurls his fingers that only just separated from your fluttering pussy, and you can only watch.

equally mesmerised as his slender fingers are coated in strands of your slick, clinging to the curves of his short nails and coating them in a mirror sheen.

"have some c-class, gojo! you've lost your fuckin' mind -"

smack!

the dewy pads of his fingers have come down in a harsh arc, slapping right at your throbbing clit, and the jolt sends such an incredible crack of lightning down your spine that you're bucking your hips back up into his hand, back for more.

"some class? hah, 'm not able to do that now, baby," and you can feel gojo shudder under your touch, as you paw at the linen of his black dress shirt, raking your nails over his pectorals, "not when it f-feels like your pussy is about to, fuck, vacuum my fingers off."

"i swear to god, gojo. never say that corny shit a-again."

but it's hard to convey any sense of righteous fury like this. not when he's back to pushing the tapered ends of his long fingers in and out of your tight heat. each brush from the pads of his fingertips leaves you squealing, tugging at the snowy strands on the back of his head.

but gojo's teeth are sharp as they sink into the damp skin of your neck with an almost reverent press, easily snapping through the delicate flesh.

and you're squealing, shocked at how fucking bold gojo satoru has become, whining at how a sharp hiss pulses through you, and you can feel the warmth of blood beginning to bloom and pool over your collarbone.

"shit, 'm sorry, baby. so sorry. but i'm gonna need to see you l-like this," and suddenly gojo snaps away the pussydrunk babble falling from his candied mouth, and he's pressing a searing kiss to your jaw, and the air becomes hazy with the scent of an insanely expensive cologne, cedar and something...sweet, like cardamom.

still, there's hardly time to dissect that.

not when his thick arm is around your waist, handling you until you're smack bang between his legs, right between dark slacks. and gojo has shifted, so your back is flat against the hard planes of his chest, and your knuckles can only grip at the vanity sink. so your eyes can only see your naked torso twisting in the mirror.

"keep your eyes h-here, sweets. on us."

wait. you need to pause this tape, and do a little rewind.

how did you end up here, getting finger-fucked in a luxury five star suite? by the one man on earth that you swore that you could never stand?

(earlier that day)

the chandeliers had been shimmering overhead like stars, each fine crystal caught the golden light and scattered it across the grand lobby, and it was making your eyes flare and twitch.

this entire hotel felt frozen in time, some opulent relic of the roaring twenties, translated straight into tokyo's beating heart.

it was all so...pristine, and gaudy. and even the air carried that faint scent of hefty chanel no.5 and furniture polish.

but hey, this cheque wasn't coming out of your pocket, so who were you to complain?

that's how you rationalised it to yourself, right after a smartly-dressed waiter had floated past with a tray of shimmering champagne, one that you had easily helped yourself to.

ah, fuck it.

let the bill rack up on yaga's card. the least he could do after volunteering you to the higher ups for this mission.

a thick folder rested in your lap, clipped papers inside threatening to spill over from the sheer volume of information, that made your head spin.

of course, it was all courtesy of the jujutsu administration's obsession with drowning sorcerers in needless bureaucracy. and so you leafed through it idly, your thumb skimming over the crisp edges.

names, places, dates, all laid out in haphazard detail.

what a mess, it was a lot, but not enough to fill in the gaps that gnawed at you. the higher ups never gave you everything, fuck, they hated making it easy. still, your eyes caught onto key phrases.

urgent recall of cursed object. yes, that's why you were here. and not enjoying your saturday afternoon at home.

declaration of most expenses covered, in the instances of losing a limb. fair enough, insurance was honestly hell these days.

gain access to the auction being held by the voiceless. find their leader, naoki sato.

you knew of the voiceless, most higher grade jujutsu sorcerers did. a crime syndicate so shrouded in mystery. operating overseas for decades without so much as a cloudy whisper to the general public.

you made an unimpressed face as you kept reading, crinkling sheets under your fingers. smuggling, extortion, and a great deal of unexplained murders that would leave the cast of criminal minds scratching their heads.

how tasteless. still, you weren't the law, each to their own.

however, something made this case different. it made it your apparent problem.

for the voiceless were not your usual ragtag team of ruffian criminals, intent on scamming the vulnerable and sad.

their ranks comprised of wayward jujutsu sorcerers, with a hearty appetite for special artefacts, including cursed objects.

and now here they were, back on tokyo's soil, their hands covered with more than just the regular mundane crimes that could land a man behind bars for life.

you shifted in the plush, sinking seat. flipped to a page that had been practically painted in the most unforgiving shade of neon yellow highlighter.

ah, so this was the cursed object. raijin's amulet.

there was a grainy, slightly off-centre photograph clipped to the top of the document. the image was not much to look out, all washed colours and shadows that clearly didn't speak highly of the skills of whoever was behind the camera.

a circular pendant, a darkened forged creation of bronze and jade, covered in the soot of the ages gone by. spiralled with intricate carvings that reminded you of swirling storm clouds on a summer's evening.

and at it's centre sat a jagged shard of some precious golden stone, rough-hewn at the edges.

you were certain that this was the cause behind the distorted photography, for a modern camera was simply just not meant to capture such high levels of cursed energy.

there was even a faint shape of a dragon coiled around the pendant's edges, with its claws gripping the frame as if guarding it...or imprisoning it.

you weren't sure which. you're not sure you wanted to know which.

the accompanying notes were sparse, filled with frustrated gaps that left you squinting.

believed to be an ancient relic of the heian era. captured from the treasure hoard of the early medieval sorcerer, ryōmen sukuna, after his death.

huh, you hadn't heard that name since your school-days, back when you had poured over fraying history tomes, trying to pen the perfect essay to beat out suguru's flawless grades.

said to be imbued with the power of the lightning deity, raijin. capable of summoning and manipulating thunder, and disrupting various veils and curtains. last known location: the british museum, 1982. current location: unconfirmed.

clearly not an artefact meant to sit behind public museum glass.

dangerous in the wrong hands, and priceless in the hands of all. this must have been at least leagues above your current pay grade.

your thumb hovered over the corner of the page, bruising the white paper underneath as you scanned over the rest of the text, hoping and looking for a section that would be titled: and here's how to track raijin's amulet down and find it, with no bloodshed, and just in time for dinner!

no such luck.

"figures," you muttered under your breath, shoving the folder shut with a disgusted sigh.

this entire mission reeked of playing politics. for years, the voiceless had operated under the radar of other nations, disguising the tell-tale jujutsu as unexplained natural disasters and accidents.

there had been no intervention. they had been untouchable because no-one had the foreign jurisdiction, nor the guts to intervene.

but now, with the voiceless back on home soil, it seemed the higher ups wanted to make a statement. something like 'hey, we're actually useful at our jobs of protecting the jujutsu world!' and who better to clean up their mess than you and...

gojo satoru.

speak of the devil. you glanced up towards the grand entrance of the hotel lobby, as an unfortunate doorman stood by revolving, glass doors.

your...partner strode in, with dark sunglasses perched on his nose, and you scrunched your nose, taking in his appearance.

despite gojo's striking features that could render anyone speechless, he always looked like an odd bird of prey to you.

hawkish with creepy eyes, like a big snowy owl that had been hit by a curse, transforming him and forcing him to assimilate into the world of humans.

"i wasn't sure if you would come," you called, hoping that you masked the bitterness well that he had arrived, and significantly decreased the quality of your day.

"you wouldn't say that in bed," was gojo's snarky, automated reply, before he gave you a mildly embarrassed look, as if his immature mouth moved faster than his common sense did.

"still, sorry to keep you waiting," and gojo was crushing the heel of his boot into the cream marble of the floor, tapping it, all ridiculously long legs in the same uniform dress pants that you also donned, "traffic was hell."

"you don't even have a license," you grouched with a glare that you hoped was sharp enough to cleave time and space, but you stood up all the same, "and i wasn't waiting, i was working."

click! click!

gojo snapped his fingers, reaching for the folder stacked in your arms, "yes, of course you were, sweets," and he clicked his tongue, "now, why don't you hand that to me, and go check us in? i can look over what i need to do, let's get this done before night falls."

the audacity. the absolute nerve. how so typically gojo. swooping in at the last minute for kill shot, as usual, while others poured through all the paperwork, and did all the mental heavy lifting.

"you mean what we need to do, gojo," you snapped, your scowl deepening, "you're the late one. you go check us in."

gojo arched a pale brow, and the corner of his mouth twitched as though he wished he could just unwalk through those doors now, caught between amusement and exasperation. "you used to be so nice. what happened?"

"tsk! i think you happened, gojo. didn't ask to be stuck here with you."

"ah, so you do think about me, at least. but now you're jus' so difficult all the time."

"fuck off, i'm not difficult!" you shot back, before shrinking at the foul look that an elderly couple had directed your way, muttering something about how youth just didn't know how to act indoors, "i'm just saying it's not fair -"

"fine, whatever. don't care, sweets," gojo interrupted, already rolling big, blue eyes and turning away, "i'll go do it. you just stay nice and comfortable here."

and just like that, after comfortably raising your blood pressure (and heart rate), gojo satoru strode off towards the vast front desk, hands shoved lazily into his pockets, as though the two of you weren't on the clock to hunt down and find a dangerous criminal, his syndicate and a cursed object.

you trailed behind him, resisting the violent urge to grab his stupid sunglasses and fling them across the lobby. or stomp on them.

or just sit on them.

meanwhile, your eyes landed on the last and final page of the file, where a bright pink sticky note stood out sharply against the dull black and white of the case file.

final task: retrieve artefact. execute naoki sato on site. alternatively, bring in for execution.

the words were scrawled in thick, impatient strokes of a black marker. the kind that spoke more of efficiency, than humanity.

typical. there was just nothing that higher ups of the jujutsu world loved more than lopping the head off anyone that they deemed inconvenient. quick, clean and final.

still, this decision wasn't your business, not really.

you looked up to see gojo casually leaning against the counter, and his entire demeanour radiated smooth confidence as he spoke to the receptionist.

the sweet-looking woman had fumbled her worlds almost immediately, and she had dropped her pen twice. and he had caught it with an easy smile and wink that would have made you roll your eyes clean out of your skull.

you wanted to gag.

in less than a minute, gojo had the black keycard in his hand, spinning it between his fingers like some trophy as he sauntered towards the elevators.

you sighed as he stopped in front of you, extending the card with a flourish, like a knight presenting a courtier with a wreath of fresh-cut flowers.

"we're here for a mission, gojo. not to get it wet."

the tips of his ears flushed a bright, vibrant red. but his grin didn't falter as he huffed, and snatched the keycard back. leaving your arm floundering in the air before you dropped it.

"how crude. that's not even what i asked her. but still, you're welcome, sweets," he had said, stepping into the elevator and holding the door open for you with an exaggerated stretch of his arm.

"i didn't say thank you."

gojo smiled, tilting his head in that distracting, no. what? in that irritating manner of his, "no need. i could feel the gratitude radiating off you," and he's crossing his arms against his broad chest in a way that made the tailored uniform seem unfairly snug, "warms my heart."

"what if you don't have a heart?

for a fleeting moment, something unreadable flashed in gojo's eyes, irritation easily — but something unrecognisable, but he must have smoothed it away with practised ease. for that same cocky grin returned like clockwork, infuriatingly charming and just as insincere.

"what if it only beats for you?" he shot back, wiggling his fingers dramatically, and the motion was so over-the-top that it leaned closer to sleazy than heartstopping.

"now i'm worried, you need to get shoko to check that out. sounds like a serious health issue."

"your tender concern for my well-being is what keeps my blood pumping," and you know that gojo has little regard for the personal space for others, the way that the distance between you is closing once more, in a way that makes your own pulse flicker.

"please," and you take a deliberate step back to reclaim your own space, "if i wanted you gone, i wouldn't waste my time hoping for a heart attack. i'd do it myself."

gojo shrugs, tilting his head like you had just told him a sweet joke, "you're cute when you're homicidal, y'know that?"

"and you're insufferable all the time. we all have our talents."

gojo's barked out a laugh, and the sound is annoyingly genuine. it has you grinding your teeth together, making your jaw tight.

"hey, gojo," you swivel back to the towering bean-pole behind you, leaning against a steel bar.

"mhm, what?"

"i'll give you a hundred thousand yen if you keep your mouth shut during the entire elevator ride," you mutter, staring at the ground floor map, and up to where your suite was meant to be, hands fiddling over the buttons.

"deal."

you glance back, "that easy? clan money running low, gojo?"

gojo sighs, shaking his (ridiculous) snow-cone hair, "you have no idea. spent it all on a sweet talkin' girl who kicked me to the curb. even took the dog with her. who takes the fucking dog?"

despite yourself and your iron-clad resolution to not validate gojo satoru in anything, you snort, the first genuine laugh he's pulled out of you.

you choose not to notice how his eyes suddenly seem a shade brighter, as you snicker, "you're so ridiculous."

he doesn't reply as you press an index finger into the cool metal of the elevator button, and you turn around to see him sadly miming out his broke plight, with a sack of imaginary things over his shoulder, jingling the few coins he has.

tsk. you bite your lip to stop the corners of your lips lifting up to match gojo's own, wrinkling your nose in faux distaste as you spin back around, with gritted teeth. away from the mild bane of your existence.

true to his word, and shockingly so, gojo stayed silent through the elevator ride. mostly.

you caught his restless sighs, the shuffle of his ridiculously polished boots, and the occasional sharp intake of breath like he was simply dying to say something, but kept biting it back.

good. for once, it was nice to make gojo satoru stew.

the elevator dinged, and you had already stepped out, planning to ditch him in the suite, but clearly, gojo had other ideas.

"alright, sweets," he said, hand extended, "i won the bet. hundred thousand yen, i can take a cheque too."

you stopped short, glaring at his outstretched (sculpted) hand.

"right now? just as we're gonna plan how to catch a criminal? can't we do a pay later type of thing?"

gojo's responding grin was wolfish, and his voice dropped enough to make you bristle, "sure. pay later, with a kiss."

your groan must have echoed down the hall, and without thinking, you shoved past him. your shoulder colliding with his chest in a way that was deeply satisfying.

"my kisses," you snapped, refusing to look back at him, "are worth way more than a hundred thousand yen."

gojo didn't reply immediately, no. and for a second, you thought had finally managed to shut him up enough for a moment's peace to gather the thoughts that the white-haired man always managed to unravel.

but when you dared to glance back over your shoulder, his sharp gaze was fixed on you, and his lips were pressed together oddly — the faintest dusting of cherry pink peeking out underneath his sunglasses, and falling over his cheeks.

nary a peep from gojo then, save for him rushing past you to slot the keycard into the door. but holy fuck, the sheer luxury of this suite almost made you forget that gojo satoru even existed.

sleek dark woods, glowing orange accents, and a massive window that offered a panoramic view of tokyo's skyline. and then, there was the bed.

ridiculous in its decadence. a king-sized masterpiece, draped in plush linens that looked softer than the clouds dotting the afternoon sky. framed by polished ebony bedposts that gleamed in the warm light of the suite. the mattress was practically calling out to you, to sink your back into it.

wait, where was the other bed?

"nope! absolutely not," you blurted, spinning on your heel to face gojo who had sauntered in after you, pausing mid-step and clearly, equally caught off-guard with a stunned expression on his face — before morphing into something maddeningly smug.

"what?" gojo said, leaning casually against the doorframe, "it's a bed. you've seen one before, right?"

you tried to speak in a way that wouldn't quite make it show that you felt like your tongue was lead, jabbing a finger at the bed as though it had personally offended you, "there's only one!"

gojo's lips quirked upwards, his blue eyes gleaming with that irritating mix of amusement and mischief, most likely derived from your displeasure, "now look at that, we can count to ten. baby steps."

"don't start with me," you snapped, "i'm not crashing out there. i'd rather sleep in the hallway."

gojo tilted his head, the white tufts of his hair falling around his face, as though he were considering the suggestion seriously, "not sure the hotel staff would appreciate you loitering in their five-star corridors. won't stop you though, sweets."

"you can sleep on the couch," you try to offer helpfully, relishing in how it's his turn to scowl at you.

gojo's glancing towards the sleek leather sofa in the corner, most likely worth more than your monthly rent, "tempting," he drawls, "but i don't think that thing was designed for someone with legs this long," and he's slapping his hands on his thighs, and you do your very best to not track your stare down.

"then curl up like the overgrown house cat you are -"

"fuck you mean by that?"

"or sleep on the floor!"

"i'm liking these options less and less."

but then gojo straightens, and you're starting to see a small tick reach to the corner of his bright eyes, the faintest hint of irritation seeping through his drawl, "you know, for someone so desperate to avoid me, you spend a lot of time wondering where i'm gonna sleep."

you hate the traitorous flush heating up your face, "i'm thinking about it because you're my problem."

"well i hope i'm at least your favourite problem," gojo murmurs, brushing past you to toss his dark bag onto the bed.

"so, what's it gonna be?" gojo's voice was a lazy purr, patting the mattress beside him with a grin that could have launched a thousand arguments, "join me, or keep fighting a losing battle? because -" he faked a yawn, "i think i'm starting to get a bit sleepy."

"sleepy? you're a grown man, and it's barely three in the afternoon."

gojo arches a pale brow, and you have to force yourself to stop staring at the pink curve of his lips, "and? scared you won't be able to resist me in the middle of the night?"

"you should be scared you'll wake up with a pillow smothering your face."

gojo sighs, melodramatic and loud, rolling over onto his back, "i'd rather be smothered by -"

"gojo!"

his laugh is low and rich, and it vibrates in the air in a way that make your teeth itch, and your eyes roll, desparate to change the subject and actually get back on track.

you shove the hefty file in his direction, letting him flounder to grab a hold of it, "last page. naoki sato."

gojo's entire demeanor shifts, and falls under the mention of the name, eyes a touch darker, and suddenly serious in a way that almost makes you regret being on the clock. but he's pushed himself up from the bed, his legs dangling off the edge.

"what about him?"

you frowned, still turning over the situation in your mind, "well, he's supposedly working out of this district right, i mean, even this hotel? but why? i always thought crime bosses had creepy lairs in dark alleyways or something. and not," you gesture to the five-star architecture around you, "this."

gojo's broad shoulders shrug in that lazy way of his, like everything was beneath him, but there was something else flickering behind his perched sunglasses, "i've never even met him. just heard of him," but gojo seems to be chewing each word, as if choosing them carefully, "but what i've heard? not your typical criminal? he flies high, lives the wild life out in the open, rich and shameless."

you privately held back any biting comment that came to you as easy as breathing, about gojo also being the epitome of rich...and shameless. time and place, yeah?

gojo, thank the lucky stars, had not noticed you fighting demons to keep a straight face, "but then every so often sato vanishes off the radar, and then, bam!" your partner splayed his fingers, "he strikes again. always showing in a different place. the united states, france, england, egypt..."

you raise an eyebrow, tapping at your phone, "egypt?"

"egyptian artefacts are ridiculously powerful, sweets. i mean, on a whole other level. they aren't linked with y'know...jujutsu," he gestures vaguely between the two of you, "but whatever they've got is ancient and ridiculously potent. last the higher ups heard, naoki sato managed to get his hands on an old obelisk."

you shake your head at the prospect, humouring gojo, "whatever for?"

"whatever twisted things he does in his free time, fuck if i know. but of course, he couldn't control it. instead, it summoned the spirit of a massive serpent, killed a bunch of innocent civilians."

you have the faintest collection of the mythos surrounding an ancient serpent, and the thought makes you shudder, "wouldn't the local authorities have arrested him for that?"

gojo pushes his sunglasses up his head, so you're now looking back at unblinking blue eyes ringed by white lashes, "how do you arrest a guy who's practically a ghost? they couldn't even find him after all that shit. besides, his technique is something else. enhance. practically has control over every cell in your body."

you nod slowly, hoping that you're piercing it all together correctly, "so this auction is because he's got more of these artefacts? like raijin's amulet?"

gojo nods sharply, and you're struck by the intensity of big blue eyes with whorls of storm clouds lingering between his gaze, "i guess even villainous criminals want to make profit. but we can get a front row seat to whatever he's planning next."

"and stop him before that."

"right. that's what i said."

your frown deepens, "how the fuck does an entire auction stay hidden from the public?"

after all, you had scoured the floorplan of this hotel from base to rooftop, and not a single room or corner would accomodate naoki sato, and the voiceless that follow him.

gojo shrugs with infuriating nonchalance, his fingers tapping idly against the edge of the bed, "there's jujutsu that can create entire illusions. beneath this very hotel lies an entrance to a hidden ballroom, but it's been in and out of use for decades. we jus' need to slip in, find sato, and maybe shake him a few times until he spills the amulet's location."

you cross your arms, and the unfortunate truth lingers on your tongue, "if it were that easy, the higher ups wouldn't have sent you with me as backup."

"was that a compliment for me? careful, you might actually start liking me now."

and at your affronted expression, laugher is spilling out gojo satoru, sharp and cocky and awfully infectious.

you hated the sound, not because it wasn't nice, but because it was. too rich, too easy. the kind of laugh, from the strongest sorcerer to walk the earth, that made you wonder if ever took a damn thing seriously. with the unfortunate side effect of questioning why it was so annoyingly attractive at the same time.

nobody should get to look that good while being such an unbearable ass. it was unfortunate, you thought grimly, how much you liked seeing him laugh though.

"i don't think i'd ever like you at all, gojo."

but alas, the world has a cruel way of making you wish that the earth swallowed you whole. and your heart and mind certainly aren't on speaking terms with each other to coordinate properly. for the barb flies out of your mouth like an uncontrolled reflex, a rogue arrow hitting its mark.

and you're left grimacing as gojo's smile stills. not vanishing completely, but frozen while something cooler and sharper slips into his gaze. the awkward silence that follows is loud enough to make you wince and pray that a lightning bolt strikes you down right now.

gojo gives a quiet cough, and you're wondering just how much of his nonchalant facade he has left intact. fuck, you were a bit of an ass yourself.

"ah, gojo. i didn't mean -" you started, stumbling over the words, desperate to backpedal, if only for the sake of the mission. right?

"don't strain yourself pretending," gojo cuts you off, and you're mildly stung by the smooth edge of venom coating his voice, despite his relaxed smile, "let's just get this job done, yeah? it's just us two here because no-one else could put up with you. i was the only one left who actually wanted to try."

well. ouch, that was a low blow. motherfucker.

your jaw tighten, and for a moment, all you can do is stare into vibrant blue eyes. surely, that wasn't true...right? and how awful that the sharp look in his eyes softened into a smug satisfaction as he registered how his own barb had found his mark.

now, gojo satoru is leaning back with an air of victory, crossing his arms as if to bask in it. talk about drawing more blood from a wound than necessary.

"you're awful, gojo," you bit out, praying that whatever tremor lives in your throat is not enough to appear in your voice.

"yes, i know. you say that all the time."

it was almost tragic, you thought bitterly, how in those fleeting few minutes, you had found gojo satoru bearable. likeable even. insightful, in his own smug way.

but now, the two of you were back to square one, staring each other down with walls firmly back in place.

sure, your quip had been mildly unnecessary, but it wasn't like he hadn't heard your blithe and bland comments by now?

but still, gojo's words gnawed at you. the idea that no one else wanted to put up with you, except him, of all people, burrowed deeper than it had any right to.

maybe it was petty, but you weren't about to let gojo satoru have the last word.

"remember that the higher ups want naoki sato executed," you said, breaking the terse silence.

gojo didn't even glance up from the file he'd been pretending to skim, his long fingers casually flipping a page. and that nonchalance made your stomach churn with irritation.

when he finally looked up, his expression was a mix of curiosity, and disdain, as if you had become a particularly stubborn puzzle that he'd decided was not worth solving, "yes, i know that too. so what?"

"you and i both know you've had trouble executing criminals in the past."

a calculated jab, sharper than they needed to be. and you saw the impact hit almost immediately. gojo's jaw tightened, and the glint in his frosty blue eyes disappeared, replaced by something darker, furious even.

suguru geto was still well and alive, often appearing on television as a friendly priest who would cure one of all their ails such as lower back pain or bad headaches, for the low price of joining the ranks of his organisation (read: cult). but he still remained a sore point for...everyone. you, included.

gojo, especially.

and now the air between you shifted, chilling like a winter draft had snuck into the room. your eyes fell on gojo's knuckles as they tightened around the file, his expression stony.

you shouldn't have felt proud of yourself for getting under his skin, for pulling a genuine reaction from him. but you did. you'd found a crack in his flawless armour, without needing to bypass infinity.

and it was satisfying.

"f-fuck you," gojo said finally, the razor edge in his voice was matched only by the glare he pinned on you.

you crossed your arms, doing your best to feign indifference despite the adrenaline surging through you. ignoring how you felt an awful pit in your stomach sprout, rendering you rather nauseous, and quoting his previous words, "don't strain yourself pretending it's not true."

gojo satoru's glower could have melted steel, and for a moment, you wondered if you'd gone too far. but he stood, slowly, his movements deliberate as he slammed the file shut with a resounding snap.

you watched as he snatched up his smaller bag, and swung the door open with enough force that you were surprised that it didn't fall off its hinges, "just be ready by the time i get back. 'm gonna take a walk."

and you were left, alone, in a room that suddenly felt so much more suffocating.

you weren't sure how long it had been since gojo had stormed out, leaving the room icy in his absence. you hadn't moved from your spot by the door, though you told yourself that you were entirely fine.

arms crossed, lips pressed into a thin, defiant line. but even as you stared at the dark panels of the door, the lie began to unravel.

you told yourself that you just didn't care for gojo satoru. that you didn't like how he was too loud, too reckless, too overwhelming, a force that just didn't fit into the neat confines of your world.

the heat rising to your cheeks must have betrayed you, as did the tight knot in your chest. it had been...not your wisest choice to lash out at him, or to even bring up his name. suguru geto, a wound that would never close for anyone.

but more than that, you hated the memory of his expression just before he left. hurt, and anger. and something far more raw.

he would come back, you knew that much. gojo was much too dutiful to leave a mission and abandon a chance to do some good in this world. it should have been a comfort, but it did little to ease you. instead, that certainty only twisted the guilt tighter in between your ribcage.

finally, you yanked the door open, fuelled by an impulse you didn't care to name. you wanted to catch him outside, mid-pace and brooding. just so you could say...something. anything.

but the hallway was empty, stark and silent, with only the dim flicker of warm light as your witness. you bit your tongue as your stomach churned sourly with disappointment.

and instead, you just slammed the door shut, letting the sound reveberate with just as much force that gojo had slammed the door with, on his way out. you leaned against the wood, closing your eyes as you did your level best to swallow that lump of regret making a home in your throat.

pacing helped for about...three minutes. shuffling through the case files on the table did nothing but remind you of why you were here, why you had both been sent. after all, was this mission not bigger than you, or him? was this not about bringing naoki sato to justice?

it didn't feel that way.

your gaze landed on the garment bag handing from the chair, untouched from when you had pulled it out earlier, back when gojo had been inviting you...to bed.

sort of.

you unzipped the bag with (mildly) trembling hands, letting the fabric spill into your grasp. no doubt that the dress was beautiful, a masterpiece of icy, powder blue and shimmering sequins that caught the light like scattered stars.

well, this had certainly been worth half your paycheck.

your fingers brushed over the delicate embroidery, and for a moment, you felt a mild sting of your own hypocrisy and yearning heart. you accused gojo of being cold, distant and unfeeling, and yet here you were, holding a dress that reminded you of him in every way. the pale blue of the fabric, like the frost in his storm-eyes when they rested on you for too long.

if you ever came face to face with cupid, you would beat him with a baseball bat.

you sighed, dropping the dress onto the bed before gingerly stepping out of your uniform, as cool air stung your skin.

what had you been thinking, treating gojo like that? he didn't deserve your anger, not truly. you knew how much your former classmate carried, how much he gave himself to this cursed and thankless world.

but of course, the little pronged-devil on your shoulder whispered around the shell of your ear. he often drew equal blood from stinging cuts, no-one wanted to put up with you, anyway.

still, there was no use in showing up to a gathering of some of the world's most rich, wealthy and seedy looking like a hollow and shaken ghost. and this mission was just not about gojo, it was about the greater good of the jujutsu world, and that's what you repeated in your head like a mantra, as you swiped plush-red across your cheeks and lips.

a diamond necklace around your throat was the final touch. well, you say diamond, but the truth was more...cheap. still, the strand shone in linked chains of pretty crystals. and that had still been a minor fortune for one who lived on a jujutsu paycheck.

the hours had stretched the afternoon into evening, settling a fragile calm over the suite that made you ache to stretch your limbs out, and take in some fresh air.

but the silence was shattered by a sharp knock at the door, purposeful and deliberate. and it made you freeze, hands still resting on the straps of your glitzy shoes, a frown knitting your brows.

gojo had the keycard, did he not? but who else would be banging your door down?

with a sigh, you stood and lifted the hem of your dress as you crossed the room. opening the door with every intention of scolding him for whatever drama he was dragging in this time.

instead the words just about died a sad and lonely death on your tongue.

gojo satoru.

for a brief second, your thoughts emptied entirely, as though he had cast infinite void right over you, leaving you staring with a heart that hammered like a caged bird.

gone was his usual, drab uniform. instead, he had swapped the dull fabric for a sleek, black dress shirt that clung just right, paired with a crisp, grey jacket that framed his broad shoulders.

you tried to not let your gaze linger on the open gap right under the white tie that hung slightly loosened from his neck, where silk kissed creamy skin.

but gojo’s face was unreadable, distant and cool. you hated how his mere presence always seemed to tilt the world off its axis.

and you blinked, forcing your mouth to close, and you stepped back to let him in.

"you’re late. again," you snapped, but your voice lacked its usual venom, tempered by the sharp edges of minor guilt that refused to settle in you.

"whatever. ‘m here now, aren’t i?" gojo’s tone was casual, but his eyes lingered a second too long, leaving your skin prickling with self-conscious awareness.

it seemed that the universe needed to hit you with some karmic intervention, and you decided to take the rare moral high ground, "about earlier," you began, trying to steady yourself, "i shouldn’t have said -"

"forget it, sweets," gojo interrupted with a shrug, though his jaw was tight, "i’m not keen on hearing excuses. i get it."

you bristled, biting back the immense urge to shove him, an urge that becoming disturbingly frequent, "i wasn’t making excuses," sounding out each word slow and deliberate. anger simmering under the surface at his holier-than-thou attitude, "that was an apology."

that made gojo pause, and now he fully turned to you, expression shifting. though it was hard to read, caught between painful acknowledgement and absurd pride that would include him admitting that he was affected by what you said.

"tch, they’re not even real," you blurted, then immediately regretted it, what was wrong with you today? you reached up, fingers grazing the cool crystals as if to shield them from his bemused scrutiny, "just thought i needed something to fit in."

gojo slid a pair of tinted sunglasses from his pocket, sliding them up his nose, smooth and practised, "in a room full of the filthy rich and tastelessly overdressed?" his pink mouth twitched, "you’ll fit in perfectly."

gojo was right. this was just…tacky.

the ground floor of the building had been nothing but a sleek, cold lifeless maze of marble, and now he had led you down into what could only be described as a scene for criminals with bad taste. an abandoned parking lot stretched out in front of you, a grimy stretch of concrete that left you expecting a quiet dead end.

until gojo waved his hand, and the illusion clearly met for non-sorcerer eyes shattered.

before you, a set of massive double doors emerged, seemingly from nowhere, and the lifting of the veil had left you disoriented, nauseous. but when the doors swung open, you almost felt like you were stepping into a warped fever dream.

this room inside was the most bizarre mixture of garish opulence that you had ever seen. gold…everything. the walls plastered in a deep red, like someone had dipped the entire place in velvet swathes and then covered it with more gold leaf.

plush, overstuffed settees sat like soft, jewel-toned thrones in every corner, and glass boxes lined the walls, each holding what looked like nothing more than expensive junk, tacky figurines and diamond-encrusted trinkets.

it was the kind of place you’d absolutely expect a mob boss to call home after a particularly long, indulgent afternoon making questionable life choices.

the hall reeked of wealth, the kind that demanded to be seen. opulence dripped from every corner — gilded fixtures, crystalline chandeliers, and glass displays showcasing treasures that screamed money but whispered nothing of taste. you twitched as you passed a goblet encrusted with enough jewels to buy a small city-state. the thought of how much it probably cost made your stomach twist.

"focus," gojo muttered at your side, his tone clipped. he squinted slightly, his sunglasses doing little to shield his six eyes from the garish light that spilled over the room like liquid gold., and you could tell it was a bit...much for his senses, making him blink rapidly. "we’ll sweep the displays, see if the amulet’s here."

you tilted your head, gesturing toward his snowy mop of hair, the unruly strands falling messily over his face and grazing the edge of his glasses. "and you’re sure they won’t recognise you, in this whole...circus?"

gojo's responding glance was sharp, flat, and utterly devoid of humour.

"most of these people wouldn’t recognise a threat if it was biting them in the ass," he said, voice low and laced with disdain. "they’re not sorcerers. just your garden-variety rich and bored — criminals, trust fund brats, maybe a politician trying to look cultured. the kind of people who buy antiques because they match their curtains and makes them look good for their friends."

the corner of your mouth betrayed you, twitching upward at his cutting dismissal of the glittering nonsense around you. he had hit the nail on the head, making contempt seem like an art form.

and worse, you hated how there was something almost…sexy about it.

the thought hit you like a slap, and you forced it down immediately. gojo and sexy didn’t belong in the same sentence. not in the same universe. fuck, not even as a passing joke.

"charmed as i am by your high opinion of humanity," you said dryly, trying to ground yourself in sarcasm, "maybe don’t make it obvious you hate everyone here. we're not here to arrest every person in this room."

gojo snorted softly, his lips curving into what might have been a smirk — or at least the ghost of one. "you think so little of me. i don’t hate everyone." his eyes flicked toward you, just for a second, before returning to the vast hall ahead.

it wasn’t much. barely a glance of electric blue. but it was enough to send your pulse into a sprint, and fuck him, he had to know it. you turned your attention to the nearest display, praying he didn’t notice the warmth blooming in your cheeks.

traitorous.

"let’s just find the amulet, and sato. and get out of here," you said briskly, your voice a shade too sharp.

"mhm," gojo's voice was infuriatingly calm, but when you looked up, his gaze wasn’t on the displays. it was on you.

"you look lost."

a voice, smooth and low, slid over you like silk, stopping you cold in your tracks. it hadn't come from gojo by your side, thank the heavens above, but it didn't make your heart any steadier. you turned towards the source, and your stomach did a three-point flip.

well. hello, gorgeous.

the type of good-looking that just felt unfair. the type that made you forget your name for half a second, and then hate yourself for it. the strnger stood out against the room of puffed-up men in overpriced suits, glittering with real diamonds of their cuff-links, and rolled cigars in their hands.

your eyes fell on dark auburn strands that fell in perfectly tousled strands over his forehead, and a tailored black suit that hugged a slender waist.

"i hope you didn't wander into the wrong hall," the stranger said, curling his lips into a faint smile, fraught with suspicion as it was.

you forced yourself not to stare — at an absurdly sharp jawline, at big brown eyes. but words were a different matter entirely. you struggled to conjure them, grasping for anything remotely coherent.

you settled on an appropriate response.

"um. no, we didn’t."

not your finest moment. not even close.

before you could mentally regroup with a few brain cells, a sharp jolt yanked you back to reality. you sucked in a sharp breath as gojo's long fingers pinched the underside of your arm, a deliberate sting that left you glaring at him.

he didn’t even bother to meet your eyes.

his entire focus was fixed on the stranger, his posture taut with unspoken tension, gojo's jaw clenched so tight you thought he might crack a perfect tooth.

the air shifted subtly, a faint hum of energy emanating from gojo. you knew that hum. it meant trouble. gojo, ever the master of simmering hostility, was gearing up for something, and he was looking weirdly agitated.

and you found it tasteless to jump the first person you had run into here.

"i usually know most of the guests at my events," the stranger continued, his voice calm, unbothered — but there was an edge to it, like he already knew the answer to the question he hadn’t asked.

oh.

you felt your stomach plummet as recognition dawned.

naoki sato.

no wonder gojo looked ready to snap someone in half. naoki wasn’t just anyone — he was the head of the voiceless. the host of this auction. the man whose fortune was built on enough shady dealings to fill a large library. the one who had more blood on his hands than those who had been dealt life sentences.

one of the most wanted jujutsu criminals in the world.

"you've — " gojo started, his voice sharp, but you cut him off with a forced, almost too-bright smile.

"you've thrown quite the party," you said, your words tripping over themselves as you elbowed gojo subtly, hoping to god he’d take the hint. "i’m actually quite new to the area. just exploring, hoping to find something good tonight."

gojo let out a low grunt, a sound that promised retribution later. you ignored him and plastered on a wider smile, one you hoped would distract from your partner's upcoming reversal: red.

"and, ah. this is my bodyguard...genji," you added, giving gojo's arm a firm retributive pinch through the fabric of his jacket.

the look he shot you could've melted steel, but you held your ground, determined not to let him ruin this.

if for once, he could take your plan into account, a great deal of bloodshed could be avoided.

naoki's faint cherry smile widened, bemused, "your…bodyguard?" he echoed, gaze flickering to gojo satoru.

gojo who stood like a coiled spring, gojo who certainly was no method actor. his icy glare practically speaking volumes of 'i will burn this room down.'

"well," naoki drawled, his tone almost playful now, and you flushed, "i hope you find what you’re looking for here."

behind him, his entourage, a cadre of hulking men stuffed into suits barely containing their bulk, followed with synchronised precision. they looked more like walking fortresses than bodyguards, with their cold and suspicious eyes cutting through the room as they passed.

one of them shot you an odd look, and you forced yourself to feign interest in a nearby display of sapphire-encrusted forks.

the moment the criminal was out of earshot, gojo leaned down, "genji? really?"

you shrugged, ignoring how you felt your nerves fray. and refusing to meet him half-way, "what? okay, i panicked. it was the first name i thought of."

"yeah, that was so convincing," gojo muttered darkly beside you, and you caught some bitten off words about how he was never going on a mission with you again, how yaga should never have roped him into this.

all things you blithely ignored.

you didn’t need to look at him to know he was furious. it rolled off him in waves, the tension in his posture, the barely audible hum of cursed energy still crackling under the surface.

"we don't even know where the amulet is. and imagine if we show up in front of yaga without it. you can do whatever you like with him after we get our hands on the cursed object," you whispered back, pretending to study the ridiculous cutlery with exaggerated focus.

gojo lowered his head, as though he suddenly saw the worth in gemstones embedded in cutlery, but just enough so he could glower at you. "you're flirting," he hissed, "i could have blasted through half this room, and just finished the job by now."

you coughed and hackled, "not all of us think effective battles are fought with a hollow purple."

"and not all of us,” gojo bit back, "feel the need to blush like schoolgirls the second someone bats an eyelash at us."

heat shot through you, part anger, part something you didn’t want to name. "blush?” you snapped. "i wasn’t blushing."

"you just wanted to jump his bones. thought we weren't here to get it wet."

"i'm not entertaining this conversation," but your voice was mildly higher pitched, drawing attention, "is that why you were there? standing like an idiot, or a jealous ex-boyfriend?"

gojo's sneer faltered, just for a split second, but it was enough to make your heart lurch with a strange, vindictive triumph.

"i wasn’t jealous," he said, "i was doing my job. y'know, being a jujutsu sorcerer. bringing a criminal to justice."

you opened your mouth, ready to retort, but no words came. because he wasn’t entirely wrong, and that infuriated you more than anything.

so instead, you lifted your hand, placing it firmly on his shoulder, onto the crisp and fine fabric of his jacket. you didn't miss the way he stiffened, briefly disarmed.

"look, i've got this. just stay close."

gojo's jaw tightened, and you could feel the unspoken protest simmering there. before he could get a word in, you turned away and called out.

"hey! naoki!"

the red-haired man stopped mid-stride, turning his head back toward you with a quizzical look. the confident words you’d planned evaporated the moment his sharp, brown eyes pinned you in place.

"i mean, naoki sato. mr. sato," you fumbled, mentally kicking yourself.

brilliant start. truly one of jujutsu tech's finest.

naoki raised an eyebrow, his expression shifting from confusion to faint amusement. his gaze flicked to gojo, who had crossed his arms like a fortress of disdain and immense ill-will.

"found something you like?" naoki asked smoothly.

you ignored the huff that escaped the white-haired man next to you, and forced a smile, "actually, i was hoping you could help me choose something out. i'm not an expert here, and there's just so much to see."

naoki's bodyguards shifted, their expressions darkening as if you’d committed some unspoken faux pas. but the crime boss merely tilted his head, the faintest hint of a smirk playing on his lips.

"ah, well," he said, drawing the word out lazily, "i don’t usually get this forward with my clients, but i suppose i'll make an exception."

his eyes slid once again to gojo, who was now glowering at a waiter hovering too close to his personal space, on the edges of infinity. "your bodyguard," naoki added helpfully, "can walk behind you. perhaps he'd like a drink to keep him occupied."

gojo's snarl could have peeled garish paint off the walls, "i don't want it."

you resisted the urge to roll your eyes at the stubborn ass.

instead, you pasted on a smile, tight and sweet, and shot gojo a look that could cut glass, "our host is offering you something. you want that drink, genji."

"i don’t want cream soda," gojo muttered, all mulish in his six foot three glory.

gritting your teeth, you flashed naoki a helpless look, like what can you do? bodyguards, am i right?

and you reached for the waiter's tray, grabbing a tall glass of the offending soda and thrusting it into gojo's warm hand. then you leaned in, your voice a whisper, "take it. smile and act normal. ten minutes, that’s all i need."

for a moment, his blue eyes locked on yours, a storm of irritation twirling in them. you were now close enough to feel the heat radiating off him, close enough to notice the faintest hitch in his breath.

but gojo, for once, didn’t argue. with a final glare, he downed half the glass in one long, defiant gulp, his adam’s apple bobbing as he drank.

naoki laughed, watching the scene unfold with thinly veiled amusement, "you're very kind to the help. shall we?"

you shot gojo satoru one last look — a mix of triumph and warning —before stepping forward.

but your partner, predictably, looked like he'd rather swallow glass than stand a moment longer here. still, bodyguard is as bodyguard does, and he trailed after you like a reluctant shadow.

"i must admit," naoki began, his brown eyes catching the glittering lights as they swept over you, "it's rare to see someone so beautiful at these things. i think i would have remembered seeing you before, too. i'm usually stuck with old men trying to swindle me out of my fortune."

a flush climbed up your neck, unwelcome and irritating at what must have been calculated words, enough to flatter and also to disarm.

behind you, gojo audibly scoffed, clearly abandoning all manner of proper etiquette. you glanced over your shoulder to see him gripping the stem of a champagne flute, his knuckles white. the empty glass of cream soda had been abandoned in favour of something stronger.

he caught your eye and rolled his, making a slicing gesture at his neck followed by a pointed hurry up motion.

"ignore him," you murmured to naoki, pushing forward.

naoki’s eyes gleamed with amusement, easily unbothered as he gestured for you to continue walking. "does your bodyguard always look like he’s seconds away from murder, or is this special treatment for me?"

you didn’t dare look back at gojo, “he’s just protective," you said carefully.

naoki chuckled, "protective, sure. but of his job...or you?"

the words struck a nerve you refused to acknowledge, so you pressed the conversation forward. ignoring the jitter that erupted in your stomach.

"can i ask...," you said, tilting your head just enough to feign casual curiosity, "are these all cursed objects? or just pretty trinkets?"

naoki's amusement didn’t falter, but his gaze sharpened, assessing you like you were a puzzle he was only now beginning to piece together.

"why?” he asked smoothly, "are you interested in jujutsu? i thought you were here to...browse."

fuck, caught, but not completely.

you played it off with a small shrug. "some members of my family dabble in jujutsu," you said, letting a sliver of truth escape, but letting the rest of your words drip with lies, "i can only see curses, i'm not a sorcerer. but most of my family still hates me for how i was born."

behind you, gojo shifted, his movements a touch sharper than before. he hadn’t known that, hadn't known the small truth that you had snuck into your words.

but naoki's expression softened, his smile more thoughtful now. "that’s rare. and often not appreciated, i imagine.”

you hesitated, cautiously, but nodded. "not by them, no."

"i understand. my parents hated jujutsu. thought it was unnatural, and against the way of the world. my grandfather...he was the only one who didn't," and there's a quiet sincerity threading naoki sato's words, "he raised me when my parents refused to. at least, until he passed."

something in his story tugged at you — a familiarity you hadn’t expected. your family’s disdain for your own jujutsu, their rejection, mirrored in his words. it was unsettling, but oddly not unwelcome.

"i’m sorry about your grandfather," you said softly.

"and i, about your family,” naoki replied, a calm mask settling over his features once more, reminding you so painfully of the sorcerer who trailed behind you, "no-one should be made to feel lesser, sorcerer or not."

you caught your lip between your teeth, hoping the red stain didn't catch onto your teeth, "i thought most sorcerers hated humans."

naoki shrugged, "we aren't all that different. all flesh and blood with temporary lives."

oddly wise words from a mass murderer, thief and criminal.

you glanced over at gojo again, and just as you predicted, his scowl deepened and the glass looked like it was about a shatter in his hands. if looks could kill, naoki sato would be the first to go, no questions asked, followed by you.

naoki snickered, "your shadow grows restless."

"ignore him, please," you muttered, stepping closer to a glass case to distract yourself, "what’s this?"

naoki followed, stepping closer so you could catch the scent of expensive almond and saffron, "ah," he said, gesturing at the artefact inside, "a blade, from ming dynasty china. the jade serpent on the hilt grants its wearer the ability to control minds. some say it can even raise the dead."

the claim sent a shiver down your spine, but you masked it with feigned interest, nodding as naoki moved on.

"and here," he continued, pointing to a golden ring, with an oddly boyish grin for someone dealing in murderous items, "the lion's eyes. said to see through any veil, any curse. the last treasure of the dynasty of the pharoahs."

you tried to listen, but gojo's presence loomed larger with every word. his disdain for naoki sato, his barely concealed anger at the stolen objects— it was all too palpable. when you glanced back, his scowl had deepened, and the champagne glass in his hand looked on the verge of shattering.

if looks could kill, naoki sato would already be six feet under. you would be next on the list.

you swallowed hard, turning back to naoki sato and pointing at the next display. "and this?"

naoki pushed his hands into the pockets of his slacks, "the broken english crown. apparently worn by the last king to die on the battlefield, and i haven't tried it on," he shares this with you, with a conspiratorial smile, "but legends say it fractures the bones of anyone deemed not powerful enough to wear it."

this criminal was not what you had expected at all. it was hard to reconcile the image of a hardened criminal with years of ruthless ambition, with this effortless charm and disarming way of making you lose the blurred line of correct propriety. you tried not to stare at how the warm light caught his auburn hair, like the autumn leaves in the dappled sun.

and yet, it wasn’t just his looks that threw you off. it was the way he carried himself — like he had nothing to prove and everything to hide. dangerous in a different way, one that was far harder to guard against.

it reminded you of gojo satoru.

"you know, i have to admit," naoki said, gesturing to the gilded displays around him, "most of this stuff? tacky as hell. but then, you would be surprised what most people would pay for tacky."

from a swindler, fraud and scammer? you were quite sure.

"funny, coming from someone whose livelihood depends on it. isn't that gaudy by association?"

naoki winked, and you averted your gaze from long brown lashes fluttering against soft skin, "touché. but people don't want to just buy the artefact, or the cursed object. they want the story. that shit's priceless."

you swallowed, focusing on how gojo was trying to draw your attention to a glass case hidden by all the others, and you hoped you weren't squinting, "so, you're just a storyteller then?"

but beside you, naoki sato tilted his head, "you could say that."

you thought of the clipped photos printed into the file. some in black and white, and some in raging shades of colour. where naoki sato's hands had painted entire buildings in shades of sticky red, and heads rolled on the floor. where his enhance technique could burst arteries and lungs, leaving people in pieces on the floor.

"sounds dramatic," you said, though your voice came out quieter than you intended.

"life's dramatic, and too short to not take what i want," naoki replied with a faint smile, his hand lightly brushing your waist as he guided you further past long tables.

you leaned into it without thinking, a tiny movement that made a creamy, berry flush paint over naoki's features. and the sorcerer's laugh was warm, low, like he’d already won something you didn’t realise was at stake.

behind you, a sharp cough broke the moment.

gojo.

you let your lips curl into a faint smile and leaned into naoki's just a fraction more, with a very deliberate look, one that spoke of triumph and having tamed a beast.

gojo's scowl deepened, his shoulders taut with barely restrained frustration, and he started mouthing at you, silent as his lips parted. if you read his mouth carefully, well...

he was calling you rather unflattering names.

"what's that?" but it was gojo's voice that roughly cut through the air, like gravel grinding underfoot. his shaded eyes were fixed on the glass case tucked in the corner.

you followed his gaze, past his outstretched arm, and your stomach twisted.

raijin's amulet.

the cursed object you’d been hunting, the one you’d sworn to protect at all costs, gleamed innocently behind its protective glass. you could recognise the serpentine dragon coiled protectively around the stone at its centre, its intricate carving daring anyone to claim it.

your frantic eyes met gojo's. his were sharp, seething. then, both your gazes flicked to naoki.

naoki, of course, noticed nothing — or pretended not to. he let out a soft hum, following gojo's pointed stare.

"the bodyguard's interested too?"

you coughed, cutting through the rising tension before gojo could turn that look into something explosive. the glass case between them might as well have been kindling for the fire brewing.

"it's mainly for academics," you said, feigning an air of curiosity. then, with practiced innocence, you tilted your head and smiled at the dangerous special grade cursed object as if it were nothing more than an ordinary trinket.

"but it’s so pretty. what is it, really?"

naoki's hand tightened subtly on your waist, and you tried to ignore the guilt that bubbled up in your chest when his sharp features softened at your feigned interest.

"it’s just an old thing," he said, his voice lowering as if sharing a secret meant only for you, "did you know it once belonged to ryomen sukuna?"

your mouth was dry, but you kept your face blank, tilting your head as though you’d never heard the name before, "sukuna?"

naoki pressed his palm to the glass case, his expression shifting into something darker, more reverent.

"the king of curses," he murmured. "lived over a thousand years ago. ruthless. when he died, most of his treasures were plundered by clans too greedy for their own good. but this..." he tapped the glass softly. "this one? it wasn't easy to get my hands on."

you leaned closer, feigning fascination while calculating your next move, trying to figure out how you could get close enough to that glass case without shattering the illusion cast on naoki sato, "what does it do?"

for a moment, naoki's eyes narrowed, suspicion flickering in their depths. but just as quickly, his expression smoothed out, and he chuckled.

"trust me, beautiful," he said, his voice like silk with an edge of warning. "you don’t want to wear that thing. i could get you something far more...safe."

you forced a smile, ignoring the chill that ran down your spine. instead, you threw a quick, desperate glance at gojo — a silent plea for the strongest to listen to you: i'll distract him. you get the amulet.

gojo's expression tightened, but his head snapped once, briefly, in the faintest hint of acknowledgement.

time to move.

you let out a soft, breathy laugh and tugged naoki toward a table, your hand brushing his arm with casual ease. "let’s sit," you suggested, leaning into his toned chest just enough to sell the act. "all this walking is making me tired."

naoki's laughter was warm, a touch too easy, and he let you guide him without resistance, "tsk, whatever you want," he murmured.

now you're trusting gojo satoru, simply because you had no other choice. he had to get the amulet out of the glass before alarms began to blare, and before needless blood was spilt over the glimmering floor.

and so you sat, letting naoki have his back to gojo, oblivious to the white-haired shadow slipping closer to the case. your eyes lingered on gojo, pulse racing each time he disappeared behind one of naoki's own burly guards.

but then naoki sato's gaze locked onto you, drawing your attention back with a searing warmth that caught you off guard.

"so," he asked, eyes glinting, "what do you think of all...this?"

"it's impressive," and you're surprised at how the truth has found a home in your mouth, "i didn't ever think of different sorcerers, around the world."

naoki leaned closer, with his elbows on his thighs, propping his face upon his hands, "most people don't. here, it's all about jujutsu. tokyo, this. kyoto, that. the higher ups are so narrow-minded. stuck in their ways, obsessed with tradition. they don't know anything about the world out there."

for a moment, his words startled you. they weren’t the boastful musings of a crime boss but something else. they reminded you of how gojo spoke about the rigidity of the old ways, about why he fought so hard to change things, to create a better world for jujutsu sorcerers.

ah, focus.

"hey," naoki suddenly said, pulling you out of your thoughts. his gaze was sharper now, more intense. and over his shouder, you caught the faintest blur of white hair in the background, gojo's movements.

but it was hard to focus on anything but naoki sato's face — the sharp lines softened by his proximity, the warmth in his dark eyes that you didn’t want to admit was almost magnetic.

he was a man marked for execution, and the warrant must have been burning a hole through your suite on the highest floor.

yet here he was, looking at you like you were something worth risking everything for.

and suddenly, you weren’t sure you wanted to see autumn's locks matted with rusted blood. to see eyes go dull and lifeless.

you felt like you had the moral spine of a sponge.

"can i kiss you?"

the question hit like a punch to the gut. your lips parted, but no sound came out. and suddenly, the steps in the background stopped too.

naoki's hand came up to your jaw, his touch unexpectedly reverent, and all you could think was: distraction. right. distract him for gojo. what the fuck is taking him so long?

so you closed the distance.

naoki's lips captured yours with a softness that disarmed you, but the kiss was anything but tentative, and you could taste a sweet tang like lemons and sugar. but you let his large hands pull you closer and his touch was warm and intoxicating.

the kind that made you forget, just for a moment, that this was all a ruse.

his lips moved against yours with a heat that made everything else fade to black, and his hands slid down your waist and back, tracing lines that felt dangerously real.

when you finally pulled away for air, your lips tingled, and your breath came in short bursts. you couldn’t help yourself — you reached up, your fingers brushing against his now-flushed lips, glossy under your touch, and you hated the way your stomach twisted from the way naoki sato melted under your touch.

focus, again.

you hoped, prayed, that gojo was doing his part, taking advantage of the way you had naoki sato, one of the most dangerous men in the entire world, wrapped around your finger, and bruising his tongue into your mouth.

but your gaze flicked upwards, past his shoulder and collided with something that stopped your heart cold.

electric blue. devastatingly vibrant, crackling with a fury that hit the air like a thunderstorm.

gojo's eyes pinned you in place, shadows pooling in sharp cerulean, from shades that had slipped just a touch down his nose. no mask to shield whatever expression gojo had clearly painted across his face.

hurt? anger? what the fuck, was that betrayal?

your throat tightened, and you resisted the urge to dig your nails into naoki's tailored jacket, to hiss at gojo to get a move on. to stop standing there like he had been hit with a shovel.

but the words didn't quite form, didn't pull at the corners of your mouth to silently shape them. his expression just held you captive, no. shamed you.

and that made you angrier. he had no right to look at you like that, like you had just crossed a line that you didn't even know was there.

but under you, naoki shifted, tilted your chip up to meet his lips again, and you let him. you...wanted him to. but the heat of his lips didn't drown out the chill of gojo's stare. your own body betrayed you with a shiver, one that you couldn't quite place yourself.

nerves, or desire.

the kiss was firmer this time, insistent, as if naoki sato was staking his claim in front of an invisible audience. his hand cupped the back of your neck, his thumb brushing the edge of your jaw with maddening ease, over the pulse of your neck.

and for a second, it was too easy to fall into the lie. but you felt it: the searing weight of gojo's glower burning into you, not far away.

naoki pulled back just slightly, his breath fanning your lips, "hey, you're distracted," he murmured, his voice low and teasing, his eyes scanning your face as though he wanted to read every thought. "should i be offended?"

"no," you said quickly, almost too quickly, "just a lot to take in."

naoki smiles, all coy and glazed lips, clearly pleased by what he thought was pure flattery, and not the glowering six-eyes shining behind him. "good. i think 'm gonna like leaving you speechless."

part of you knows that you just aren't seeing those pearly gates of heaven.

naoki's warm thumb lingers against your jaw, and your breath hitches just enough for the sorcerer to notice. you don't miss how his eyes darken, a hint of triumph gleaming in them.

you risked a glance past his shoulder again, and gojo was still there, stony-faced as naoki's own guards. but there's something else broiling in his eyes, rolling over his face like a thunderstorm cracks over a grassy plain. the fury in his eyes hadn't lessened, but now it was laced with something sharper, something that you can finally read.

jealousy. absolute glass-shattering, world-stopping levels of envy paint over gojo satoru's face.

the realisation hits you like a punch to the gut.

was he jealous of naoki sato? of you? of this entire charade that you both had agreed to? or rather, the one you had roped him into.

the idea shouldn’t have thrilled you, but it did. and it terrified you just as much.

you let naoki kiss you again, forcing yourself to deepen it this time, your hands coming up to rest against his hard chest. you don't miss how he suddenly parts from your lips, panting softly into your mouth, and suddenly you're hit with the most awful wave of longing for a man who cannot have.

naoki’s large hands, however, weren’t idle. one brushed the edge of your dress, under the shoulder strap of your powder-blue gown, his thumb grazing against the fabric, and your breath hitched.

you shift, your breath stuttering as naoki's other hand slides higher, his fingers brushing against the flesh of your thigh, pushing your dress higher, and his hand brushes against the silver details on the side, scratching your skin. it's maddening how cool air meets the heat of your now exposed skin, and naoki's mouth crushes against yours, as if he's equally savouring the taste of you.

"t-there are people here," you gasp, your voice a fractured whisper, trembling at the edge of composure, "what if they can see or watch?"

gojo satoru is here. gojo is watching. you know your partner is close enough to hear every breathless sound you make, every treasonous whine that slips past your lips.

but naoki sato's mouth is curved into a plush, wicked smile, "let them look," and his teeth are grazing against the curve enough in a way that makes you arch your back into him, he who is now leaning over you, as if he's the one trying to capture you, "who cares - hah?"

any reasonable thought of your duty. of honour, of a mission flees from your head.

the sight of gojo's softly parted mouth and darkened eyes as he watches you in another man's arms spurs you on, and you let naoki sato press his lips against the hollow of his throat.

naoki's long fingers are blazing as they reach the very apex of your thighs. as they press two rough pads into the sopping slick that's gathered in your panties, as they run themselves along dampened fabric in a way that has you openly keening.

"can i?" and your eyes meet the mahogany gaze of the man above you. it's electrifying. you should be ashamed, furious at how you're just being taken like this, on display. but this is a room of the seven deadly sins, where each corner of the room is a lesson in hedonism, and obscene wealth.

"please."

but your eyes are only on gojo satoru behind him. on how he catches the pale-pink of his bottom lip between his teeth, and his face is seething. how his darkened eyes drop to naoki's hand working its way between your legs, and you wantonly roll your hips up to meet him there.

you let writhing fingers slip under the waistband of your pale-blue underwear, dipping into glossy, thick arousal. but you also don't miss the tent in gojo satoru's grey slacks, only metres away, and the frenzied look making him look pained.

you would be lying if you said you didn't enjoy moaning openly, spreading your legs just a bit wider, so gojo could get a glimpse of your drooling cunt.

"fuck, 's good. so good, naoki."

a finger travels up, away from your winking entrance to press a soft flick against your throbbing clit, "yeah?"

and the beautiful man in between your legs all but purrs. pleased beyond measure at how you've apparently been captured, heart and soul by him. and your attention snaps back to how he suddenly draws his fingers off your soaked cunt, and brings them up to his mouth.

"sweetest thing i've ever tasted, i think 'm gonna have -"

and then, it hit you.

a hot, sticky spray of liquid.

the scent of iron slammed into your senses as fresh blood splattered across your face, your chest, and stained the delicate blue of your dress into a deep and damning red. it clung to your skin, to your lips as you pressed your mouth shut, fighting the bile rising in your throat.

reversal: red crackled in the air, cursed energy humming sharp, and it had sliced through the hall like a whip. naoki's arm had been torn from your waist, wrenched away as he staggered back with a guttural hiss, and you avert your eyes from the blood that paints the space between you.

"that's enough."

gojo satoru's voice is like a thunderclap, reverberating around your ears, and when you finally meet his gaze, you're met with unbridled fury. you're not sure where his shades have gone, but you're met with the full weight of six-eyes, blazing and unrelenting.

naoki stumbles ahead of you, clutching his shoulder where blood seeps through his fingers, torn between shock and raw rage. his cherry-lips are curled back into a snarl, flush with indignation.

"hah, you're a sorcerer?," and naoki sato's voice drips with venom, heavy with disbelief.

you're not quite sure gojo satoru needs to answer. not when his presence alone sends waves of cold through the hall, cutting the air precisely, cleaving it.

but there's a man running towards the commotion, a guard encumbered by a hefty black suit, and there's a cold shock that runs through you as your eyes fall on the gun at his side.

"we think that's gojo satoru," the guard wheezes, breathless.

"you're telling me this now? i gave you fuckwits one job," naoki snarls, shaking the man, with his nails dug into the guard's shoulder.

and you're quickly pushing your dress down, letting the fabric spill over your legs once more, fighting back the hot sparks that sting at your eyes.

it's enough to snap naoki's attention back to you. and for a moment, for the briefest of moment, he wasn't the hardened criminal you had been playing this dangerous game with. a boy your age, wild and beautiful, and utterly undone.

and it heaves your stomach at how the fury in his gaze trembles slightly, just enough to reveal betrayal underneath that strikes you harder than any limitless could.and it struck you harder than any whip of magic ever could.

"i must be stupid, fuck," naoki's voice cracks as he spits the words, his expression twisted with something raw, something painfully human, "you’re a jujutsu sorcerer too, aren't you?"

the accusation was a dagger, his voice trembling with disbelief but its wholly true, and your head wavers in a half-shake, half-nod.

"you’re with him, aren't you? just another one of the higher up's lapdogs?"

the words weren’t a question — they were a condemnation.

naoki's lips are curled, and his bloodied arm is now trembling but steady, defiance burning through the pain.

and a whisper in your mind tells you to smash the glass case holding the amulet, to push through it with your bare hands, just so you can bleed alongside him.

but naoki sato's bitter scoff shatters that thought, and his gaze must have followed yours, sharp and knowing, for his hand has moved faster, pulling the gun from the guard's holster.

the blast came before you could even think, loud and jarring.

but you never saw the bullet's path, only gojo.

gojo, whose arm has snapped in front of you like a barrier, impossibly fast, and well within the bounds of his infinity. as if he had tore through space itself.

the bullet collides with infinity, ricocheting into the chaos of the panicking crowd.

naoki’s gaze didn’t waver. it slices back to gojo, sharp, calculating, and darkly amused. he must have seen it now, everything.

the truth was etched in the way gojo had positioned himself, the way his blazing blue eyes never left you, the unspoken claim humming in the air like a second heartbeat.

naoki sato's laugh is lower, bitter, and you watch the mesmerising plink! of crimson on the floor.

"he's protecting you, isn’t he?" his voice dripped with venom, each word striking like a dagger, "how sweet.”

and just like that, something broke. gojo's restraint, most likely.

you can see how his fingers are flexing, his hands lifting and cursed energy is coiling at his fingertips. his thumb and index finger brush, a telltale sign of an impending blast. hollow purple.

you clench your eyes shut, bracing for the devastation of the impact —

but naoki sato was faster.

his arms snapped outward, a surge of his own jujutsu ripping through the space between you. the bodyguards around you crumpled like ragdolls, their bodies bursting under the pressure. blood sprayed in thick, sticky waves, painting the walls, the floor — against the edges of infinity.

you opened your eyes in time to see gojo falter, his hands trembling as he stared at the carnage. even he, the unflinching sorcerer, the strongest, looked shaken by the sheer brutality of what cursed technique: enhance was capable of.

and in the heartbeat of his hesitation, naoki was gone.

"fuck's sake! s-satoru! let go of me!" you snap, voice cracking with fury as you fight against gojo's tight grasp.

his vivid focus shoots back to you, his expression a storm of anger and disbelief, "what?" and gojo's voice is razer-sharp, "if you think i'm letting you go after that stunt you pulled -"

"shut up!" and you can feel your own desperation cut through the air, "you go after him, i'll go after the amulet."

you toss your head to the shattered glass and the chaos erupting all around you, "if that thing gets lost in the mess, we've done this all for nothing!"

gojo's jaw is clenched, his mouth pressed into a hard and furious line. for a moment, you think he's going to argue with you again, but then you're dropped unceremoniously to the ground.

pain shoots through your knees as you land, but you're soon hauling yourself up.

"go!" you hiss, shoving at his shoulder, "i'll come find you when i have it."

gojo hesitates for a fraction of a second longer, then he's gone — a blur of movement faster than your eyes could track, leaving you alone in the chaos.

your hands tremble as you grab a heavy steel bar from the wreckage, swinging it with all your strength at the glass case. the sound of shattering glass barely registers as you reach inside, your fingers curling around the cold, smooth surface of the amulet.

wild shocks run through you, and you almost keel over, feeling the rush and pulse of such a cursed object against your skin. but it's safe. you have it now.

with it clutched tightly in your hand, you turned and run.

by now, you can't find it within yourself to stop the hot tears from running down your cheeks, streaming freely as you tear through the blood-soaked scene.

you run, the air sharp and cold against your skin, your heartbeat an unrelenting drum in your ears. the thump! making your head pound.

you can follow the residuals of gojo's cursed energy, lingering like a sickly beacon, drawing you back to the dull parking lot. you pushed open the doors with both hands, red smudging onto the concrete as you ignored the sting of your palms

and then you saw it. saw it all.

the scene hits you like a wrecking ball, knocking the breath clean from your lungs.

a body lies crumpled on the ground, its lifelessness more harrowing than the carnage that surrounds it. blood, thick and sticky, smears across the concrete. massive pillars, toppled like a child's toys in the wake of a clear explosion.

your gaze snags on a limp hand sprawled on the floor, and you feel your stomach twist. instinctively, your tongue slides against the back of your teeth, and the metallic tang of iron is already sleeping into your senses.

and then, there was gojo satoru.

he stands amid the wreckage, like a figure carved from shadows, and ice. and fury. his chest softly rises and falls, as though he had been running for miles, his hair disheveled and darkened with sweat.

the sight of him might have almost been human, almost comforting. if not for the gore streaked across his hands, and the thing he drops onto the concrete with a hollow thud.

you don't look at it. you don't think you can. your stomach knows the truth before your mind catches up, bile heaving within you once more.

the head of naoki sato. he would never have stood a chance against the strongest sorcerer in modern history.

final task: retrieve artefact. execute naoki sato on site. alternatively, bring in for execution.

you mind flashes back to that dastardly pink sticky note, still stuck to the case file.

what did you feel now? anger? sadness?

maybe both. maybe neither.

the blood pooling in front of gojo is already congealing, its sickly shine dimming in the cold, fluorescent light of the lot.

you were tired of seeing blood, of tasting it on your tongue, of breathing it in like the very air you needed to survive.

you’d thought there would be relief in the end. but instead, disappointment had rooted itself deep inside you, twisting itself.

naoki sato, for all his crimes and cruetly, had been...something. somewhere beneath the sly smirks and sharp words, there had been glimpses of something that almost looked like hope. he had said he wanted better — for everyone. for you. was it a lie? or had you twisted his words into something more comforting than the truth, desparate to see light where there was none?

your throat burns, but no tears come. just a hollow ache that matches the cold weight of raijin's amulet in your hand. you looked at it now, the thing you’d fought so hard to win, its edges biting into your skin, the dragon leaving its mark.

gojo's voice cut through the silence, low and ragged, and tired, "don’t look."

you hadn’t even realised you were staring, your eyes hovering dangerously close to the lifeless hand on the ground.

"i'm sorry," he had continued, his tone strangely neutral, as if apologising for a cracked glass rather than the irrevocable violence around him, that seemed to trail after him, "i had to do it."

you laughed then, short and bitter, the sound cracking like a whip against the cold air. "had to, gojo?" your voice trembled, not with fear, but something darker. something far more raw.

his gaze had snapped to you, and there it was — the thing that always churned between you two. a storm of emotions, tangled so tightly you could no longer tell where hate ended and yearning began.

"you think this is the resolution i wanted?" gojo shot back, his voice laced with something too jagged to be regret. "you think i enjoyed that?"

and in the most twisted, perverse theatre of your mind's eye, you see gojo's open-mouthed stare, focused on how another man touched you, made you his.

"i don’t know what you enjoy anymore," you take a step closer, your grip tightening on amulet until your knuckles whitened. but the air pushed from your lungs, "but - god, gojo. forget it. i-i don't even know. 'm sorry, too."

gojo sighs, and you see the exhaustion hanging over him too, "we'll go back tomorrow morning."

the walk back to your room is…suffocating. the air is thick with everything that you just cannot say, words that you can't even bring your heavy tongue to shape.

gojo is beind you, and you can feel the weight of his presence pressing between your shoulder blades, but you just can't turn around. you don't dare to. raijin's amulet is still clenched in your hand, and its edges are cutting into your palm, a form of self-flagellation you suppose.

you push the door open, and your breath catches and hitches as you slip inside, slamming it shut after he follows. locking it with shaking hands.

in the suite, the moonlight now slices through the half-drawn curtains, as the tokyo skyline glimmers underneath you. it's painting silver lines across gojo's spectral frame, and he strides to the amenities sink, a smaller outlet near the door.

you watch, as though you're holding a sacred vigil.

your gaze doesn't leave gojo's figure as he throws his jacket off his sharp torso with a disgusted sigh, leaving him in his black dress shirt and a loosened tie.

still watching as his movements are tense, restless as he cups water from the faucet in his hands, splashing it onto his face.

when he finally looks up, gojo's white is hair dripping, his tie slightly askew, and his tired eyes catch yours like a snare.

for a moment, you’re frozen. neither of you say a word. the air feels too thin to breathe, and his gaze is too much — too piercing, too relentless, too him.

you can’t take it.

with a sharp motion, you slam the amulet onto the table, the sound echoing through the quiet room. you spin on your heel and lock yourself in the bathroom, shutting him out.

inside, the luxurious space feels surreal. marble floors gleam under the soft glow of recessed lighting, gold fixtures glinting and stinging your eyes. it smells faintly of jasmine and mint, too perfect for the mess you're about to create.

you grip the edge of the sink as the first sob wrenches its way out of your chest, hot and raw.

tears spill over, cascading down your cheeks in waves you can’t control. they come faster, harder, until you’re gasping, choking on gulps of air that burn in your throat.

you sink onto the cool floor tiles, your knees pulled to your chest as the sobs wrack your body. the weight of everything, what you did, gojo's eyes gleaming, naoki sato's hands on you, the smell of blood, it all crashes over you like a tidal wave. it’s too much for a human heart to bear in one night.

but your hands are shaking as you reach for the hem of your once beautiful dress, peeling it off with clumsy, desperate motions. the air is cool against your skin, you who is now left in undergarments.

and you stare blankly at the blood that smears your arms and legs, before grabbing a small towel, dampening it under the sink and wiping crimson stains away.

small cuts sting on your skin, faint patches where glass struck you, and you hiss.

a knock rattles the bathroom door, sharp and unrelenting, dragging you back to reality.

you close your eyes and exhale through gritted teeth, your voice brittle, "not now, gojo."

silence follows, stretching out long enough to offer the illusion of peace. but then it breaks. another knock, louder, more insistent this time.

"satoru, i swear to god," you snap, your exhaustion fraying into something sharp, laced with more venom now.

there’s a sigh from the other side, audible even through the thick wood, "don't make me blast this door down."

you groan, rolling your eyes as you toss the bloodied towel onto the counter, "you wouldn't dare."

"try me. just open the door, would'you?"

you don’t have the energy to argue, and something in his tone tells you that gojo isn’t bluffing. and so you dragged yourself upright, swinging the door open with more force than necessary.

gojo stands there, with damp hair still clinging to his forehead, beads of water trailing down his templates. and his sleeves are rolled up now, revealing thick forearms flecked with rust and crimson. it wouldn't be his. no, gojo hasn't bled in over a decade.

you straighten, aware of your own state right now. in your undergarments, only shielding you from being entirely bare under his gaze. but the only clothes in this room with you are now crumpled on the floor, in a heap of ice-blue and dark red.

let him look. he's seen more than enough now.

and so you lean back against the sink, crossing your arms as your eyes meet blue, "what do you want?"

gojo hesitates, his jaw tightening as he braces himself. when he finally speaks, his voice is low, rough around the edges, "just...asking if you're alright."

the laugh that escapes you is sharp and hollow, devoid of any humour, "why wouldn't i be?"

gojo's faze flickers, his expression unreadable, but his eyes linger a moment too long. you let him trace the dried blood smeared across your collarbone, the faint scratches on your skin.

"after all of that tonight..." he starts, but the words hang in the air between the two of you, unfinished. his voice suddenly falters, and you're struck by how gojo's razor-sharp confidence has dulled into something weaker, more conflicted.

you know exactly what he means. the stunt he's referring to, in his own earlier words. you wonder what exactly is eating at him now. is it honest concern, pride? residual envy?

"please, trust me. i'm fine, we managed to do what was asked of us, anyway," you clip curtly, hoping your tone is final enough.

gojo looks at you like he doesn't believe a single syllable that slips from your bitten lips, but then his shoulders sag and he exhales sharply, "fine," he mutters, turning on his heel as if he's the one that can't stand to be near you any longer.

"wait."

the word slips out before you can stop it, and gojo pauses, and his eyes are narrowed with suspicion.

you swallow hard, suddenly unsure of yourself, and lift a clean towel from the counter, helping yourself to another one of the hotel's free amenities, "can you help me with this?"

an olive branch.

you gesture with a single finger, over dried blood that has streaked over your back, your neck. the hollow of your collarbone.

you can see the refusal dancing on his tongue, the hesitation in the way his throat bobs, and how gojo's eyes flicker over you once more.

but he doesn't refuse. gojo just wordlessly steps forward, taking the towel from your outstretched hand. you watch, silently, as he moves to the sink and runs it under cold water. you're sitting on the edge of the counter now so you face him, watching the warm golden glow of the overhead lights in his pale hair.

the porcelain is cold against your thighs as you angle yourself away from the mirror, facing gojo. the towel in his hand drips faintly, and you watch as he hesitates again, just for a fraction of a second before stepping closer.

at first, his movements are slow and careful. he's raising the towel, and his hand is steady as you feel the first touch of the cool fabric against your back. a shiver practically races down your spine, not from the cold, but from the way his arm snakes behind you, brushing against your bare skin.

it's subtle at first, but you notice it. the hitch in his breath, the faint tremour in his movements.

gojo, who is always so infuriatingly composed, is shaken. you hear it in the sorcerer's uneven exhale that he doesn't quite manage to suppress, the way his fingers press the towel just a little too harshly.

the suite is silent now except for the faint drip of water and the rasp of fabric against your skin. you should say something, anything, but the words don’t come. instead, your gaze fixes on him, his profile illuminated by the warm glow of the bathroom light.

gojo's features are always striking, almost ethereal: the ice-white hair that falls messily against his forehead, the long white lashes that frame those sharp, cerulean-blue eyes. there’s something softened by the warm light, as though the harshness of his presence, of a man who stands above heaven and earth, has been dulled just enough to make him seem almost...human again.

but you feel as though your heart must just give way, pounding so hard that it may burst. where the blood that fell from another man's veins had somehow drawn a line to gojo satoru instead.

an hour ago, you had been arched into another, naoki sato, one who had been a dead man walking. an hour ago, his hands were on you, his lips hot and insistent, and his eyes were warm, and now he’s gone. dead. gojo made sure of that. and that was always meant to happen.

the thought should make you furious. it should make you push gojo away, but instead, all you can do is sit there, feeling his hands —gentle now, impossibly careful, on your skin.

it's wrong. it's so deeply, fundamentally wrong, and yet the space another man left feels like it was carved out for gojo satoru all along.

gojo's touch slows as he runs the towel over your skin, tracing the line of your collarbone with a precision that feels almost tender. your eyes slip closed for a moment, the warmth of his hand lingering even as the cold water wipes away the blood.

then he moves again.

it happens fast enough that you barely register it. one second, gojo satoru is standing tall and focused on the task, and the next...he's leaning down. his breath ghosting over the hollow of your neck.

you feel your entire world tilt as his lips press softly against the curve where your neck meets your shoulder, a touch so light that it feels stolen.

but now you've frozen, every breath catching as though the air was snatched from your lungs. every nerve feels as though it's on fire, hyper-aware of how soft the brush of his lips was, the faint scrape of his teeth just shy of your skin.

how gojo's lips were almost reverent, like a prayer offered in silence. how he was worshipping something he couldn't ever have.

but your eyes snap open to meet his.

gojos's cerulean eyes are molten, the usual ice cracked and melting into something deep and desperate and all-consuming. they bore into yours, wild and unguraded, and the pale lashes framing them tremble lighting as though even he's unsure of what he's just done.

but gojo's pupils are also blown wide, and electric. like a storm trapped in glass.

you swallow hard, your pulse thundering in your throat. slowly, cautiously, you dip your head, just enough to give him permission without saying a word.

the look in his eyes shifts — hunger, disbelief, and something darker all tangled together. he presses his lips to your neck again, firmer this time, lingering as though committing the feel of your skin to memory. then again, slightly higher, his breath hot and uneven against you.

"satoru…" the name slips from your lips in a whisper, trembling and unbidden.

the warmth of his tongue catches you off guard, tracing the curve of your neck in a way that sends a jolt through your entire body, heat down to your thighs. it's...unhinged, but the part of you that should push him away is nowhere to be found.

gojo pulls back just enough for you to see the faint smile curling at the corner of his mouth, though his eyes remain dark, intense, and burning with something that feels too big for the room.

"another man got to taste you," he whispers, "now i've tasted him."

you almost laugh, sharp and bitter. the sound lodging in your throat. the absurdity of it all, the jealously lacing his words like a poison vine, the way his breath still fans against your skin.

"that's insane," you manage, your voice shaking. it does little to stop the searing heat curling low in your stomach.

for a second, gojo's breath is still hot against your neck. and then suddenly, his hands are on you.

and fuck, it's not delicate at all. there's a roughness to his touch, desparate and unrestrained, as though something inside him as finally snapped.

his palms trace along your bare shoulders, sliding down to your arms, and then to your waist. his fingers press into your skin with a heat that makes you feel like you're burning from the inside out. you don't even realise when you had opened your mouth slightly, panting as if you're trying to pull more air in.

"gojo," you manage, barely audible, and you're acutely aware of the low tense ache beginning to throb in your groin.

his hands slow for a moment, resting on your sides as if he’s trying to ground himself, or stop himself. and gojo's eyes find yours again, and they’re ablaze.

"can i keep going?"

you wonder just how you've managed to unravel this man, to leave his voice hanging by a thread in the air.

you don’t answer right away, your head swimming with confusion, slick desire, and something dangerously close to surrender. gojo satoru is watching you so intently it’s like he’s searching for every unspoken answer written on your skin.

finally, you shift — subtle, but enough. your knees part slightly, just enough for him to step between your bare thighs.

"what do you want me to do?"

you're aware of the insistent, rhythmic pulsing under your panties. of how every small shift of gojo's body against yours amplifies the soft arousal forming, as your heart pounds faster.

and so you let your fingers hook onto the pale waistband of your underwear, and you watch as his gaze follows your movements.

"i want you to touch me, there. please."

you hear the white-haired man breathe out a thankful, reverent fuck before he's following the path of your own hands, hooking a slender finger into your waistband and pulling your underwear down, and off.

and you're so painfully aware of your own arousal right now, the wet that is pooling beneath you. it feels like a relief, parting your legs so your searing heat meets cool air.

"that's perfect, look at t-that," and you're suddenly whining as gojo's fingertips begin grazing sloppy folds, raking themselves over your fluttering entrance, "she's practically been beggin' for my touch all this time, hah!"

"you - ohh, gojo!" you moan, feeling awfully faint from the rippling warmth making your cunt tighten around him, each pshh! echoing in your burning ears, "y-you wish!"

gojo's laugh is a little crazed, undone as he rolls his fingers in practiced curls, at an inhuman pace. bullying his fingers into your opening, as he rasps, "yeah, i w-wish. 'm wishing for this all the time. you never knew, huh?"

"f-fuck, if i had known it felt like this, would've stuck my fingers in h-her a long time ago," gojo unfurls his fingers that only just separated from your winking pussy, and you can only watch.

equally mesmerised as his slender fingers are coated in strands of your slick, clinging to the curves of his short nails and coating them in a mirror sheen.

"have some c-class, gojo! you've lost your fuckin' mind -"

smack!

"i swear to god, gojo. never say that corny shit a-again."

but gojo's teeth are sharp as they sink into the damp skin of your neck with an almost reverent press, easily snapping through the delicate flesh.

still, there's hardly time to dissect that.

"keep your eyes h-here, sweets. on us."

and god, that's exactly where your eyes are. falling on a tense forearm around your waist, as the other works its fierce way through the clamping, gummy walls of your leaking cunt. and you're shuddering underneath him, feeling each brush of his fingers in you.

"w-we make a pretty sight, don't we, yeah?" and the words are spilling from gojo's lips with a certain smugness, but it's rough around the edges, strained. and you just can't look away from how utterly ruined he looks, from touching you.

you watch the glossed shine of your trickling pussy twinkle in the warm lights, as gojo pushes your thighs open wider. his frame leans over yours, taut and straining. and his lips are flushed and parted, betraying the deep ache of his breath.

"go onnn, say it. c'mon," and now gojo's whining in your ear, letting his hand push further into the mess as your pussy is practically weeping onto his fingertips, "won't let you c-cum if you don't say it."

your chest heaves with each desperate, gulping breath. and you can see gojo's vision narrow on how your tits threaten to spill out from their confines, the swell of your chest rising as you try to draw air through your close orgasmic daze. where the edges of your vision blur, and your heart is pounding erratically, "ahhh, gojo! 'm gonna, i think 'm gonna, oh my god!"

but there's more, you want so much more.

and against better thought, you push and elbow back into gojo's chest, heaving as he flicks his thumb over your aching clit.

"hah, what is it now? fuck was that for?" and the man is scowling at you, seemingly irritated that you drew him away from the hypnotic pull of your pulsing walls.

you swivel, away from the mirror so you're facing him. and your eyes fall on the heavy, pitched tent in gojo's grey slacks, one that must be aching and awfully painful from the way he's running his pink tongue over his bruised mouth.

"wan' more, gojo. on the bed."

you've reached up behind your back, unhooking the clip that was holding your bra together. it falls, and you toss it into the pile where gojo had flung your clingy panties, over your gorgeous dress.

and you think gojo satoru might have just had a minor heart attack.

his expression has shifted, lips parted as he takes in your naked form. you think you hear his breath hitch, as his eyes roam over you, unblinking. you're certain that the mildly brighter light in the room has nothing to do with what's overhead, rather the bright blue of gojo's six eyes.

you snicker at his dumbstruck expression, letting your hand curl around his wrist — marvelling at how he almost whines at the sight of you pushing him out of the bathroom suite, and onto that glorious bed that the two of you had argued over earlier in the day.

"n-not so opposed to sharing a bed with me now, sweets? oh, fuck," you don't let him get any more words out, since you're reaching for the sleek leather belt threading through the loops of his slacks, pawing at them so you can finally undress him. have him as bare as you are now.

something in your desparate touch must have made gojo snap, because now he's shuffling the two of you around, so you're practically splayed out under his warm, large hands. thighs spread, parted so your dripping cunt is displayed to the room, as he scoots closer. his knees pressing against the carpet.

"hnnghh, f-fuck, look at her. practically cryin' on me."

and what a sight. gojo satoru, the most powerful man to walk this earth in centuries is slumped beneath your thighs, close enough to your clit that when he breathes, he knocks his nose right over the sensitive bud, coating his face in that syrupy glaze.

and then its slow, painful. how his long tongue descends onto your weeping pussy, writhing flat in wide, broad strokes that leave you whining out his name.

you spread your legs even wider, fighting against gojo's tight grip on the flesh of your thighs. the thighs that are trembling as he brings his teeth up to graze your clit, and your arousal drips from his lips. making candied pink lips look like they've been glazed and dipped in sugar.

briefly, in the back of your mind, you wonder how you're going to continue to function tomorrow. how you're going to even be able to walk after gojo satoru has rendered you boneless.

you also wonder if there's a cosmic deity out there, looking at an invisible and heavenly camera with a dull look on their face. something like what can you do?

"mmhph, y'know i l-like this a lot better than that drink from earlier," and he's cooing at how you squeal and moan, "hah, what was that s-shit called? a cream soda."

you pull at the white strands of his hair, yanking gojo's head back from where his tongue had been lolling around your clit, ignoring his whine, "if y-you make a stupid, fuckin' joke about creaming, i'm g-gonna leave."

gojo rolls his eyes, but this time? this time, there's no malice in it, no irritation. his expression is almost fond, if not shadowed by the enormity of his own lust, "leaving before the main event is dumb choice, sweets."

"tch! get to i-it then, oh! what the fuck, gojo!"

he's found the right place to prod, to roll his fingers over the hood of your clit, occasionally propping his mouth down to suck at it lightly. your mouth is clamped shut, so you don't release an absurd amount of babble, wordless and airless about how good he's devouring you.

"hah," gojo huffs, pressing three flat fingers against your entrance, letting them curl into your walls, enough to tease you, "i can feel her beating for me. 's pulsing all over."

"c-can't you jus' make me cum?" your hands are desparate for some friction, running past your perked tits, down to his hair again. now clamping your thighs around his head, and the soft, snowy hair of his head tickles at your skin.

"can' believe you're talking shit when i'm e-eating you out," gojo chuckles, but you're just too mesmerised by the glint of your slick lighting a beacon over the lower half of his face, strands of slick as he pulls away from your pussy, "y'not that patient, huh?"

he's practically attached to your clit now, kissing it with a tender and yet firm press of his lips, seemingly aware of just how sensitive you are to that type of pressure.

you whimper and mewl as gojo's head disappeared back between your legs, deeper and lower as his tongue pushes into your pussy, flicking shallow thrusts that makes you breathe out gasps of his name.

"now i think 'm gonna cum, so close, satoru," with your hand firmly lodged in his platinum strands, you're rocking your hips messily, sloppily against his awaiting mouth.

"y-yeah? go on, sweets," he's moaning now too, and you don't miss how the edge of the bed rocks just a bit from him grinding the frame for some release on his own erection.

your orgasm makes your mind foggy, and you practically quake in gojo's large, warm hands. with a sharp cry of his name, followed by an endless chant of praise for the unearthly man between your legs, lapping at you as though you are his last drink, his last meal on this earth before he ascends elsewhere.

the hard streaks of white shoot through your vision, even as you come down from the incredible high, and you realise gojo has not stopped.

gojo's jaw is still locked as your slick dribbles down your folds, into his open mouth and onto his waiting tongue. the extra stimulation makes you deliriously cry out, "fuck, s-satoru! 's too much, holy fuck!"

you were still shaking, and a second orgam blurred your sight into an incredible spectrum of colours, white hot starlight and streaks of blue. that cascade of vivid tints flood your vision, each one jerking your hips and cunt forward until you felt your legs give way.

until gojo finally separated himself from your thighs, satisfied at how he had pulled two climaxes from you.

he's absolutely lost it, lost in that daze of being pussywhipped, and his eyes gleam with a feverish intensity. and when he crashes pink, glossy lips down on your mouth, you can feel him shake under your touch.

you moan, loud, as he nips at your lower lip. at how you can taste yourself on his tongue, syrup strands falling into your mouth as gojo suddenly twitches.

"i think 'm gonna have to be in you right now, otherwise i'll literally fuckin' die."

a breathy laugh falls from your lips as your partner pulls himself up, heavy limbs finally extracting themselves away from your naked body, reaching up to hook his fingers over the black crinkle of his rumpled dress shirt, pulling the fabric off.

leaving your mouth dry.

the moonlight spills over gojo's torso, and you track your eyes over his broad chest, rising and falling and flushed from his own arousal.

you follow the faint dusting of pale white hair as it disappeared past the waistband of his slacks that he's quickly making short work of, and you feel your pussy clench thinking about how badly you need to jump gojo satoru's bones.

but you're too transfixed by him, by the sculpted figure of a supposedly cold and arrogant bastard you've spent months and years rolling your eyes at.

he's real. all hot flesh and blood, and stunning. not that sneering, and infuriating man who's always one step ahead, always one callous word away from making your blood boil.

for a different heat has settled in you now, as your eyes fall on his throbbing cock that has sprung forth, up over his stomach. the tip is an angry, and furious berry-pink and you wonder just how you're going to make these inches fit.

"hah, didn’t think you'd be this shy, you know,” he says, voice a low, husky tease, as if he’s been watching your struggle. gojo's eyes glint with amusement, but there’s something deeper beneath it, something that you hope with lead him to take mercy on you.

"n-no. no," you repeat yourself more firmly, but it's far too breathless to be convincing, "no, 'm not shy."

but it's hard to form coherent thoughts when gojo satoru is towering over you, and his absurdly long and girthy shaft is twitching in between your slick folds.

"fuck you, s-satoru," you're whimpering, feeling the pulsing, rounded head of his flushed tip brush past your sensitive, drooling slit, "taking too long. jus' put it in already."

"mhmm, sweets," and gojo's bustling at your thighs now, pinching the soft and tender skin in retaliation for your touch undoing him so easily, "she can't even be patient, hah, trus' me. just lay back."

you comply, just this once. just because gojo satoru's cock looks so big, you think you need to gather all your thoughts so you'll be able to form coherent sentences later.

resting your head back on plush sheets, with the skyline twinkling in your peripheral vision as gojo's aligning himself with your cunt. he's gasping in low, shuddering breaths as his tip teases and hooks onto your inner walls.

"look at thaaat, oh! baby, fuck, wasn' even joking before, just sucking me up so fuckin' good!"

you don't reply, just mewling as he pushes inch after veiny inch into your dribbling walls, gasping as his large hands rest on the back of your thighs, pushing them further up so he can slot his torso in between your legs.

"oh my god, satoru! s-satoru, hnnhgh, it's too much — i don' think it's gon' fit," you always thought you would be embarrassed to lose composure like this in front of gojo, but you find yourself panting into the crook of his neck, raking nails down his flushed neck.

he's big, and you can feel every vein of his tapered curve hitting the right spots within you, as you shift your hips, desperate to let his sinuous cock kiss every inch of your pussy lovingly.

"gon' dumb already?" gojo's huffing, but you can see that he's not unaffected. his eyes are glazed over, hazy as he slowly draws his hips back just an inch, before scooting them forward already, "jus' gonna have to make this pussy learn from now on. don' worry, sweets. it'll fit."

the 'from now on' makes something in your pounding heart flutter.

but you have little time to focus on it as he bottoms out in your drenched cunt, as though you're hearing the slosh of your pussy coat him entirely, right up to the wiry, white hairs on his groin.

"hahh, there we go! the w-wonders of a positive attitude, don'tcha think?" and you're left with your eyes rolling to the back of your head, as he begins to pick up the pace. a steady staccato that has you jostling underneath his ministrations.

you let his mouth chase yours, capturing glossy lips with your own bite, letting him pant, and whine and praise the heavens above for how tight you're snatching him right now.

"she's p-perfect, isn't she? t-thought about it so much, y'got no idea, got no c-clue about how much i thought about you under me like this n' how you'd f-feel!"

gojo satoru is absolutely drunk from a nectar that he has tasted once. the same nectar that coats his cock in frothy, filthy rings as he pistons his hips out of your pussy.

"happy for y-you, satoru," and you're letting your nails scratch over the shell of his ear as he twitches and shudders, "but fuck, y'talk too much! jus' focus on fucking me!"

gojo's mouth quirks upwards, that knowing smirk playing on his lips as he looks at you bemused, and so hazy.

"god, a lot of that attitude now, hahh?" and he's drawling the words out, and you don't miss how he shudders when you clench around his shaft, on purpose. he's leaning in closer, barely brushing past your lips, and you wonder briefly for a split-second, gojo satoru might just really love you.

and then, without warning, his hand comes down to your side, just underneath the fat of your tits, pinching lightly at the abdomen. causing you to take a sharp intake of breath, and a dizzy huff of his name.

if you ever believed that gojo satoru was malicious in the workplace, a bane on your sanity, you had not been prepared for how he was stretching you out in all the right places.

that inhumane pace of the strongest had him snapping his hips sharply, over and over until he's hitting the spongy patch, deep within your walls.

"clamped around me like, ohh, like a fuckin' vice," gojo's grunting now, each breath coming out short puffs that match the timing of the slap! each whack of his cock delivers, pressing your hips together and coating his hips in sweet slick.

"mmph, feels so good, satoru!" you squeal, pressing a hand over your mouth so you don't wake up the entire top floor of the hotel, tits jostling with each shuffle and movement.

it's all coming down on you too quick, that electric haze shooting down your spine. made all the worse by gojo groaning and slipping his hand between his jackhammering hips, down to where your clit is practically throbbing for his touch.

he's running tight circles, before pressing the flat of his thumb under the hood of your clit, ripping a raw cry from the back of your throat, rolling your eyes to the back of your head as gojo's lips are leaving blooming marks over your neck.

"satoru, i t-think 'm gonna c-cum again," you moan, fluttering your lashes against your skin, rolling your hips up into gojo's quick fingers and brutal cock. but it feels different this time, nothing like your past two orgasms. you feel something draw its claws further into your groin, like you're going to burst and the breath will be stolen away from your lungs.

you hear gojo say something, snarky but tender as he laughs into your collarbone, as he's slapping his fingers down quickly over your clit, making you jolt. but you don't hear his words as blood roars in your eears, gushing all over his cock with a clear, sticky sheen that coats him deliciously.

makes gojo satoru groan out filthy praises over your marked skin, "didn' know you were that nasty? hahh, squirtin' over me on your first go, yeah? it's gettin' too much for me too, s-sweets. think 'm gonna hafta maaa -"

you have no inkling as to what gojo was aiming to groan out, fluttering his own blue eyes shut as his orgasm catches up to him, pumping you insanely full of thick, stringy seed. practically painting your inner walls a translucent white as you huff and whine.

but in the back of your mind, you think he wanted to marry you. a bridge you'll cross when you get to it.

"fillin' you up, good, aren't i?" and he's lost in a daze, and you watch as his muscles ripple in the light of the moon, pectorals gleaming as he stuffs you further, as if plugging his seed to stay in you, making you squirm from the delicious stimulation.

you should have paid a little more attention to your surroundings. less attention to the thick veins of his cock drilling a home in you. or less attention to how his lips curl up into a sweeter smile as he presses soft, happy kisses to your cheek while you lay exhausted, caged by his thick arms.

then, you might have noticed the lights flicker and then shatter for half the hotel's rooms.

the morning sun peeks through the curtains like an overenthusiastic alarm clock, dragging you out of sleep with its gentle warmth. you stretch lazily, limbs still heavy and sticky from the weight of...the previous night's activities.

the sheets feel ridiculous soft, kudos to the insanely over-priced hotel. and for a second, you entertain the thought of just staying here. forever.

that is, until your eyes fall on raijin's amulet over on the wooden table.

and the fact that gojo is nowhere to be found.

you blink, squinting at the empty space beside you. your first instinct is to check besides the bed, and then under it, for fear that the six-foot three man has simply fallen off.

but your gaze falls on a tiny pink sticky-note on the nightstand. one that you suspect was pilfered from the scattered case file on the couch. you peer at looping cursive, scrawled in a blue marker.

don't eat anything yet! gone to get a proper breakfast!

you can't help the soft huff that leaves you, fond in its escape. you feel this sudden urge to don some proper clothes, to go down and join him in the warm sunlight.

but then you pause. perhaps, you ought not to. it would be fun to let him miss you just a bit. the thought of the gojo satoru standing there, waiting in line for entirely average pancakes is amusement enough for you.

but before you can pull the crisp sheets over your head, your eyes catch a glimpse of something else by the bed. a small, satin-blue box that didn't exist yesterday, in the world of cruel choices and...semi-successful missions.

the memory of yesterday pulls a frown from you, but you shake your head, determined to clear your thoughts.

you reach for it, letting your fingers run over the smooth surface, before tugging at the silver ribbon cautiously. half-expecting to find something weird like gojo's usual idea of a joke like a half-naked framed photo of him with a lipstick print.

ah!

but instead, inside the box lies a thin necklace. you've stared longingly enough at shop windows to know that these are real diamonds. not the cheap kind either, a well-cut carat that makes you gasp to yourself, a flush running over your cheeks.

for a moment, he said nothing, and the silence stretched unbearably heavy. but then gojo’s ice-gaze dropped to the necklace scattered over your throat, and he tilted his head, "not too bad," a flicker of a scoff curling at his lips. "tch, they’re not even real," you blurted, then immediately regretted it, what was wrong with you today? you reached up, fingers grazing the cool crystals as if to shield them from his bemused scrutiny, "just thought i needed something to fit in."

you pick it up, feeling the cold weight of it in your hand. what is this, romance? a necklace? gojo satoru doesn’t even do romance. at least, not in the way anyone would expect.

he’s the kind of guy who would absolutely get you diamonds just to throw you off balance. mission accomplished.

you glance at the sticky note again, then back at the necklace. this is way too much for your sleep-addled brain. and yet, there’s this funny little thing inside you, a warm spark that you don’t know what to do with.

fuck, when did he even have the time to get this gorgeous gift?

you’re definitely not soft, but gojo does this thing to you — he has a way of turning your whole world upside down, and now…apparently, he’s gone and done it again.

your cheeks warm, but you don't admit to it. not yet. but there's no denying the softer spot that's growing in you, the urge to have gojo satoru in your arms in this very moment so you can run your hands through soft, white hair to watch him purr. to see his cheeks flush from a sweet blush as his blue eyes flutter shut.

your eyes fall on his crumpled uniform jacket from yesterday, his discarded clothes. perhaps, you could just join him. after all, you feel words threatening to spill from your mouth and you want him to hear them.

a surprise of your own? you think you want to see gojo satoru speechless for once.

do not plagiarise or repost! likes and reblogs appreciated. btw, this jenny packham was the dress i envisioned for reader but imagine whatever you like!

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intoxicated-chan · 2 years ago

Note

angsty fight between miguel and wife!reader

and then they make up yayayayay

Give Me Reasons We Should Be Complete

✿ฺ Paring ➳❥ Miguel O’Hara x F!Reader

✿ฺ Summary ➳❥ Miguel has been pushing you away for some time now. After a talk with a friend, you and Miguel try to sort things out.

✿ฺ (A/n) ➳❥ Inspired by “DANCING IN THE DARK�� by Joji. Writing this made me think back on past crushes/lovers. But thank you for your request! I am also holding back on writing smut because it keeps getting labeled and it takes me longer to write.

✿ฺ Word Count ➳❥ 1.4k

✿ฺ Content Warnings ➳❥ Female reader, angst-to-fluff, swearing, Miguel is kinda a dick head, mentions of sleep deprivation…

Want more Miguel content? Check out my MASTERLIST!

You stood in his cold and dark office. The best source of light was his laptop but his huge frame blocked most of the light. You managed around the crumbled paper and thrown desk objects with a plate in hand.

“Miguel?” You peer over his shoulder, “I made you dinner.”

He nods.

“You know you haven’t eaten since yesterday.”

He nods again.

“And you know that you’ve been here for a long time. I think it’s best for you to-”

“Take a break?” Miguel interrupts you, “I don’t have time for that.”

“Miguel, I’m sure whatever it is, it can wait a few minutes. All I’m asking is for you to eat something.” You try to set the plate down.

“I thought I made it clear that I do not want to be bothered. You’re distracting me. Leave.”

He didn’t mean it like that… He didn’t mean it like that. He didn’t mean it like that. He didn’t mean it like that…

“But Mig-”

“I said go.” He growls, his eyes turning its blood red from anger, “You’re becoming a nuisance.”

He didn’t mean it like that.

“Okay.” You tried not to let the crack in your voice show. You didn’t even bother to leave the plate behind because you knew it was going to be wasted.

“And don’t bother me again.” You heard him say as you left his office.

You took deep breaths, trying to calm yourself down before you burst into tears. But your hands shook, nearly dropping the plate.

You choked down your sobs and let your tears fall, the plate was left in the fridge, and you pushed yourself to your bedroom. It was basically yours now since Miguel was sleeping in his office.

The sheets no longer lingered on his cologne and any sign of his presence was gone, other than his clothing and a few photos. The room has become a mess of discarded clothing, old plates and cups, and candy wrappers.

How long has it been since Miguel showed affection? Or even looked at you?

This was normal behavior for Miguel, right? You should know, you’re married to him. You’re his wife. But he experienced loss, unlike you. You didn’t want to judge him for how he deals with his emotions, he’s emotionally distant. You knew that from the start.

And because of this, you felt like he deserved more than what you could give him. It’s what kept you going through the many times Miguel tore your heart, how it squeezed in pain at his actions and words. How you look the other way and ignore his hurtful words.

You couldn’t sleep. You left the still cold bed and dressed in something warm and headed up to the roof.

You sat on the edge, looking at Nueva York. How beautiful it looked during the night, which is one of the reasons why you liked sitting up here.

“Sitting all by yourself?” You tense up only to relax when you know that voice, “At this time? All alone?” Peter B. lands next to you, his daughter in his arms.

“I would ask my husband to join me but he’s too busy.” You respond truthfully.

“Again? He’s been at this all week.” He sits next to you.

“Yeah.” You huff.

“And… how are you holding up?”

“I’m fine.”

“Really? Because it doesn’t look like it.” He offers Mayday who reaches out to you.

You take her and set her down on your lap, “I just don’t know what to do, everything I do seems to bother Miguel. Checking up on him, bringing him food. It feels like he’s doing this on purpose.”

“Miguel’s always been difficult and from the time I spent with him… He’s different, not like the rest of us. He’s accepted his fate as Spider-Man and believes he’s destined for bad things 24/7. But good things do come along, like you. I think… I think he’s trying to come to terms that he can get it because he deserves it.”

Mayday coos, pulling at your hair, “And I think Miguel is scared. He puts on his tough act because he has to, yet he’s afraid to admit he’s scared. Normally, people would’ve given up on him. Why haven’t you?

“Till death do us part. I don’t want to lose him. I don’t give up on him because when you love someone, you love them every single day as who they are.”

“Talk about romantic.”

“Oh please.” You look down at Mayday, “Plus I think-”

“There you are.” You jump and this time, you remain tense, “I was looking for you.”

“Now you’re looking for me?” You respond, refusing to turn your head.

“It’s late, (Y/n). It’s dangerous.”

“I’m here, she’s alright.” Mayday jumps into her father’s arms.

“I’ve already had enough of you. Please, (Y/n).”

“It’s fine.” You tell him, following Miguel inside.

You head to the bedroom, “Where are you going?”

“Bed.”

“(Y/n)-”

“I’m tired and I do not want to be bothered. That includes you too, Miguel.”

“Excuse me?” He follows you into the bedroom.

“You heard me.”

“Please, (Y/n), talk to me.” Miguel begs.

“I’m sorry, did you just say talk? Like I have been trying to do for the past week?”

“(Y/n)-”

“You know what? No, no. You do not get to try to get me to talk after all of this. I have been trying, I have been all in. All I asked of you was to look after yourself.”

“I know.”

“You know? You KNOW?” You scoff rather loudly, “Did you know that Lyla has even talked to me about your behavior? I’m worried about you Miguel. All the damn time, even more when I see you not eating and staying up all night. All I ask is one minute, one bite of the damn food.”

“I’m… I’m so sorry.”

“Is sorry all you have to say? Not even a half assed excuse?” You see Miguel trying to form a sentence but nothing leaves his left and his head hangs low, “I need to be alone.”

You walk past him but he grabs your arm, “Please don’t leave.” He says, “Please don’t walk out that door.”

“I’m sleeping on the couch, you could have the bed.” You look up at him.

“I love you, (Y/n). I know I don’t say it as much but I fucking love you. He’s right, you know. I am scared. Scared of everything. Because at first, I didn’t think I could have that, have you. You let me hurt you and that is unforgivable.”

He’s crying. Looking right at you, letting himself be bare right in front of you. His grip on your arm loosens and his hands come up to your face, cupping your cheeks. You could hear his staggered breathing, trying to keep himself composed.

“But I wasn’t lying when I said I love you, I wasn’t lying when I said I wanted a family, and I wasn’t lying when I said that you make me believe in love.”

“I’m always here for you, Miguel. You don’t have to go through things alone, but when you want to, I’m here.” You take one of his hands into yours, pulling it away from your face but keeping a tight hold on it.

“It’s not that easy. I hurt you, I understand why you don’t want to.”

“I love you, Miguel. We’ll work on this. I promise you.” After a moment, Miguel practically tackles you, nearly falling to the ground. The hug is tight and warm, and you could feel your shirt become wet with Miguel’s tears.

“You’re okay, right?” His voice cracks as he speaks through his sobs, “Please tell me you’re okay.”

“I promise you, I am okay.” You whisper.

“I’ll make it up to you, I swear.”

“You can start by getting some rest. But you’ve got a lot of apologies O’Hara.”

You don’t know how long you and Miguel stayed like this, nor did you care. All you cared about was Miguel and he felt complete at last.

#x reader #x female reader #fluff #angst #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara #spider man x reader #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderman x you #spiderman 2099 #spiderman x y/n #spider man across the spider verse #spider man 2099 #spiderverse #spider man x y/n #spider man x you #spiderman x reader

15K notes · View notes

stylesispunk · 5 months ago

Text

'Silent Strain' | part I

Outbreak!Joel Miller x f!reader

next chapter

summary: Joel and you knew that bringing a child into this mad world was a mistake, but he wanted to give you the best that was left of that world after all.

w.c: 12,6k (this was 5k at the beginning)

warnings: established relationship, age gap (Joel is 43 and Reader 32) angst, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of abortion, fluff, not proofreading, sorry. The events of this story happen 10 years after the outbreak.

a/n: New Sunday, new fic? This one was on my drafts and I thought about developing a little bit more because I wanted to write one where Joel wasn't an asshole. This may become a really short series. Reblogs and comments are always appreciated. Happy reading.

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

Mornings in the QZ were far from a story teller, always bleak as any other, somber and carrying the weight of the guilty grieving each people who has survived this far dealt with.

Many people had become the worst versions of themselves, just monsters they never thought they would be. Others woke up with the survivor’s guilt, after years of letting go their people, family and friends.

And others carried all that, but had found a little spark shinning on their path.

That was your case.

And Joel’s too.

You both had found each other just a few years after the world descended into chaos. After that, you become each other’s anchor until now.

Even when days seemed to be grayer, even when Joel seemed a bit lost after losing his contact with Tommy.

Even on days when the world seemed grayer, even when Joel seemed a little more distant—his thoughts lost somewhere along the frayed edges of his mind, burdened by the loss of contact with Tommy—you held on. You knew what he was feeling; it was a familiar ache, a common wound you both carried.

Tommy was Joel’s last person who shared his blood. His brother, his last piece of family and what the old world had left him.

But he also had you, and that made him alive.

You woke up slowly, the thin, rough blanket tangled around your legs, the mattress beneath you creaking as you shifted. The air was cold, seeping through the cracks in the walls, and the faint light of dawn barely penetrated the small, grimy window. Outside, you could hear the sounds of the QZ waking up, the distant, muffled voices of guards changing shifts, the echo of boots on concrete, and the occasional shout. You pulled the blanket tighter around you, trying to keep the chill at bay.

The room you and Joel shared was small, barely large enough for the bed and a rickety chair in the corner. Outside the doors, there was the rest of the old apartment that worked as a roof for the both of you, and Tess.

The walls were stained with years of neglect, paint peeling in long strips, revealing the bare concrete beneath. There was a small table near the window where a lone candle had burned down to a stub, wax pooling on the surface, solidifying in random patterns. It had been another long, sleepless night, the dark hours stretching on endlessly, and you could feel it in your bones, an ache that went deeper than simple tiredness.

You glanced over at Joel, still asleep beside you, his face etched with lines of worry even in rest. He lay on his side, one arm slung over his face, his brow furrowed as if he were fighting off some invisible enemy in his dreams. The mornings were hardest on him, you knew. Waking up to the same bleak reality day after day, the hope of finding Tommy growing thinner with each passing moment.

A wave of nausea hit you unexpectedly, a sudden queasiness that made your stomach twist. You shut your eyes, taking a slow, deep breath, trying to steady yourself. You hadn't been feeling well for a few days now, just a lingering discomfort you chalked up to the lack of proper food or maybe stress. Nothing in this world was kind to the body or the mind anymore.

You pushed yourself up, careful not to wake Joel, and swung your legs over the side of the bed, your feet touching the cold, cracked floor. The chill ran up your legs, making you shiver. You sat there for a moment, steadying yourself, pressing a hand against your stomach as if trying to calm the unease that rolled there. There was a strange heaviness to it, something that seemed different, something you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

The thought crossed your mind, quick and unbidden, a possibility you immediately pushed away. It was too absurd, too impossible to consider. Not here, not now, not in this broken world.

You rose to your feet, steadying yourself on the edge of the table, your fingers brushing against the melted wax. You glanced back at Joel, who still hadn’t stirred, his breathing deep and even. You knew he needed the sleep, needed a moment of peace, however fleeting. You moved quietly toward the window, peering out through the dirt-streaked glass. The world outside was shrouded in mist, the familiar shapes of the crumbling buildings barely visible in the pale morning light.

There was a time when you might have found the sight beautiful, in a melancholic way. Now it just seemed desolate. Empty.

Another wave of nausea hit, stronger this time, and you pressed a hand to your mouth, swallowing hard. You took a few deep breaths, trying to steady yourself. You felt a sharp pang of fear, a sudden flash of panic that cut through the fog of morning fatigue. You forced it down, tried to stay calm. You couldn’t afford to be anything else.

From behind you, you heard the faint rustle of the bed as Joel shifted, his voice rough and low. “You, okay?” he murmured, still half-asleep, his words slurred with exhaustion.

You turned to look at him, forcing a smile, though you weren’t sure he could see it in the dim light. “Yeah… just a bit cold,” you lied softly, your voice barely more than a whisper.

He blinked at you, eyes heavy-lidded, and then nodded, seeming to accept it. “Come back to bed,” he mumbled, his voice carrying a warmth that made something in your chest tighten. “It’s still early.”

For a moment, you hesitated, feeling the cold air around you, the uncertainty pressing in. But then you moved back to the bed, sliding in beside him, feeling the heat of his body radiating through the thin layers of fabric. He reached out, pulling you close, his arm draping over you protectively, and you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding.

You closed your eyes, savoring the feeling of safety as Joel stirred Joel stirred, his hand rubbing small, soothing circles on your back. “Are you sure you are, okay?” he murmured, his voice rough with sleep.

“Yeah,” you whispered, hoping he couldn’t hear the lie in your voice. “Just a headache.”

He kissed the top of your head, the simple gesture sending a pang of guilt through you. “You’ve been getting a lot of those lately,” he noted, concern creeping into his tone.

You forced a smile, even though he couldn’t see it. “Just stress, I think.”

He hummed in response, not entirely convinced but willing to let it go for now. He gently nudged you off his chest, propping himself up on one elbow to get a better look at you. His eyes searched your face, and you had to fight the urge to look away. Joel had a way of seeing right through you, and you were afraid he might catch a glimpse of the truth you were hiding.

He frowned, clearly not convinced. “You’ve been saying’ that a lot lately. Maybe you should rest today, stay in bed.”

You shook your head, knowing you couldn’t afford to take a day off. Life in the QZ was unforgiving, and everyone had to pull their weight. “I’ll be fine. We’ve got too much to do, and they’re already short-handed at the ration line.”

You forced yourself to follow suit, pushing through the lingering nausea as you pulled on your worn clothes. The headache throbbed with each movement, but you bit back the discomfort, determined not to let it show. Joel kept glancing over at you, as if expecting you to collapse at any moment, but you just offered him a reassuring smile, even if it didn’t reach your eyes.

Once you were both ready, you stepped out into the harsh reality of the QZ. The streets were crowded, people moving about with a sense of urgency, always on edge. You and Joel made your way through the throng, his hand resting on the small of your back, guiding you through the chaos.

At the ration line, the day passed in a blur of monotonous tasks—distributing food, managing the restless crowd, keeping an eye out for trouble. But the ache in your head never fully faded, and every now and then, you had to pause, closing your eyes for a moment to steady yourself.

Joel noticed, of course. He was always watching, always worrying, though he tried to hide it behind a gruff exterior. “You sure you’re alright?” he asked again when you took a brief break, his tone betraying his concern.

“Yeah, just… It’s probably just the air or something,” you said, shrugging it off. But you could tell he didn’t believe you.

“See you later, then?” he asked before parting ways with you to your different duties.

“Yeah, see you later,” you replied, forcing a smile, trying to reassure him. Joel lingered for a moment, his eyes searching yours, he planted a kiss on your lips before turning to head off to his assigned area. You watched him go, feeling a mix of guilt and relief. You hated lying to him, but what could you say? That the world seemed to be spinning just a little bit too fast? That every time you bent over, a wave of nausea washed over you? It would only make him worry more.

The hours dragged on, the sun creeping across the sky, bringing with it a sticky heat that clung to your skin. By midday, your headache had grown worse, a steady throb that pounded behind your eyes. The noise of the crowd seemed to amplify the pain, voices blending into a harsh cacophony. You rubbed at your temples, willing it to stop, but it only seemed to make it worse.

At one point, while lifting another crate filled with canned goods, a sharp pain shot through your abdomen, causing you to drop the box with a loud thud. A few people nearby turned to look, but you waved them off, trying to catch your breath. The soldier supervising the line glanced over, raising an eyebrow. “You good there?” he asked, his tone half-concerned, half-annoyed.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you muttered, bending down to retrieve the cans that had spilled onto the ground. Your hands shook slightly, and you felt a bead of sweat roll down your back. The soldier didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t press further, turning his attention back to the line.

“Then clean the mess you made” he ordered.

You nodded, swallowing down the nausea that threatened to rise again. “Yes, sir,” you replied, bending down to pick up the cans. Your fingers felt clumsy, and every time you moved, the pain in your abdomen seemed to sharpen, making it difficult to keep your breathing steady. Sweat dripped from your forehead, stinging your eyes, but you pushed through, determined not to draw any more attention to yourself.

As you gathered the last can, another wave of dizziness hit you, and you had to steady yourself against the crate to keep from toppling over. You glanced over your shoulder to see if the soldier was still watching, but he had already turned away, his focus elsewhere.

You took a deep breath, trying to will away the nausea, when you heard a familiar voice behind you. “Hey, you, okay?”

Turning, you saw Tess standing there, her face set in a concerned frown. “Yeah,” you lied, forcing a weak smile. “Just a rough day.”

Tess studied you for a moment, her eyes narrowing. “You don’t look so good,” she said quietly, stepping closer. “You’re pale… and sweating like hell.”

You shrugged, trying to brush it off. “I’m fine, just… tired, I guess.”

Tess didn't seem convinced. Her sharp eyes swept over you, taking in every detail — the paleness of your skin, the way your hands trembled slightly as you held the cans. Her frown deepened, and you could practically feel the gears turning in her head.

“Look,” she said slowly, almost carefully, “I know you well enough to tell when you’re lying. And right now, you’re doing a pretty damn poor job of hiding whatever this is.”

Your heart started to pound in your chest, an uneasy thump that only made the nausea worse. You swallowed, glancing away from her probing stare. “I said I’m fine, Tess,” you repeated, but your voice came out too shaky, too uncertain. Even you didn’t believe it.

She took a step closer, lowering her voice. “Don’t bullshit me,” she murmured, her tone firm but not unkind. “You’ve been off for days now… the headaches, the dizziness. I’ve seen this before. And I’m pretty sure you know what I’m talking about.”

You stiffened, shaking your head quickly. “No, Tess,” you whispered, almost desperate. “It’s not that… it can’t be.”

Tess’s expression softened, but there was still a hint of stubbornness there, a determination to get through to you. “Listen,” she began, her voice a little gentler. “I’m not trying to scare you, but… you need to face this. If it’s what I think it is… then you’ve got a lot to figure out.”

“Please, Tess. Not now” you pleaded.

Tess hesitated, her eyes searching your face, but she nodded slowly, relenting — at least for the moment. "Alright," she said quietly, though the concern in her voice hadn’t faded. "But you can’t keep running from this forever."

You felt a lump in your throat as you looked away, blinking back the tears that threatened to spill. "I just… I can’t think about it right now," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. "There’s too much going on, and… Joel…"

Tess sighed, crossing her arms. "I get it," she replied softly. "But, you know, you’re not alone in this. Whatever it is, you’ve got people who care about you. Joel might be rough around the edges, but… he’s not going to turn his back on you. Not now, not ever."

You swallowed hard, nodding, though you still felt like you were balancing on a knife’s edge. "I know," you said, though doubt still gnawed at you. "It’s just…"

"It’s scary," Tess finished for you, and you could only nod again, feeling suddenly very small. "But you don’t have to go through it alone, alright?" she added, her voice softening. "I’ve got your back. Always."

You gave her a weak smile, grateful for her support, even if the fear still twisted inside you. "Thanks, Tess," you whispered.

She patted your shoulder, her touch gentle, almost sisterly. "Let’s get back to it," she said, glancing back toward the line. "But promise me… you’ll think about what I said."

You nodded again, though your mind was spinning with a hundred different thoughts. "I promise," you murmured, even though you weren't sure if you meant it.

By the time you got back to the apartment, the sun was already low in the sky, casting long shadows through the broken blinds. Your legs felt heavy, your head still pounding from the stress of the day. As you pushed open the door, you were met with the stale, familiar scent of the small, dimly lit space that you and Joel called home. The silence was almost deafening, broken only by the faint creaking of the floorboards beneath your feet.

Your eyes scanned the room, and they quickly fell on Joel sprawled out on the bed, his face slack in sleep. But what caught your attention was the nearly empty bottle of whiskey sitting on the table next to him, beside a few scattered, white pills. A flare of anger ignited in your chest.

You walked over and grabbed the bottle, knocking it down onto the floor. The sound of the glass hitting the wood was loud, but Joel didn’t stir. Frustration bubbled up inside you. “Joel,” you called out sharply, but he remained still, lost in whatever numbness he’d sought.

With a forceful shove, you shook his shoulder, your voice rising. “Joel, wake up!” you demanded. His eyes fluttered open slowly, bleary and unfocused. He blinked a few times, trying to clear his vision, and groaned.

“What?” he muttered, his voice thick with sleep and whatever haze the whiskey and pills had put him under.

Your hands clenched into fists at your sides. “What the hell, Joel?” you spat out, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and worry. “You’re drinking and taking pills again? You promised me… you promised you’d stop!”

Joel blinked again, pushing himself up on one elbow, confusion and irritation crossing his face. “It’s just… it’s just to take the edge off,” he slurred, running a hand over his face. “You don’t get it.”

“No, I do get it,” you shot back, your voice sharp. “I get that you’re hurting, Joel, I get you want to know where Tommy is but this is not the way.”

Joel’s eyes narrowed, some of the grogginess leaving his gaze. “I’m trying,” he muttered, a hint of defensiveness in his tone. “I’m doing the best I can, alright? It’s not that easy…”

You took a step closer, your heart pounding in your chest. “I need you, Joel,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “I need you here, with me… not drowning in a bottle. We’re supposed to be in this together, remember?”

He looked away, his jaw tightening, but he didn’t respond immediately. The silence stretched between you, heavy and tense. Finally, he let out a long breath, his shoulders slumping slightly. “He is my brother, the only family I get left.” he muttered, almost too softly to hear.

“What about me?” you asked, voice trembling.

Damn, why were you getting so emotional.

Joel's brow furrowed, clearly caught off guard by your question. He blinked, as if trying to process your words, and then his expression softened. “What are you talking’ about?” he asked gently, taking a step closer to you. “Of course, you're my family. You know that. You’re everything.” His fingers brushed against your arm, tentative, as though he was still uncertain if you’d accept his touch.

You felt a lump forming in your throat, and you blinked rapidly, trying to keep the tears at bay. “Then why does it feel like I’m not enough?” you murmured, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

Joel's thumb brushed against your cheek, wiping away a tear you hadn’t realized had fallen. “You are, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice steady but soft. “I promise you are. I’m just… I’m scared. Scared of what could happen to you… to us.”

You looked up into his eyes, searching for something—an answer, a reassurance, anything to ease the turmoil inside you. "How are you feeling'?" he asked suddenly, his voice quieter, more tender than before.

The question caught you off guard. You blinked, trying to gather your thoughts. "I… I don’t know," you admitted honestly. “Tired…”

Joel nodded slowly, his hand slipping from your cheek to rest on your shoulder. “I know, I get it,” he said quietly. “But you gotta promise me… if there’s something’ wrong, you’ll tell me”

You nodded, “I promise.”

You wrapped your arms around Joel, pulling him into a tight embrace. The warmth of his body against yours was a small comfort, a fleeting sense of security in the chaos that seemed to be swirling around you. As you clung to him, the guilt and the weight of the hidden truth about your pregnancy settled heavily on your shoulders.

Joel held you close, his hand gently rubbing your back, his touch reassuring and steady. “I’m sorry,” you murmured into his shoulder, the words escaping almost involuntarily. “I’m sorry for everything.”

Joel’s arms tightened around you, and he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “Ain’t nothin’ to be sorry for,” he said softly. “We’re in this together, you hear me? We’ll get through it. We’ll figure it out.”

You nodded against him, feeling a mix of relief and deep-seated worry. The truth about the pregnancy was still looming, a secret that was becoming increasingly difficult to keep. Every time you looked at Joel, you could see the love and concern in his eyes, and it made the weight of your silence feel all the more burdensome.

As you slowly pulled away from the hug, you wiped at your eyes, trying to steady your emotions. Joel looked at you with a soft expression, his worry evident but tempered with the resolve to support you no matter what.

The thoughts of your pregnancy, the uncertainty of the future, and the fear of how this might change everything were still swirling in your mind. You felt a pang of guilt as you remembered Tess's words, and you struggled with the decision of when and how to reveal the truth.

Joel seemed to sense the inner conflict you were grappling with. “If you need space, or if you need to talk about it,” he began, his voice steady, “just let me know. I’m here for you, no matter what.” You nodded, forcing a small, grateful smile. “Thank you, Joel. I… I just need a little time.”

He nodded in understanding, and as you both sat down, the silence between you was filled with an unspoken promise of support and love.

You woke up a little later, feeling the soft warmth of Joel’s arm wrapped protectively around your waist. For a moment, you simply lay there, savoring the comfort and the faint sense of security his presence provided. The room was quiet, the only sound the steady rhythm of Joel’s breathing.

Gently, you eased yourself out of bed, careful not to disturb him. You tiptoed out of the bedroom, the coolness of the apartment a stark contrast to the warmth you’d left behind. As you walked through the small living space, you noticed that Tess was already up, sitting at the table with a cup of coffee.

She looked up as you entered, her gaze softening. “Hey,” she said quietly, setting the cup down. “How’re you feeling?”

You offered her a small, tired smile. “Better, thanks,” you replied, taking a seat across from her. “I just needed some space to think.”

Tess nodded; her expression thoughtful. “Did you think about what I say?”

You took a deep breath, considering Tess's question. “A little,” you admitted, your voice soft. “It’s just been overwhelming, and I’m not sure how to handle everything yet.”

Tess studied you for a moment, her eyes reflecting both concern and a hint of sadness “And?” she reached across the table, placing a comforting hand over yours. “I understand it’s overwhelming,” she said gently. “But you have to face it.”

You glanced down at your hands, gripping the edge of the table as if it might anchor you to the present moment. The room felt too small, the weight of your thoughts pressing heavily on your shoulders. “It can’t be…I’m scared” you confessed, your voice trembling slightly.

Tess took a deep breath, her expression softening. “Take the test, I’ll go with you” she said, showing support.

“Wha-wha-what? I don’t have any test” you said, voice trembling

Tess gave you a small, understanding smile, her hand still resting over yours. “I know,” she said softly. “But there’s a way to get one. I can ask around… discreetly. I have a contact who might be able to help.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, a mix of fear and disbelief coursing through you. “You’d do that? For me?” The idea of someone knowing, of even a whisper of this spreading through the QZ, sent a chill down your spine. But the calm certainty in Tess’s eyes steadied you.

“Of course,” she replied without hesitation. “I’ve got your back, always. We’ve been through worse, haven’t we?”

You nodded slowly, though the tight knot in your stomach seemed to twist even more. “Yeah, I guess,” you muttered, trying to sound convinced, even though nothing had felt quite like this. “But what if… what if it’s true, Tess? What do I do then?”

Tess squeezed your hand gently, her thumb brushing over your knuckles. “Then we figure it out, step by step,” she said. “First things first, we need to know for sure. Until then, try not to let your mind spiral, okay?”

You swallowed hard, nodding again, though your mind was already a storm of thoughts and worries. You could feel the weight of this new reality settling onto your shoulders, heavier than anything you’d felt before. “Okay,” you whispered. “I’ll try.”

Tess stood up, giving your hand one last comforting squeeze before letting go. “I’ll see what I can do tomorrow,” she promised. “Go back to bed and try to rest.”

Your mind raced with possibilities and fears as you made your way back to the small bedroom, trying to steady your breathing, to find some calm in the storm of your thoughts.

When you slipped back into the darkened room, Joel was still lying on his side, one arm stretched across the bed as if reaching for you even in sleep. You carefully lifted the blanket and slid back under it, trying not to wake him. But as soon as you settled in, his arm instinctively curled around your waist, pulling you close. His warmth enveloped you, and for a moment, you felt a flicker of safety.

Joel's voice came out in a sleepy murmur, rough around the edges. “Where were you?” he mumbled; his breath warm against your neck. You could feel the weight of his arm, heavy and reassuring, holding you as if he sensed your unease.

“Just… talking to Tess,” you whispered back, trying to keep your voice steady.

His grip around you tightened slightly, his thumb tracing small circles against your side. Even in his half-asleep state, there was a protectiveness in the way he held you. “Everything okay?” he asked, still drowsy, but there was a hint of concern creeping into his tone.

You hesitated for a second, your heart beating faster. You didn’t want to lie, but you also couldn’t tell him—not yet, not until you knew for sure. “Yeah,” you finally replied, trying to sound convincing.

Joel made a low, comforting sound, a mix between a hum and a sigh. He nuzzled closer, his lips brushing lightly against your shoulder. “Don’t worry,” he murmured, his voice trailing off as sleep tried to claim him again. “We’ll figure it out… whatever it is.”

You bit your lip, feeling a lump form in your throat. You wanted to believe him, wanted to let his words soothe the fear gnawing at your insides. But all you could do was rest your hand over his, feeling the roughness of his skin beneath your palm, grounding yourself in his presence.

“Yeah,” you whispered back, more to yourself than to him. “We always do.”

Joel’s breathing began to slow again, deepening as he drifted back to sleep. You closed your eyes, pressing yourself closer against him, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest.

“I love you” you whispered to him, breaking the silence. You were afraid of losing him.

For a moment, there was only the quiet of the room, the soft hum of the distant generator outside, and the gentle rhythm of Joel's breath against your skin. You wondered if he'd even heard you, or if your whispered words had been lost in the space between wakefulness and sleep.

Then, you felt his grip tighten around you, his hand moving to hold you closer, almost as if he was afraid, you might slip away. His lips brushed against your shoulder, a tender, lingering kiss that sent a shiver down your spine. "I love you too," he murmured, his voice a deep, husky whisper in the darkness. There was a raw honesty in his words, an openness that you rarely heard from him, as if he understood the fear hidden beneath your confession.

His lips pressed against your shoulder again, this time firmer, more deliberate. "Ain't nothing gonna change that," he added softly, his breath warm against your skin. His thumb stroked gently over the fabric of your shirt, tracing soothing patterns that spoke of comfort and promises unspoken.

You closed your eyes, letting his words wash over you, feeling a mix of relief and longing. The fear still lingered, but in this moment, held in his arms, it felt a little more manageable. You leaned back into him, feeling the strength in his body, the steady beat of his heart against your back.

Joel held you tighter, as if sensing your need for reassurance. "We'll get through this," he whispered. "Whatever it is, we'll face it together. You and me."

You nodded against him, unable to find your voice, your heart swelling with the weight of everything unsaid. "Together," you repeated softly, your hand squeezing his, grounding yourself in his presence.

For now, that was enough.

Joel woke up slowly, his body protesting against the cold air that had settled in the room overnight. He blinked against the dim light filtering through the cracked blinds, reaching out instinctively to your side of the bed, only to find it empty. His hand moved across the sheets, finding them cool, your warmth long gone.

He sat up, a frown creasing his brow as a flicker of worry ran through him. He scanned the room, half-expecting to see you in the corner, maybe getting dressed or lost in thought, but the room was still, too still. He called your name, softly at first, then a little louder. No answer.

His heart quickened as he swung his legs over the side of the bed, grabbing his jeans from the chair and yanking them on. The apartment was quiet, eerily so, with no sign of movement or life. His boots hit the floor with a dull thud as he pulled them on, his gaze darting around the small space.

Where the hell were you?

He moved quickly to the kitchen, eyes scanning the counters, the sink—anywhere you might have left a note, a sign of where you’d gone. But there was nothing. Just the quiet hum of the building settling around him. He glanced toward the front door, noticing Tess's boots missing from their usual spot. A knot of unease tightened in his chest. Neither of you were there.

He ran a hand through his hair, cursing under his breath. You wouldn’t have left without telling him, not without saying something. And Tess—she was always up to something, but she never left you behind. He felt his pulse quicken, a gnawing sense of dread creeping in as he grabbed his jacket from the hook near the door, slipping it on with practiced haste.

Joel pushed open the door and stepped into the hallway, his boots echoing against the worn floorboards. He looked around, scanning for any sign of you or Tess. The hallway was empty, but a few doors down, a neighbor—a middle-aged man Joel recognized but didn’t know well—was stepping out, adjusting his coat.

“Hey,” Joel called out, his voice sharper than intended. The man looked up, surprised. “You seen them?” He gestured back to your apartment.

The man shook his head slowly, clearly unsure who Joel was referring to. “Nah, haven’t seen anyone this morning,” he replied. “Everything okay?”

Joel forced a tight smile, though his stomach was churning with worry. “Yeah, fine,” he muttered, turning away. He started down the stairs, moving quickly, almost without thinking. His mind raced, a thousand worst-case scenarios flashing through his thoughts. Where could you be? Why hadn’t you said anything?

He made his way down to the ground floor, heading toward the small communal area near the entrance, where a few people were already gathered, murmuring quietly among themselves. He scanned the room, his eyes searching, hoping to catch a glimpse of you or Tess.

“Joel!” A voice cut through the chatter, and he turned to see one of Tess’s contacts—Danny, a wiry guy with a nervous energy—waving him over. Joel’s heart jumped. Maybe Danny had seen you.

“Where’s Tess?” Joel asked as he approached, not bothering with pleasantries.

Danny’s face tightened slightly, and he glanced around, lowering his voice. “She went out early, looking for something… didn’t say what. Figured you knew.”

Joel clenched his jaw, frustration flaring in his chest. “And her?” he asked, his voice edged with urgency. “You see her?”

Danny shook his head. “No, man. I just saw Tess.”

Joel felt a chill run down his spine. He took a step back, his mind racing with questions. If Tess had gone out and you weren’t with her, then where the hell were you?

He turned, scanning the room one more time, then made a decision. He needed to find you, now. Whatever this was, wherever you were, he wasn’t going to wait around and let worry tear him apart.

You sat in Lydia's small, cluttered living room, nerves thrumming beneath your skin like a live wire. The room smelled faintly of antiseptic and old books, a comforting combination that somehow made you feel more at ease, despite the circumstances. Lydia's place was a small haven in the chaos of the QZ, filled with mismatched furniture, faded floral curtains, and a few potted plants she somehow managed to keep alive. The doctor herself, an older woman with graying hair pulled back into a messy bun, moved around the space with a calm, practiced efficiency. Her hands were steady, her expression focused but kind.

Tess stood beside you, her presence a quiet reassurance. She had her arms crossed, her foot tapping lightly against the worn wooden floor as she watched Lydia prepare a small kit on the table. Lydia glanced over at you, her eyes soft with a mixture of concern and affection. “You look pale, sweetheart,” she said, her voice gentle but firm. “You’ve been keeping up with your food and water?”

You managed a small nod, though your stomach felt like it was tied in knots. “Yeah, just… a lot on my mind,” you murmured. Your voice sounded small in the stillness of the room.

Lydia nodded knowingly, her gaze flicking to Tess for a moment before returning to you. “I’ve seen that look before,” she said softly. “It's not easy, being in this kind of situation… but you’re not alone, okay?”

You bit your lip, feeling a lump form in your throat again. “Thanks, Lydia… I just… I’m scared,” you admitted, your voice barely more than a whisper. “I don’t know what to do if… if it’s true.”

Lydia came over to you, setting a warm hand on your shoulder. “It’s okay to be scared,” she said kindly.

You nodded, taking a deep breath as she handed you a small, well-worn plastic device. A pregnancy test. It felt surreal holding it in your hand, the weight of it much heavier than its actual size.

Lydia’s expression softened. “The bathroom is down the hall,” she instructed gently. “Take your time, and when you're ready, come back out. No rush.”

You glanced at Tess, who gave you a reassuring nod. “Go on,” she urged softly. “I’ll be right here.”

Swallowing hard, you stood up, clutching the test in your hand, and made your way down the narrow hallway to the small, dimly lit bathroom. The old mirror above the sink was cracked, reflecting your nervous expression in fragmented pieces. You took a deep breath, feeling the cool tile under your bare feet, and tried to steady your racing heart.

The minutes stretched out as you stood there, staring at the test in your hands, feeling the weight of this decision. You knew that everything could change in an instant—your life, your relationship with Joel, everything you thought you knew about the world and your place in it.

You finally gathered your courage, took the test, and set it on the sink. You watched it like it might explode, the seconds ticking by with agonizing slowness. You could hear the muffled voices of Tess and Lydia down the hall, their words indistinct but soothing in their familiarity.

And then, after what felt like an eternity, you saw the result. Your breath caught in your throat, your knees feeling weak. You stared at it, your mind struggling to catch up, to process what you were seeing.

It was positive.

You felt a wave of emotions crash over you—fear, confusion, a strange sense of disbelief. You gripped the edge of the sink, needing something solid to hold on to, to keep yourself from spiraling. Tears welled in your eyes, unbidden, and you blinked them back, swallowing hard.

You took a few deep breaths, trying to steady yourself before turning back toward the door. You stepped out of the bathroom, your face pale, your hands trembling slightly.

Tess was the first to notice, her eyes widening as she saw your expression. She moved quickly to your side, her hand gripping your arm gently. “Hey… what’s the result?” she asked, though the look on your face already told her everything.

Lydia stepped closer; her eyes filled with empathy. “It’s okay, sweetheart,” she murmured. “Just take a breath.”

You looked at them both, your voice barely a whisper. “It’s… it’s positive,” you admitted, your heart pounding. “I’m… I’m pregnant.”

Tess squeezed your arm, a mixture of concern and determination on her face. “Okay,” she said firmly. “We’re going to handle this. We’re gonna figure it out.”

Lydia nodded; her expression warm. “You’re not alone in this,” she reassured you. “We’ll do what we can to make sure you’re safe… and healthy.”

You swallowed hard, feeling the tears spill over despite your best efforts to hold them back. “What… what do I do now?” you asked, your voice shaking. “I don’t want anyone to know this, okay?”

“Joel’s has to know” Tess said.

“No.” Your voice came out sharper than you intended, a flash of panic twisting through your chest. “No,” you repeated, firmer this time. “I can’t… I can’t tell him. Not yet.”

Tess’s eyes narrowed slightly, but her expression remained calm. “Why not?” she asked gently, though there was a hint of insistence in her voice. “He deserves to know. He’s going to find out sooner or later.”

You shook your head, feeling the tears start to flow again. “I just… I’m not ready,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “He’s already dealing with so much, with losing contact with Tommy, and… I don’t want to put this on him. Not when I don’t even know how I feel about it yet.”

Lydia placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, her touch steady and grounding. “It’s okay to feel this way,” she said softly. “But Tess is right. Joel will need to know eventually. He’s your partner… in all of this.”

You bit your lip, trying to steady your breath. “I just need some time,” you murmured, feeling a deep ache in your chest. “Please… don’t say anything to him. Not until I figure out how to even say it myself.”

Tess sighed, a mixture of frustration and understanding on her face. “Alright,” she agreed quietly, but you knew she was lying.

She walked towards the door before you saying to Lydia “I’ll pay you later.”

“There is no need, I’d do anything for this one here” she said, squeezing your shoulder.

Tess gave Lydia a small nod, but her expression was tight, her jaw set. You could sense the conflict simmering beneath her calm exterior. You knew Tess well enough to recognize that she wasn’t pleased with your decision. She paused at the door, one hand resting on the frame, before turning back to you.

“Alright,” she said again, this time her voice softer, almost resigned. “We need to get back. Joel’s probably tearing his hair out by now.” There was a hint of a wry smile, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. You felt a pang of guilt; you could only imagine how worried Joel must be at this point.

Lydia gave you a reassuring squeeze on your shoulder. “Take care of yourself, okay?” she said softly. “And if you need anything, anything at all, you know where to find me.”

You managed a small, grateful smile. “Thank you, Lydia… for everything,” you whispered, feeling a rush of emotion swell in your chest.

Tess opened the door and stepped outside, waiting for you to follow. You took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves, before moving to join her. As you stepped out into the dimly lit hallway, Tess glanced at you, her expression unreadable.

“You know he’s gonna ask where we were,” she muttered, keeping her voice low. “And you know I won’t lie to him.”

Your heart sank a little. “I know,” you admitted quietly. “Just… don’t tell him yet, okay? I need to be the one to do it, Tess.”

She nodded, but the tension in her shoulders didn’t ease. “You better tell him soon,” she warned her tone more serious now. “Because if you don’t, I will.”

Two days had passed since you were delivered the news, and as you went through your shift, the morning sun cast a pale light over the QZ, and the usual noise of activity buzzed around you. You focused on your tasks, trying to push through the lingering fatigue and nausea. Despite your efforts to stay steady, a wave of nausea hit you suddenly, making your stomach churn violently.

You stumbled to the side, clutching your midsection as you struggled to keep yourself upright. Before you could react, the contents of your stomach erupted, and you doubled over, throwing up onto the ground. The sudden and intense discomfort left you gasping for breath, feeling a mix of embarrassment and distress.

Nearby, a few of your co-workers glanced over, their faces a mixture of concern and discomfort. One of them approached, a frown on his face. “You alright? Maybe you should sit down or get some fresh air.”

You shook your head, trying to regain your composure. “I’m fine,” you managed to say, though your voice was shaky. “Just… give me a moment.”

The soldier supervising the shift, who had already been keeping an eye on you, approached with a stern expression. “What’s going on? You can’t be throwing up in the middle of work. If you’re sick, you need to go home.”

You tried to protest, but your weakened state made it hard to argue. “I’m okay,” you said weakly. “I just need a minute.”

Before you could say more, Joel appeared, his face etched with concern as he hurried over to you. He placed a supportive hand on your back. “You need to go home,” he said firmly, his eyes filled with worry. “You’re not doing yourself any good pushing through like this.”

The soldier gave Joel a skeptical look. “She needs to get back to work. We can’t afford to have people slacking off.”

Joel’s expression hardened, and he took a protective step forward. “She’s not slacking off. She’s sick. You wanna have her work herself into the ground? Take her home, and I’ll deal with it.”

The soldier seemed taken aback by Joel’s intensity but eventually relented, grumbling under his breath. “Fine. Take her home, Miller. We don’t need sick people on duty.”

Joel nodded, helping you to your feet and wrapping an arm around you for support. “Let’s get you outta here,” he said gently, guiding you toward the exit.

As you walked out of the QZ, the cool air was a welcome relief, but the anxiety and guilt still gnawed at you. “I’m sorry,” you murmured, your voice barely audible.

Joel glanced at you, his eyes softening. “You don’t need to apologize, honey.” With Joel’s reassuring presence beside you, you made your way back to the apartment, each step feeling a bit heavier as you faced the reality of your situation.

When you and Joel arrived back at the apartment, you were both greeted by the quiet, familiar surroundings. Tess was sitting at the kitchen table, her eyes lifting from a worn-out map she’d been studying. She looked up as you entered, her expression shifting from concern to relief.

“Hey, you’re back,” Tess said, standing up quickly. “How are you feeling?”

Joel helped you inside, guiding you to the couch. “She’s not feeling great,” he said, his voice low. “She had another wave of nausea at work.”

Tess crossed the room, taking a seat next to you on the couch. “Alright, let’s get you comfortable,” she said, her tone gentle. She reached for a blanket and draped it over you, her eyes scanning your face with worry.

You nodded weakly, feeling the exhaustion and the strain of the morning catching up with you. “Thanks, Tess,” you murmured, settling into the couch as Joel stood nearby, his hands resting on his hips, clearly trying to mask his concern.

Tess turned to Joel. “You should take a break, too,” she suggested. “I can keep an eye on her for a bit.”

“No.” Joel glanced at you, “I want to know what’s happening, and don’t lie to me” he demanded, especially to you.

You frightened under his stare. You looked over at Tess looking for a way of reassurance.

Tess met Joel’s gaze steadily, her own concern evident. “Joel,” she began softly, “we need to approach this carefully. We don’t want to push her too hard.”

Joel’s eyes softened slightly, but his jaw remained set. “I just want to understand what’s going on. She’s been sick for days, and I need to know why.”

You took a shaky breath, feeling the weight of both their stares. “Joel,” you said quietly, “I’ve been… trying to manage. It’s been hard to admit, but… Tess might be right. I’m not sure how to handle it all.”

Tess reached out, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. “What we’re dealing with isn’t just a simple illness. It’s important that we address it properly.”

Joel’s expression shifted from frustration to deep concern. “What are you saying?” he asked, his voice softer now, but still laced with worry.

“Joel, I…I” you wanted to tell him, but you couldn’t find the words or the courage to do it.

Joel's gaze was intense, waiting for you to continue. Tess’s hand on your shoulder was a grounding presence, urging you to find the strength to speak.

You took another deep breath, the lump in your throat making it hard to talk. “Joel,” you began again, your voice trembling, “I’ve been feeling… really sick, and it’s more than just the usual stuff. It’s… it’s because…”

Again, your voice got cut.

“Because of what?” he demanded.

“She is pregnant, Joel” Tess answered for you.

Joel’s face went pale as he absorbed Tess’s words. His eyes flickered between you and Tess, trying to reconcile the new information with what he had seen in you recently. The silence in the room grew heavy, punctuated only by the sound of your shallow breaths.

Joel’s hands dropped to his sides, his expression a mix of shock and disbelief. “Pregnant?” he repeated, almost as if he couldn’t believe it. His voice was a mix of confusion and pain, and he took a step back, needing space to process this revelation.

You nodded, tears threatening to spill again. “I didn’t want to tell you like this,” you said quietly. “I’ve been trying to manage, but it’s been really hard.”

Joel ran a hand through his hair, pacing slightly as he tried to gather his thoughts. He turned away from you, his face contorted with frustration. “Goddammit,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair again, the tension in his body palpable. “This… this is just too much.”

You flinched at his outburst, tears spilling freely now. “Joel, please—” you began, but he cut you off, his voice rising.

“Do you have any idea what this means?” Joel’s tone was harsh, though there was a tremor of anguish beneath the anger. “We’re barely surviving as it is, and now… now you’re telling me you’re pregnant?”

Tess stepped in, placing a firm hand on Joel’s shoulder. “Joel, this isn’t helping,” she said sharply. “She needs support right now, not anger.”

Joel shrugged off her hand, his frustration boiling over. “I know, I know,” he snapped. “But it’s a lot to take in! I can’t just ignore it!”

You watched, your heart breaking as you saw Joel’s struggle to come to terms with the news. “Joel,” you said, trying to reach out to him despite your own pain, “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to add to the stress, but I didn’t know how else to handle it.”

Joel’s eyes met yours, and for a moment, the anger in his gaze faltered, replaced by a deep sadness. “I just… I don’t know how to fix this,”

he said, his voice dropping to a strained whisper. “I thought we had a chance to figure things out. Now everything’s just falling apart.”

Tess moved closer; her voice softer but firm. “Joel, getting angry won’t solve anything. We need to focus on what we can do now. What matters is getting her the help she needs.

“We were supposed to leave to find Tommy and now we won’t be able to.” He said, angry.

“What?” you asked, absorbing the new information.

Joel’s gaze dropped to the floor, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the air. “We were planning to leave for Tommy’s,” he said, his voice tight with frustration. “But with this… we might not be able to. We’re stuck here now, trying to figure out how to manage all this mess.”

You stared at him, the realization hitting you like a cold wave. “Wait, you were planning to leave? To find Tommy?”

Joel nodded, rubbing a hand over his face. “Yeah, Tess and I thought it was the best chance for us. Tommy’s got connections, and he might be able to help us get through this. But now…” His voice trailed off, the anger and sadness mixing in his eyes. “Now, everything’s fucked up.”

“When were you planning to tell me?” You asked, hurt.

Joel’s face fell at your question, and he looked away, struggling to find the right words. “I wasn’t… I didn’t mean to keep it from you,” he said, his voice rough. “Things were just… so complicated. We thought we had more time to figure things out before we had to tell you.”

You felt a pang of hurt at his words. “So, you were just going to leave me in the dark? You were planning to leave without even talking to me about it?”

Joel looked back at you; his eyes filled with regret. “No, that’s not what I meant. Of course you were coming with us.”

“But now I’m a burden.” You uttered a thought Joel perhaps was having.

Joel’s face tightened at your words, the weight of your accusation clearly hitting him hard. “That’s not what I meant,” he said quickly, his voice strained. “You’re not a burden, never say that again.”

You stood up, your emotions swirling, a mix of hurt and frustration. “Then why does it feel like everything’s falling apart because of me?” you asked, your voice trembling.

You stood up, your emotions swirling, a mix of hurt and frustration. “Then why does it feel like everything’s falling apart because of me?” you asked, your voice trembling. Tears began to spill down your cheeks, the weight of the situation overwhelming you. “I’m pregnant and I don’t know what to do. I thought you were going to hold me and tell me everything was going to be okay, but—fuck this!” You turned abruptly and walked towards the bedroom, trying to escape the chaos of your emotions.

Joel's heart ached as he watched you go, his own emotions roiling. He hesitated for a moment before following you, his steps heavy with regret and worry. He reached the bedroom door just as you were sinking onto the edge of the bed, your shoulders shaking with sobs.

“Hey,” Joel said softly, his voice carrying a note of desperation. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for any of this. I was just… scared and confused. I should’ve been there for you, and I wasn’t.”

You didn’t look up, focusing on trying to control your breathing. “Leave me alone.” You wiped your tears with the back of your hand, feeling his presence beside you.

“Leave, Joel.” You sobbed.

Joel’s heart sank further as you pushed him away, the pain in your voice cutting him deeply. He hesitated at the bedroom door, torn between his desire to comfort you and the need to respect your space.

“Alright,” Joel said softly, his voice almost a whisper. “I’ll give you some time. I’m sorry.” With that, he turned and walked away, leaving you alone with your emotions.

As Joel retreated, Tess quietly entered the room. She found you on the edge of the bed, still shaking with sobs. Without saying a word, she sat down beside you, offering silent support. Tess’s presence was calm and steady, a stark contrast to the turmoil you felt inside.

“Hey,” Tess said gently, placing a comforting hand on your back. “I’m here. Just breathe. We’ll get through this.”

You looked up at her, your eyes red and tearful. Tess didn’t try to force conversation; instead, she simply sat with you, her hand a reassuring presence on your back. Slowly, the comforting silence and Tess’s steady presence began to soothe you. Your breathing gradually steadied, and the tears started to subside.

Tess helped you settle into a more comfortable position on the bed, making sure you were warm and covered. As you drifted off to sleep, the emotional exhaustion finally taking its toll, Tess stayed by your side, her watchful gaze softening with concern.

After a while, Tess glanced toward the door and saw Joel standing there, his expression one of deep regret and sorrow. He looked as though he was trying to come to terms with everything that had happened. Tess gave him a sympathetic nod before turning her attention back to you.

“I know this isn’t the ideal situation,” Tess began, her tone firm yet understanding. “But she needs you now, Joel. More than ever.”

Joel’s jaw clenched, his eyes flicking from Tess to where you lay curled up on the bed, still trembling from your tears. “I don’t know if I can do this, Tess,” he whispered, his voice barely audible, filled with the weight of his fears.

Tess placed a hand on his arm, squeezing gently. “You’ve got to try,” she urged. “She’s scared, and she needs you to be there for her. You don’t have to have all the answers, but you do need to stay. You need to lay down next to her and protect her, like you always have.”

Joel looked at her, conflicted, the fight still lingering in his eyes. But Tess didn’t back down, her gaze unwavering. “She’s not asking you to be perfect, Joel. She’s asking you to be there.”

For a moment, Joel hesitated, the weight of the decision hanging heavy in the air. But then, slowly, he nodded, the tension in his shoulders easing just a fraction. He walked over to the bed, his movements careful and deliberate as he lay down beside you, his presence cautious but steady.

You stirred slightly, sensing his nearness even in your sleep, and instinctively moved closer to him, seeking the comfort you had always found in his arms. Joel wrapped an arm around you, holding you gently, as if afraid you might break. And as Tess watched, she saw the fear and anger in his eyes slowly give way to something softer.

The room was quiet, save for the sound of your breathing, as you finally found peace in sleep. Joel stayed awake, his thoughts still tangled, but his grip on you never faltered. Tess left the room quietly, leaving the two of you to find whatever solace you could in each other.

Joel lay beside you, staring up at the cracked ceiling of the apartment. He couldn’t sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, his mind raced, replaying the argument from earlier and the harsh truths he had tried to push away for so long. The room was quiet now, but his thoughts were anything but.

His gaze shifted to you, lying peacefully next to him, your breathing soft and even. You looked so small, so fragile, and it hit him all over again just how much had changed in the span of a few hours. The life growing inside you was a reality he couldn’t ignore anymore, no matter how much he wanted to. He watched you, his heart heavy with a mix of fear, guilt, and something he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in a long time—hope.

The thought of becoming a father again terrified him. After Sarah, after everything he had lost, he didn’t know if he could survive that kind of pain again. But here you were, carrying his child, and it was as if the world was asking him to take that risk all over again. He didn’t know if he had it in him, but as he watched you sleep, so peaceful and trusting, he realized that you were counting on him.

Joel stayed awake through the night, his thoughts swirling with memories of Sarah, the life he had lost, and the uncertain future ahead. He wanted to protect you, to shield you from the harshness of the world outside, but he didn’t know if he was strong enough to protect you both from the dangers that lay ahead. The weight of responsibility felt crushing, yet he knew he couldn’t turn away—not now, not ever.

As the first light of dawn began to seep through the cracks in the curtains, Joel’s exhaustion finally began to catch up with him. His eyes grew heavy, and despite his best efforts, he drifted into a restless sleep, his arm still draped protectively over you.

When he finally woke, the apartment was filled with the pale light of early morning. He blinked groggily, his mind still clouded with sleep, but something felt off. The warmth of your body beside him was gone. He reached out, his hand finding only the empty space where you had been.

Panic flared in his chest as he sat up quickly, his eyes scanning the room. The bed was cold where you had lain, and the room was eerily silent. “Where the hell are you?” he muttered to himself, running a hand through his hair as he forced himself out of bed.

His heart pounded in his chest as he searched the small apartment, calling your name, but there was no answer. The sense of dread he had felt the night before came rushing back, stronger than ever. He knew you couldn’t have gone far, but the thought of you out there alone, especially in your condition, made his stomach twist with worry.

Joel threw on his jacket, his movements frantic as he prepared to leave and search for you. He couldn’t bear the thought of something happening to you, not when he had just realized how much he needed you. As he headed for the door, he stopped short, his hand gripping the doorknob tightly. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down, to think. You were strong, capable—he knew that. But still, the protective urge in him screamed to find you, to bring you back and keep you safe.

With one last glance around the empty apartment, Joel stepped outside, his mind racing as he tried to figure out where you might have gone. He couldn’t lose you—not now, not ever.

Joel knew you had a habit of going to certain places when you needed space—when you needed to clear your head. He made his way through the maze of streets, his mind fixated on finding you. As he walked, his thoughts spiraled. What if you were angry enough to leave the QZ? What if you’d decided you didn’t want to face him again? The guilt from the night before weighed heavily on him, and the fear that he’d pushed you away was overwhelming.

He headed towards a small, secluded spot behind one of the less-used buildings—a place you often went when you needed to be alone. It was out of sight from most people, offering a rare bit of privacy in the crowded QZ. As he turned the corner, his breath caught in his throat. There you were, sitting on an old, crumbling bench, your hands clasped tightly in your lap.

Relief washed over him, so intense it almost brought him to his knees. For a moment, he just stood there, taking in the sight of you. You looked small and lost, your shoulders hunched as if the weight of the world had finally settled on them. But you were safe. You were here. That was all that mattered.

He approached slowly, not wanting to startle you. The crunch of gravel under his boots made you look up, your eyes meeting his. The raw emotion in your gaze—fear, uncertainty, and something that looked like regret—hit him like a punch to the gut.

Joel stopped a few feet away, unsure of what to say, how to bridge the gap that had opened between you. His mouth opened, but no words came out. What could he possibly say to make this better? To fix the hurt he had caused?

“I didn’t mean to leave,” you finally said, your voice small and fragile. “I just…needed to think.”

Joel nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. “I get it,” he replied, his voice rough with emotion. He took a cautious step closer, wanting to reach out, but unsure if you wanted him to. “I shouldn’t have… I shouldn’t have let you leave like that.”

You shook your head, a tear slipping down your cheek. “It’s not your fault. I just—” Your voice broke, and you wiped at your eyes, frustration evident in the gesture. “I don’t know how to deal with all of this. It’s too much, Joel. Everything is too much.”

“I don’t know if I can do this,” you whispered, the words barely audible.

Joel crouched down in front of you, his hand still on your shoulder, his gaze locked onto yours. “We don’t have to have all the answers right now,” he said softly.

“There isn’t a place for raising a baby.” You spoke, looking down at your hands, the thoughts swirling in your mind too overwhelming to express. “Lydia could help me,” you whispered, almost to yourself. “She could help me…terminate it.”

Joel’s reaction was immediate, his voice hard and unyielding. “No.” The word came out sharper than he intended, and he saw you flinch. He softened his tone, but the resolve remained. “We’re not doing that.”

You looked up at him, your eyes wide with a mixture of fear and confusion. “But, Joel, what if—” you began, but he cut you off.

“I said no,” he repeated, more firmly this time. “We’re not ending this.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, the intensity of the moment overwhelming you. “But I’m scared, Joel,” you confessed, your voice breaking. “What if we can’t do this? What if it’s too much?”

Joel crossed the room in two long strides and knelt in front of you, his hands gently cupping your face. “I’m scared too,” he admitted, his voice thick with emotion. “But I can’t lose you.”

Tears streamed down your cheeks as you looked into his eyes, the weight of the decision pressing down on you. “I don’t know if I can do this,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Joel pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly against his chest. “You’re not alone in this,” he murmured into your hair. “We’ll do it together. Whatever happens, we’ll face it together.”

You clung to him, the fear and uncertainty still gnawing at you, but for the first time since you’d found out, you felt a small measure of comfort. Joel wasn’t backing down, and maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

“I love you and I won’t leave you alone, baby” he whispered, kissing your lips.

Joel’s words wrapped around you like a lifeline, pulling you back from the edge of your fears. You clung to him, your grip tight but gentle, as if you were afraid, he might disappear again. The warmth of his embrace, the sincerity in his voice, and the tenderness of his kiss were all anchors in the storm that had been swirling inside you.

“I love you too,” you whispered back, your voice thick with emotion. You could feel the tears drying on your cheeks, replaced by a sense of tentative hope. The weight of your worries didn’t vanish, but Joel’s presence made them seem a little more manageable.

Joel gently cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away the remaining tears from your cheeks. “We’re gonna get through this,” he said firmly. “I don’t know how, but we will. We’re a team. We’ve faced worse before.”

You nodded, finding strength in his conviction. “Okay,” you murmured, feeling a flicker of warmth in your chest. “I’ll try to believe that.”

Joel’s eyes softened as he leaned in closer, pressing his forehead to yours. “We’ll figure it out together,” he promised. “But right now, my focus is taking care of you and the baby.”

Hours later, the apartment was quiet once again, save for the soft hum of a generator and the occasional creak of the building settling into its nightly stillness. You had managed to distract yourself with small tasks around the apartment, trying to keep your mind occupied and calm. The weight of the conversation with Joel still lingered, but his earlier reassurance had brought a sense of calm you hadn't expected.

You were in the middle of organizing some supplies when you heard the front door open. The sound of footsteps followed, and a few moments later, Joel's voice cut through the quiet. It was a familiar, comforting sound, but this time, it was tinged with an edge of frustration.

“You think this is a joke?” Joel’s voice was sharp, and you could hear the anger in his tone.

You quickly moved toward the front of the apartment, concern etching across your face. When you reached the living area, you saw Joel standing in the doorway, his face set in a hard line. Beside him stood a teenager—a girl who looked no older than sixteen. Her clothes were ragged, and she had a wary, defensive posture.

The girl’s eyes flickered between you and Joel, her expression a mix of fear and defiance. Joel’s anger was palpable, and it was clear that the situation was tense.

“Joel, what’s going on?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady, though you felt a pang of anxiety at the sight of the girl and the intensity of Joel’s demeanor.

Joel's eyes shifted to you, the anger in them still evident but now mixed with a hint of exhaustion. “She’s got a name,” he said, gesturing toward the girl. “Her name’s Ellie.”

Ellie looked up at you, her eyes wary but hopeful. Joel’s expression softened slightly as he continued, “Turns out she’s supposed to be delivered to the Fireflies.

You glanced at Joel, understanding dawning. “You’re going to take her to them,” you said, looking back at Ellie. “And you’ll have the chance to find Tommy along the way.”

Joel nodded, a hint of resignation in his stance. “Yeah, that’s the deal,” he said.

“But what about—”

Joel cut you off gently. “I know it’s a lot to take in. We need to leave now. There’s an opportunity for us to get out of the QZ and head to a place where things might be better. But it means we have to move fast.”

Ellie shifted uncomfortably, glancing between you and Joel. “I don’t want to be a problem,” she said quietly. “If it’s too much—”

“No,” you interrupted, shaking your head. “It’s not that. I just… I’m not sure what to do. I mean, this is all so sudden.”

Joel stepped closer, his expression earnest. “We don’t have much time. We need to move quickly before things get worse. I know it’s hard, but this is our chance to get out of here. To find some place where we can start over.”

You looked at Joel, the weight of his words sinking in. “And what about the baby?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “How will we—”

“We’ll figure it out,” Joel said firmly. “We have to. There’s no time to waste. This is our chance to make a new life, to give the baby a better chance.”

You took a deep breath, feeling the gravity of the situation. “Alright,” you said finally, nodding. “I’ll do it. We’ll go. Just… let’s make sure we’re ready.”

Joel’s face softened with relief, and he gave a nod. “Good. Tess will be back soon. We need to pack up and get out before anyone notices we’re gone.”

As you hurriedly packed, a thought clawed at the back of your mind, growing louder and louder until it burst out of you in a shaky whisper. "But I’ll be a burden," you said, your voice breaking. "I’ll slow you down, Joel. You know it."

Joel stopped what he was doing, turning to face you. "No," he said firmly, the word cutting through the tense air like a knife. He crossed the room in a few quick strides and cupped your face in his hands, forcing you to look into his eyes. There was a fierce intensity in his gaze, something raw and unwavering.

"You’re not a burden," he insisted, his voice low and filled with emotion. "You're the reason I wake up every day. I wouldn’t be alive if it wasn’t for you, baby. Without you… without you, nothing makes sense anymore."

Your breath hitched, and tears welled up in your eyes as you listened to him, his words breaking down the walls you had built around your fears. Joel’s hands trembled slightly as he continued, his thumb brushing away a tear that had escaped down your cheek.

"So, if this is the chance I have to give you a life you deserve in this shithole," he went on, his voice steady but thick with emotion, "then I’ll take it. I’ll take you with me and give it to you and our baby. I promise you, I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure you’re both safe. I won’t lose you. Not now, not ever."

You could feel his sincerity, the depth of his determination to protect you and the life growing inside you. You felt a wave of emotions crashing over you—fear, relief, hope, and love, all swirling together. You closed your eyes, leaning into his touch, letting his words sink in.

"Joel," you whispered, your voice trembling, "I… I don’t know if I’m ready for this, for any of this."

His grip on your face tightened just a bit, his gaze never wavering. "Neither do I," he admitted. "But we’ll figure it out. We’ve faced worse, and we’re still standing. We’ll get through this. Together."

You nodded slowly, your heart hammering in your chest. He leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours, and you could feel the warmth of his breath on your skin. "I’m not letting you go," he murmured.

Ellie stood by the door, her arms crossed, an incredulous look on her face. "Are you seriously risking your pregnant girlfriend?" she asked, her voice sharp with disbelief. She looked between the two of you, clearly struggling to understand the situation.

Joel turned his head, a flicker of annoyance crossing his features, but he kept his voice calm. "It's not that simple, kid."

Ellie scoffed. "Seems pretty simple to me," she shot back. "You're dragging her and… whatever's in there—" she gestured vaguely toward your stomach, "—through god knows what to get me to the Fireflies. What if something happens?"

You took a deep breath, stepping forward to meet Ellie’s eyes. "I know what I'm getting into," you said firmly. "I can take care of myself."

Ellie rolled her eyes. "Yeah, and what if you can't? I mean, what if you get sick or something? What if you get hurt?" Her voice softened, just a bit, the worry evident. "It’s not just about you anymore."

Joel’s jaw clenched, and you could see the conflict in his eyes. He turned to Ellie; his tone more measured. "I get it, Ellie," he said. "But leaving her here… leaving her in this place… that’s not an option either."

Ellie threw her hands up. "Great, so it’s a lose-lose situation."

You couldn’t help but let out a small, dry laugh. "Pretty much," you said, trying to inject some lightness into the tension-filled room.

There was a beat of silence, the reality of the situation settling over everyone. Joel reached for your hand, squeezing it gently. "We’ll figure it out," he murmured, more to you than anyone else.

Within a short time, Tess arrived, and the group of you prepared to leave the apartment, stepping out into the uncertain world beyond the QZ. The prospect of escaping to a new place, combined with the responsibility of ensuring the safety of both Ellie and your unborn child, loomed over you.

Joel led the way, his eyes scanning the area as you followed, Ellie close behind. The journey ahead was fraught with danger and uncertainty, but for the first time in a long while, you felt a glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, there was a chance for a new beginning.

As you stepped out of the QZ and into the unfamiliar landscape beyond, the weight of your situation pressed heavily on you. The world outside was a mix of desolate ruins and overgrown wilderness, a stark contrast to the relative safety of the quarantine zone. With each step, you could feel the gravity of the journey ahead, not just for yourself, but for your unborn child and Ellie, who now looked up to you as a beacon of hope and guidance.

Joel walked beside you, his presence a constant reassurance in the chaos. He kept a vigilant eye on the surroundings, his hand occasionally reaching out to make sure you were close. Tess, ever practical, moved ahead, scouting the path and ensuring that it was as safe as possible.

Ellie followed behind, her expression a mix of curiosity and concern. The harsh reality of the world outside the QZ was a stark contrast to the relative safety she’d known, and she looked to you and Joel for guidance and protection.

The landscape seemed to stretch endlessly, with the occasional remnants of civilization scattered among the ruins. The path ahead was uncertain, filled with potential threats and unknown challenges. Yet, with Joel’s hand firmly grasping yours and Tess leading the way, you found a small measure of comfort in the unity of your group.

As you walked, Joel glanced at you occasionally, his gaze softening when he saw the lump forming in your throat.

With each step you took away from the QZ, you felt a mixture of trepidation and hope. The future was uncertain, and the dangers were real, but you were determined to face them head-on, for yourself, for your child, and for the family you were trying to protect.

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hanllucination · 5 days ago

Text

keep me. bang chan (18+)

There’s uncertainty in his voice. A crack, an opening he was supposed to keep closed. He wants this, too. You know it. Anything you could give, he wants it. And he will take it.

PAIRING. bang chan / f! reader GENRE. smut, angst, break up fic WORD COUNT. 8.8k WARNINGS. 18+ mdni — explicit content, very emotional sex, light d/s dynamics, fingering, oral sex (m! receiving), a little face fucking, unprotected sex (it’s a long established relationship), a little bit of manhandling, use of petnames (baby, love), dirty talk & praise (good girl), shower sex, color system, subtly toxic relationship

NOTES. i’m very excited to share this with you all, it’s the first i’ve written after a very long time ♡ writing this was an emotional rollercoaster lol let me know if i missed any tags or warnings! happy reading ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ

READ ON AO3. / MASTERLIST.

It’s three knocks on your door that finally sink the heartbreak into the pit of your stomach.

Only Chan would do that—knock on your door softly, wait for you to let him in despite being told that the door is unlocked. Despite you leaving it unlocked for him, every time.

I’m free today, he had written in the text. Can I call you? But you had invited him to your apartment instead, and you shouldn’t even have to ask him to come over. Wednesdays were always for you and him.

Silly, you don’t even have to ask, you had told him, a half-empty laugh following after.

You had heard the sound of his breathing for a moment, and with the silence just a hitch away becoming too uncomfortable, too tense, he had said on the other side of the line, right. I know that.

“It’s me,” he knocks on the other side of the door twice more. “Can I come in?”

You stare at the coat hanging on one of the hooks by the door for a moment, feeling a sigh in your chest. You try to hold it in, reaching for the knob instead.

“Of course it’s you,” you tease when the door opens. “Of course you can.”

Chan seems worn out and tired, but he offers you a smile anyway. It’s warm and familiar and… and something else you recognize but can’t begin to think about. He holds his hand up by your ear and tucks your hair behind it.

“Hi,” he breathes.

You nuzzle into his hand, subconsciously stepping forward, further, responding in the same manner, “Hi. I’m cooking dinner for us.”

It’s so easy to fall into step with him. He finds his way into the middle of your apartment, immediately setting down everything in his hands down the old coffee table. You glance at the paper bag (“That’s just some leftover snacks, if you want it!” he says without you needing to ask), crumpled at the top where Chan had held it, his phone beside it. His small pouch rests at the corner of your small couch.

(He sets them down gently, carefully, methodically, in the same way he set down his heart, some years ago, in the middle of the street after a few drinks at a small, snobbish club. I love you. You held onto his arm, seeking warmth. I love you.)

“It smells good,” he sniffs exaggeratedly, walking towards the stove. “What are you cooking?” he asks as he lifts the glass lid, steam wafting through the air and the aroma of the food becoming stronger.

“Just some veggie soup. The temperature’s starting to drop, don’t you think?” you tell him, chuckling to yourself a little. “Are you hungry? It’ll be ready in around ten minutes. Could you wait a little longer? I have some snacks in the fridge, if you want.”

His lips break into a grin, and you think it’s beginning to form a small laugh on his tongue. You rambled again, and years ago you would’ve been embarrassed, covering your mouth in shame. I love the way you talk, he had told you. You don’t have to hold anything back. I hope you can be comfortable with me.

“It’s fine,” he shakes his head, cheeky and teasing. You sigh jokingly, and he puts the lid back onto the pot before turning back to you. “I’m actually less hungry and more—icky? I need to wash up, I mean. S’been a long day.”

“By all means,” you nod, gesturing to the bathroom. It says a lot more than, yes, you can do that. It also says, your clothes have been in the same place they’ve always been. Your toothbrush, the soap you specifically use because your skin is a lot more sensitive than mine, your towels, everything… they’re still here. “Food’ll be ready by the time you’re done.”

Chan scratches the back of his head, looking down at his feet before he looks back at you, sheepish. He takes a few steps towards you until his hands could reach your shoulders—he does just that, rubbing his thumbs on the exposed skin of your collarbone before tilting his head.

“Help me wash up?”

Your face immediately burns up, lips tensing at the suggestion. He knows you weren’t one to like showering together; it’s cramped, a waste of water, and overall impractical. You’d sometimes join him, sure, but majority of the time you’d politely decline. Chan respects that. He always does.

There’s something about this suggestion now. Something different, something… greedy. A plead, almost. You think he starts to breathe a little heavier with each passing second of your silence, and his hooded eyes wait for the answer on your face.

You think you need this, too.

You nod at him, quickly closing in the gap and placing a small, brief kiss on his lips. He immediately gets his arms around you, but before he could make anything out of it, you pull away. You don’t know if he realizes it but you feel the way his lips chase yours when you move back. Your chest swells at your realization.

“Ten minutes, Chan,” you tease, placing another kiss on his cheek. “Don’t wanna burn the apartment down.”

“I don’t like the veggies too cooked, though,” he clicks his tongue. “Here.”

He suddenly squats down, pulling you by the back of your thighs before carrying you in his arms. A small squeal leaves you before you could even process a reaction, and you had immediately grabbed onto his shoulders in fear of falling. He buries his nose into the skin of your neck and places his warm lips on it.

“Bang Chan! What the hell,” you scold him, hitting his shoulder with furrowed brows. “Impatient.”

Wriggling your way out of his hold proves no use. He holds onto you so firmly that you could only wrap your arms and legs around him tighter. You slap his back weakly, still startled from him carrying you without warning. He laughs onto your skin and you feel its tickle down your spine, flinching slightly with a laugh of your own. You feel his arms pull you tighter.

“We can do all that we need to do later,” he mumbles. “It can wait.”

There it is again. You hear it. A plead, but only subtle. Smooth in his voice, soft and supple. Like the thumbs that rub the skin on the sides of your thighs. He hikes you higher up his torso, and another breath leaves at the sudden little movement. You’re so tempted to give in.

“No. We eat first, then we wash up,” you insist, words leaving no room for argument. You hear a soft whine so you steady yourself with one hand on his shoulder, the other on his cheek. “Okay?”

He presses his lips on yours in response, deep and heavy. Its plushness move against yours, and suddenly you’re down in your worn out barstool, back in the kitchen. The metal of the old seat creaks and Chan pulls away from you, breathless.

“Stay there, I’ll take care of this,” he presses a kiss to your forehead. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“You know,” Chan starts, as if you just know. “Cooking for me. You didn’t have to.”

He doesn’t turn to you when he says it. The clicks of the stove struggling to reignite its flames resound and deep within your chest you think also hear the same. Click click click. He grabs the wooden spoon just beside the sink and he stirs the soup, lifting it up once just to let the liquid dribble back down into the pot. You rest your cheek against your hand, elbow propped on the countertop.

You stare at his back and wonder how much of its dips and curves you’ve already memorized—how much of it you need to get to know more, the way they move and twitch and tremble under your touch. Beneath his black, slightly tight-fitting shirt, his shoulders visibly loosen up. He grabs two bowls from the cabinets above him and carefully spooned a hearty amount of soup into each.

It doesn’t take long before he sets up your dinner and finds himself on the stool beside yours. Neither of you say a word, tension still warm in the air, comforting—but toeing the line of awkward. The skin of his thigh brushes against yours sometimes, and you’re almost tempted to ask if it’s intentional. If he means it.

Contrary to his earlier impatience, Chan takes his time eating. He smiles when he catches you looking, and you laugh when he hums in satisfaction of a pleasant, albeit simple, dinner. The anticipation is prickling the skin on your shoulders, but you can’t seem to say a word. Chan finishes with a kiss on your cheek and a quiet mumble of another ‘thank you’ before he gathers the dishes to clean up.

It’s awful, thinking about this. You have no any idea what’s on his mind right now, and you’re so close to breaking. This won’t do. You have to say something, or he has to say something. What was that all about earlier? What happened? Is he mad? Is he disappointed? What should you—

“Baby,” he calls gently, snapping you out of it—whatever it was. A detachment from the moment, from reality? A fear, maybe. Overthinking.

You barely realize that he’s in front of you again, standing between your knees, dishes forgotten in the sink. He brings a hand to your head and rubs a finger between your brows.

“I can almost hear you thinking,” he clicks his tongue. Then he presses a firm kiss on where his touch lingered. “I’m sorry. We’re fine. You can get in the shower and I’ll be with you in a second, hm?”

No words come out of your mouth. You shudder at the implication, at the tone of his want.

Maybe you’re thinking too much about this. Maybe it’s just another Wednesday of yours, just another time he’s here. A sharing of each other’s company in the quiet routine you’ve fallen into, built over the years. So you nod at him before padding over to your bathroom.

One by one, you strip off your clothes. It doesn’t take long; you’re in the your most comfortable, anyway, since your plans were to just stay home. You never needed to impress Chan either. Whenever your fingers brush against your skin, a shiver crawls beneath your bones. There is warmth pooling in your chest—a desire that would burn you if it boils over.

But something feels… different. Like it’s all building to something neither of you is ready to name. The shower opens with a stutter and it’s hot the moment it touches your skin. You don’t mind, though—but Chan will, and you know that. You twist the tap ever so slightly, knowing exactly where it should turn for it to be warm enough to his liking. The temperature should calm you, but it doesn’t.

The way the water thrums against your skin, the tiled floor, the glass door… it’s all too much. It irks you—feeling every drop, reminded of his touch: gentle, deliberate, lingering. Then, you hear your blood pulsating in your ears. You tilt your head back, letting the water cascade over your face. It should calm you, but it doesn’t.

The door creaks open and you feel a slight breeze of chill from behind you, like a wind passing, carrying with it an odd mix of anticipation and vulnerability. It’s not like Chan is trying to be quiet. He knows you’d expect him. He asked for you to be there. There’s a moment of stillness, save for the water pattering around you. Then, the faint rustling of clothes, a slow whistle of fabric sliding down the floor. Your pulse quickens.

It doesn’t take long before you feel him behind you, close enough to stir the air around but not yet touching you. You don’t turn to look at him—your breath catches as if doing so would make the moment too real, too raw, like everything would cease to exist with one wrong move. But you feel him. His warmth is unmistakable, radiating through the steam, undeniable and grounding, a stark contrast to the chill that had briefly brushed your spine. It couldn’t be anything or anyone else. It’s him, always him, cutting through the steam like sunlight through fog.

And maybe that’s how his presence has always been, how he really is: sun, sunlight, sunshine. A warmth you can’t help but lean into, even when it burns.

Chan is the first to break the silence. “Hi,” he simply says before he kisses the skin where your neck and shoulder meet. His hands soon follow, soothing the soreness of your muscles with a gentle massage. You whimper quietly.

“Hi,” you manage to respond moments after.

Chan rests his forehead on the back of your head, stopping you from turning around when you made that first little step. He pulls you closer to his body, your back flush against his chest and you feel it heave in along with his breathing. With every exhale through his nose the air grows heavier.

“Don’t,” he breathes. “Stay there. I’ll wash you.”

“I want to see you, though,” you try to complain, but the words fall weak on your tongue. “Chan?”

“Later.”

You feel him stretch his arm to the side, and your peripheral catches his hand reaching for the bottle of liquid on the small shelf mounted in the corner of the shower, just a bit of an arm away from your head. You lean innocently onto him but his breath hitches, taking you a bit by surprise.

As if that would stop you.

You continue to rub your behind onto him under the guise of needing warmth and seeking softness, and his breathing falters with each minute. He rubs his hands together, soapy and slippery, before rubbing it all along your body in seemingly random but nonetheless tender patterns. He starts with your arms, then he moves to your shoulders, your back, your legs, from back to front—leaning forward to reach further, then to your waist. His hand inches to your center, where you need it most, and you could almost feel the tease in his touch. He reaches for another pump of soap before he brushes his fingers onto the skin of your abdomen. It twitches with the gasp you couldn’t catch before it’s out of your mouth, and you suddenly jolt your hips back towards his, a movement you couldn’t control.

And Chan whimpers. It’s low and hushed, almost too quiet if his lips weren’t all up in your ear. The moment halts and the warmth that pooled in your chest moves down and you like it. So you do it again, pressing back into his body further. And again, wiggling until his cock catches against your lower back. And again, feeling him holding himself back.

Then he grips your arms to steady you. That doesn’t stop his hardness from pushing against the dip of your lower spine. Then you whimper. He still keeps you turned away from him.

“Stop moving,” he grits. “You’re so needy, aren’t you?”

You don’t even try to deny that. How could you, when he moves his right forearm to wrap around your chest, his left hand just below your abdomen. Close, but not enough. He toys with the skin that it frustrates you. It’s so close. You try to stand on your tiptoes, moving yourself closer to where you need his hand to be but he holds you with his arm firmly enough to keep you in place. His hand leaves your abdomen to catch the water from the shower, washing off the soap.

“I said,” he whispers into your ear, tone rough, “stop moving.”

Then he finally, finally touches you. His finger trace your slit lightly, the stroke almost too subtle to feel. Your legs immediately draw close together, and Chan supports you when you almost lose balance. He sighs in your ear, a short, small laugh following the prod of his finger into your core.

In a desperate attempt to stop his teasing, you could only cry out his name. “Chan,” your voice shakes, and you hold onto the arm around your chest in attempt to ground yourself, to keep yourself together. “Please.”

“Just a little more, my love,” he starts, still moving a single finger—God fucking damn it, only a single one—up and down your folds. “And I’ll give you what you want.”

Your chest quivers with deep, uneven breaths. You hold out as best as you can, keeping your desire from bursting and it burns you. Please. There is only a word in your head, clouded and hazy. Like a mantra, a chant. Please. Please.

“So good,” Chan praises, and you swear you could hear the smile in his voice which only sharpens the greed clawing at your core. Desperate to feel more, to take more.

But between you and him, it’s not your job to take more. That’s Chan’s. That’s him, since the beginning.

So he takes.

He pushes a finger into you and right then and there you feel that you could just give everything you could ever offer for his taking. It feels as if he belongs there, as if you are shaped for nothing but his touch. He pulls his finger out a bit before pushing it back deeper, into a place you’ve never reached for the past month on your own, or the past year, or ever.

Chan finds a steady pace, slow and deliberate strokes exploring your wetness. Still only a single finger, and you are so tempted to curse him out, to demand more—but you know how patience drives pleasure. There is no choice but to wait. He recognizes it and he whispers another praise in your ear, “You are doing so good, baby.”

You feel another finger teasing your sensitive bud, and not long after there are two fingers parting your slick folds with practiced ease. Your knees buckle in surrender to the pleasure. It feels so hot, as if each movement fans the flames in your core and with every touch Chan leaves trails of pleasure. You’re almost gasping, like you’re running out of breath.

It’s not your job to take more, but this is something only Chan could give. He is giving it to you right now. What else are you supposed to do but take it?

You move your hand from his forearm around your chest to the nape of his neck clumsily. He shifts slightly, letting go of your torso and gripping your thigh to hold it up and oh. Your grasp falters and his fingers remain relentless in giving you the rhythm your body demanded. He curls them inside you and you almost choke.

Despite still having your back flushed to his chest, you crane your neck to at least feel his lips against your cheeks. Soft moans are hovering at the edge of your month, cries on the verge of slipping out. You struggle to find your voice, lost among the steam, but you try nonetheless.

“Chan–ah,” your voice wavers with a moan. “Please, Chan… I– kiss. Please, kiss.”

You feels Chan’s body tremble behind you, hips bucking that his cock brushes against the curve of your ass. You whimper, and you let it out freely this time.

“Fuck, you’re so…” Chan falters, fingers erratic in your heat. “How sweet you sound, begging like that.” He presses himself against your back, again and again, a desperate attempt to chase his own pleasure too. His breath is hot against your skin, hovering your jaw. The water from the shower doing nothing to regulate the temperature of your body. “I just can’t get enough of you.”

Then he kisses you. It’s a little awkward, with your lips not fully slotting or fitting, your necks turned as much as you comfortably can but none of that matters. It’s all teeth and spit and some water gets into your mouth and none of that matters. He kisses you and he curls his fingers in you and you’re almost at your limit. A moan vibrates in your chest, wanton and needy, then Chan pulls away to let you breathe. As if that helps, as if his lips and tongue moving to your jaw doesn’t leave you breathless and writhing in want.

He pulls your thigh closer to him, opening you up further. A guttural sound leaves you and you would be embarrassed at how dirty it sounds but you’re reaching the highest peak of your desire—the roar of the flames in your core now at its full.

“Chan,” you cry out. “Chan, I’m near—ah… please. I’m cumming, please.”

The air is filled with steam and the sound of water, his skin on your skin, his fingers not stopping. Your hips buck against his hand and it drives deeper. He holds it there and you tremble in his arms. You whimper, again and again and again.

“Good,” he coaxes. “You’re almost there, my love. Come on.”

His voice is heavy and rough. He licks the shell of your ear and it sends you over to the edge. His fingers twist inside you and he just takes, drinking up your cries with his lips just hovering yours.

There is a gradual, methodic way in which he slows his fingers, letting you ride out your high until your lungs find a steadier pace, each breath more controlled. He kisses the top of your head before he gently holds your chin—with the very same hand he used to bring you pleasure—turning your face to his.

How filthy, him rubbing your slickness on you. So filthy, and it’s arousing you. It’s surprising because you just got fingered out of your damn mind and you still want more. You’re still willing to give more.

Chan captures your lips in a soft kiss, biting your lower lip lightly before he pulls away just enough to speak, “You did so well.”

He reaches upward to cup water in his hands, using it to wash your chin and your neck. Then again to wash your abdomen and center. You gasp at the touch, and he whispers an apology immediately.

“I know, I’m sorry. Sensitive, hm? Let me just wash you, okay?”

You nod at him, closing your eyes and choosing to rest your forehead on his shoulder as he rubs you clean. When he finishes with a soft pat to your thigh, your eyes open only to be greeted by the sight of his cock, rock hard and almost flushed red. God. Fuck. You pull back, searching his face for something—anything, whatever it is, and he just offers you a lopsided smile.

“Hmm?” he hums in question, curious about the way your brows furrow. “What is it?”

“You,” you simply say. “Are you…?”

“I’m fine.” He brushes it off like it’s nothing. He has given you pleasure and he has taken your pleasure. You want to do the same to him. He shakes his head, “I swear. It’s fine.”

But he doesn’t stop you when you go down on your knees, facing his cock with a hunger you couldn’t fathom. He caresses your hair, whatever he could reach, but he doesn’t even pull you away. “You don’t have to. We can take this to bed,” he still says.

There’s uncertainty in his voice. A crack, an opening he doesn’t intend. He wants this, too. You know it. Anything you could give, he wants it.

“But I want to.”

And he will take it.

He places a finger under your chin to guide you and raise your head, looking you in the eye. You could almost see yourself in the depths of his gaze, a reflection of something shameless, almost jarring. You couldn’t believe you’re liking this—let alone getting intoxicated in arousal for this. It’s like something changed in him in a blink.

“You do?” Chan laughs, almost mockingly. A shiver runs across the expanse of your shoulders, the sound sending another spark of heat through you. Deeper this time, scorching. “You want my cock that badly, huh? Suck me off ‘til your lips grow tired?”

His finger moves, grazing your skin until it reaches your ear. He tucks your wet hair behind it, just like he did by the apartment door when he arrived earlier. His gaze holds you captive, and that feeling of being exposed, vulnerable, it surges again.

Your breath catches as you nod, unable to form any word. He’s always had that effect on you—making you forget your own control, like you’re just a thing for him to take. In the absence of words, you hold his length with a hand and he inhales sharply at your touch. It doesn’t take much to arouse him; with a few nimble strokes his shaft gets hard again. Perhaps even more so.

His hand slides to the back of your neck, firm but gentle, and pulls you closer.

“Good girl,” he whispers, and the praise, laced with an almost indistinguishable amount of contempt, has you reeling. You lick a bit along his tip, testing the waters. His fingers weave through your hair with a slow sigh. “Show me how much you really want it. Give it to me.”

You press a kiss to the side of his cock, soft at first, as if tasting the moment before plunging in. His body shudders. The saltiness lingers on your tongue as you part your lips wider, slowly taking him into your mouth.

“Fuck,” he breathes, the word barely audible, more an exhale than speech. His hand slightly tightens in your hair, not pulling, just holding, grounding himself. You hollow your cheeks, sliding further forward, and the groan that rumbles in his chest sends a thrill through you.

The weight of him is heavy on your tongue, and you let yourself sink into a languid pace, drawing him in, inch by inch, savoring the way his body reacts. His hips jerk, just a little, involuntarily, and you can’t help the slight moan that leaves your throat. The sound and vibration seem to undo him.

“You’re so fucking good at this,” Chan grunts, his voice rough around the edges, raw with need. His hand cups the back of your head, guiding you—not forcing, but encouraging—as you take him deeper, working with a mix of tongue, lips, and a shit ton of spit.

Water slides down your cheeks and occasionally finds its way to your mouth. Not that you care. You glance up, catching his gaze. A carnal glint is in his stare, and he smiles. Fuck. The sight of him nearly takes your breath away. His jaw falls slack, his lips part, and his eyes lock on you—heavy-lidded and burning with something primal.

The tension in his thighs grow as you continue, a gradual acceleration in the way you take him in. The soft, wet sounds fill the air, almost louder than the water hitting the walls and floors, mingling with his labored breaths and low groans. His thumb brushes your cheek, a fleeting touch that feels oddly tender amidst the heat.

“Just like that,” Chan murmurs, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Don’t stop. You’re—perfect.”

You give an experimental hum, letting it thrum in your mouth. Chan whimpers and it’s an absolutely beautiful thing to hear. You hum again, louder this time. Your chest heaves at the limited breathing but Chan is slowly losing his sense of control and it rouses you. There is another pool of warmth in your core, and you’re trying your best to rub your thighs together in your position, hoping to relieve a little bit of your need.

“You’re killing me,” Chan laughs to himself, head thrown back, words thorny with lust. His hands move to your shoulders, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he fights the urge to thrust into your mouth. “I won’t last if you keep going like that.” His voice cracks, betraying the thin line of self-control he’s holding onto.

You pull back slightly, just enough to take a breath, and your lips glisten with the evidence of his pleasure. A mischievous smile tugs at your lips and you glance up again, locking eyes with him. The hunger and greed in his gaze sends your mind into a frenzy of heat, something deep and wild, as though you’re caught in the storm of his desire.

“Do you want me to stop then?” you ask, your voice barely a whisper, teasing in its softness. There is a scratch in your words.

His lips curl into a grin, but it’s strained, the desperation clear in the way his eyes darken. “Hell no,” he clicks his tongue. “Just–don’t stop. You’re so fucking good at this, baby. You know what to do, right?”

There is no need for words. You nod at him, eager and wanting.

“Color?”

“Green.”

“Good.” His hand finds its way back to your hair, pulling just enough to keep you in place. His cock lingers on your lips, and you open your mouth wide, waiting for him to push it in. “Hold on tight.”

He waits for you to gain a steady grip on the back of his thighs before he thrusts forward. The tension in his body snaps as you give and give and give. The taste of him, the sound of his labored breaths, the way he tenses under your touch—your lips, your tongue, the wetness in your slit. You give and give and give and he takes and takes and takes.

Just like he did earlier, when he indulged you. Your pleasure laid out, vulnerable and he just takes. Or the past 3 years, with your heart out in the open, unguarded and he just takes.

It all becomes a blur, this moment. He fucks your face so lewdly, desperate to reach his own high. One hand of yours moves downward, to your own clit. You rub in frantic patterns, aroused out of your damn mind.

His movements begin to stutter, thrusts sloppier. You hum in pleasure, of yours and of his, as your fingers move faster on your wet skin. Chan doesn’t even try to stop the filthy sounds rolling off his tongue and you’re sure he is nearing his limit.

He thrusts a few more times before he pushes in deep—reaching farther than he ever had for the past ten minutes of his cock being in your mouth. His tip brushes against the back of your throat and he stays there for a moment. You couldn’t help the obscene moan and Chan’s whole body shudders. His cock throbs in your mouth before he pulls you away, letting his cum release all over your chest.

Your mouth remains open, breathless and trembling. The moment falls heavy between you, and Chan takes a second before he brushes his fingers through your hair and guides you to stand up. He doesn’t say a word, immediately beginning to wash his cum on you. He grabs another pump of soap, letting it bubble in his hands before cleaning you with it.

“Chan,” you begin, the silence getting to you.

“Hm?” he hums simply. He doesn’t stop his hands, but he raises his head to look at you, pupils still blown wide. His breathing is slowly coming down. He offers you a gentle smile before leaning forward to kiss your cheek. “You did so well. I’m sorry if I went a bit rough.”

You shake your head, wrapping your arms around his waist in an almost embrace. “It’s okay,” you assure him. “I like it.”

“You like it?”

His hands stop and his attention is now fully on you. He raises an eyebrow at your statement, confused. You feel a bit of shame but you continue. “I like it when you… when you just—take.”

Chan stays silent. He doesn’t react, or say a word. It’s hard to read his expression when it’s almost blank, and he continues washing your body until he just says, “Get on the bed and wait for me. Don’t bother putting anything on.”

Then it dawns on you. Whatever you just told him was dangerous. You’re not quite sure how, and to what extent, but something weighs on your chest when he turns the shower off and waits for you to step out. You don’t even need to be told twice.

You take your time drying yourself off with your towel, lingering for a minute on your slit. Still fucking wet. Heat creeps up your face at the realization and you immediately throw the towel into the basket of dirty clothes. There are extra towels, fortunately, stashed inside the small cabinet by your bathroom sink. You hang it up the shower door for Chan to use, not needing to inform him because you know he knows.

Stepping out of the bathroom bare naked lets you feel the temperature change in full. You realize how warm it was when you were in the bathroom with Chan. You shiver, feeling cold—the loss of a warm body, a presence, the slow decrease of arousal.

You walk your way to your bedroom, making sure to keep your feet light. The shower opens and you hear the water pattering again, then suddenly your arousal comes back in full force. Your bed is cool and unmade and you have half the mind to start toying with your pussy again, to feel at least half of what Chan had made you feel with his fingers. But that’s not what you were told to do.

The sound of the shower persists, steady and hushed, a stark contrast to the chaos in your chest. You spend the next minutes staring at the ceiling, waiting. It feels excruciatingly slow. Time doesn’t feel real, when the bathroom is right next door and you still hear Chan in there. You bite your lip, trying to focus on anything but the ache between your legs or the growing weight in your chest. It feels like he’s taking forever, like the space between you is widening with every drop of water hitting the floor.

Your mind betrays you, replaying the way his hands had felt on you, the way his voice dipped when he whispered praises in your ear. You wonder if he’s thinking about this. Thinking about you. You wonder if he regrets it. Or worse—if he doesn’t.

You close your eyes, willing the thoughts to stop, but they only grow louder. What does this mean? What are you supposed to feel? The heat of desire clashes violently with the icy grip of doubt, and suddenly you’re not sure which will win.

When the water finally stops, you sit up abruptly, heart pounding as if you’ve been caught doing something wrong. The sound of the door creaking open makes you swallow hard, your mouth suddenly dry. You hear his footsteps, soft but deliberate, and then he’s there, standing by the doorway of your bedroom.

Chan doesn’t say anything first, just looks at you, his gaze unreadable. He’s towel-drying his hair, the damp strands sticking to his forehead, droplets sliding down the sharp line of his jaw. You can’t look away, even though every part of you feels like you should.

“Couldn’t wait, huh?” he says finally, his voice low and teasing, but there’s something in it—something wavering, like he’s waiting for you to tip the balance, unsure if he should pull back or push further.

You manage a weak laugh, though it feels hollow. “Not exactly.”

He steps closer, the tension in the room thickening with every movement. “You okay?” he asks, his tone softer now, almost gentle.

The question lingers in the air and for a moment, you think about lying, about brushing it off like you always do. About giving what he wants to take. But the words are stuck in your throat, you feel. You lean back on the pillows, enough to be comfortable but not fully lying down.

“I don’t know,” you admit, palms up on your thighs. The answer comes out frail and delicate.

Something shifts in his expression—concern, maybe, or guilt. He sets the towel aside, crossing the room in a few quick strides, and sits beside you on the bed. His hand hovers for a moment before he places it on your knee, his touch warm and grounding.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, and you hate how earnest he sounds, how much you want to believe that he cares.

You don’t doubt that he cares a little bit. Not as much as you do about him, though. Not as much as he thinks he does, nor as much as he did before, in the middle of the street. I love you, he said then.

“This isn’t going to change anything, is it?”

Such weight hanging heavy in the air feels suffocating. It feels like you have to grasp for air. For a moment, he looks like he might say something, but he closes his mouth, jaw tightening, and you choke.

It’s unbelievable, really. After all that, he just kisses you. His lips are on yours without warning and you melt into his arms. The kiss is careful at first, tentative, like he’s trying to find the words he can’t say in the press of his lips. But it’s not enough—not for you, not for what’s bubbling up inside you. Your hands grip his shoulders, turning your torso to him for a more comfortable position. You pull him closer, as if proximity could mend this. His hands move up to cradle your face, his thumbs brushing away tears you hadn’t even realized were falling.

He guides you to sit on his lap, and you feel his hardness on your bum again. You swallow a sob back and Chan pulls away in surprise.

“Hey,” he murmurs against your lips, breaking the kiss but keeping his forehead pressed to yours. His voice is shaky, not like the teasing confidence from before. “Talk to me. Please.”

You shake your head, swallowing the lump in your throat. “I don’t know if I can do this,” you whisper. “Not without…” Your voice trails off, but he seems to understand.

He presses, though. “Without what?” His tone is urgent yet gentle, his thumb grazing your cheek.

“Without losing you.”

Your body betrays you as you feel the heat back in your abdomen. It’s a filthy mix of hunger and misery. It boils down into something you’re all too familiar with: desperation. You roll your hips onto him and he whines. You harshly wipe away your tears with the back of your hands before pushing Chan’s chest down onto the bed. He seems taken aback, hesitant with the way he pulls his hands away. You had to grab it yourself, place it on your hips for him to hold onto.

“Make me feel good, Chan,” you plead. Another roll of your hips has you keening, his tip catching just by your entrance. “Please. Take me. Take everything that I am, I will give it to you.”

His eyes meet yours, searching, as if he’s trying to commit every detail to memory. You lean forward to let your hands touch his back, taking your time to go over every dip and curve. Then he nods, his hands moving to slide under your thighs and pulling you closer before flipping you over. He lays you down on the bed, and his gaze roams every bit of your face before he dips to kiss you again, until there is no more space left between you.

What follows isn’t rushed or frantic. It’s deliberate, every touch, every kiss, every movement laden with meaning. It’s like he’s trying to piece together what’s been fractured, even if it’s just for a fleeting moment. A hand slips between your bodies until it reaches your pussy once again. He feels your slick, not needing to prod as much as he did earlier.

Then he leans away, stroking his cock a few times, his head thrown back with the contact. It doesn’t take long before he lines it up on your entrance, and he moves down, almost putting his whole weight on you.

It’s raw, it’s tender, it’s everything you’ve been longing for and everything you know will never last. Not anymore. Funny it took you three long years to feel this. Funny it would the first and last you’ll ever get this from him.

There is no resistance when he thrusts inside you, deep and slow and whole. He stays put for a minute before you tap his back, letting him know you want him to move—you need him to move. He doesn’t deny you of that, so he pulls back until only the tip lingers inside you before pushing in again heavily.

A visceral sound leaves your lips as your jaw slackens. Chan continues his pace, growing faster with each passing minute and he keeps whimpering in your ear that it sends your mind into haywire. You’re not quite sure how to handle the crashing wave of lust your body is being washed over so the best you could do is hold onto him, fingers gripping the flesh of his back tight enough to feel hot. He moans louder.

Whether it takes thirteen minutes or three years doesn’t matter. It all comes down to the warm tears you feel on your jaw, and you’re not even sure if it’s still yours or if it’s already his. Your fingers tangle in his damp hair, pulling him back to your lips. This time, the kiss isn’t soft or tentative—it’s consuming. It’s every unsaid word, every broken promise, every ounce of love that lingers between you.

He withdraws, lips finding your ear instead before placing a chaste kiss on it. You’re sure now, his tears dropping onto your skin, burning and heavy. Iloveyouiloveyouiloveyou. It comes quickly. Iloveyouiloveyouiloveyou. He whispers it in your ear, like a prayer. What you once had with him felt sacred, untouchable, and yet here you are, unraveling it thread by thread. Iloveyouiloveyouiloveyou.

A long, drawn out cry sounds in your ear as Chan comes undone. You feel every bit of him inside you, and you body twitches as you finish with him. You hear a choked out sob from the man on top of you, and your chest tightens impossibly. You don’t know what to do with your hands. Not now, not before, and never after he leaves.

He stays inside you, cock tucked in your warmth, twitching a little. His cries continue for an amount of time you can’t even comprehend. Your eyes have long dried out now, but the space between your neck and shoulder remains wet with his tears. Your hands try to comfort him by rubbing his back, drawing circles in patterns you hope he recognizes. Soon, he turns quiet.

You feel his chest heave with yours. He stays on stop of you, putting his full weight but careful not to suffocate you. As if this whole thing wasn’t suffocating enough. It takes a moment for him to calm down completely, then he pulls out. He falls back away from you, sitting on the edge of the bed by your legs for a moment before you see him visibly relax.

He stands up to walk outside of the room. You don’t even dare to ask, to look at him and follow his movements. Chan comes back before you could even piece back your head with a towel in his hands. The bed dips where he sits before he leans forward to wipe the slick moisture on your folds. You hiss at the contact, realizing that the fabric is damp. He shushes you gently, continuing his ministrations with utmost care.

When he seems satisfied, he sets the towel away in the same place he did with his earlier. Silence lingers and you almost wish you were still in the shower, where at least the sound of water would fill in the empty air.

Chan returns to the bed, but he remains seated, his back facing you. It feels like a wall—strong, unyielding, and unreachable. You think it’s ridiculous now, realizing that there is a wall. There has always been a wall, hasn’t it? There is no way to climb it, to move past it. Invisible that it might as well not exist, yet it stands, separating you. You bury yourself under the blankets, the chill in the room seeping into your bones. You feel so small and cold and fragile. You could only stare at the ceiling, his presence beside you frustratingly overwhelming, yet so distant.

You’ve grown so accustomed to seeing his back facing you. You’re always behind him, following him along, wherever he goes and whatever he does. Always in front of you, always leading, but never turning to face you unless he’s searching for reassurance. You realize now how much you’ve relied on those fleeting glances back. They were your only proof that he still cared, still saw you. He looks back to take and you give. Sometimes you wonder which part of you is yours anymore.

“I can’t give you what you want,” he says, very quietly, like almost to himself in realization.

You almost don’t realize he said something. You heard every word, but your mind refuses to process it until a second later. And when it did, the room stills.

His words hang dull in the air, filling the room with a bittersweet ache. It’s like every sweet moment this room witnessed for the past three years disappears and there is only grief and misery in it. You want to reach for him, to cross the divide and tell him something—anything. But his back remains turned, and all you can do is fixate on the outline of his shoulders, tense and unmoving.

You mustered a small, mocking laugh. It’s weaker than you intended, but you’re in utter disbelief regardless. “You just fucked me on this very bed, Chan. I came twice today. Is that the only thing you came here for? A quick fuck?”

There is no use in making sharp remarks, but there is nothing else you could say. You’re grasping at straws and you know that.

“No, I…” Chan starts, then he sighs. He roughly ruffles his hair in frustration. “I’m sorry.”

Then it goes quiet yet again. Your mind is scrambling for words, but then, after a minute, you could only really ask, “Do you mean it? Is that what you really want?”

“No,” he answers almost immediately, shoulders heaving. Then he slackens again, almost like he’s curling into his own body, making himself small. “I don’t know what I would do if I look back and you’re not there.”

His voice is withdrawn, as if he’s confessing something he hadn’t admitted even to himself.

“Then why?”

“You’re always behind me,” he continues, words strained. “You’ve always been the one thing I could count on.” There’s a pause, and it feels like the weight of the moment is crushing him. “But what if you’re gone one day? What if I look back and you’re not there anymore?”

His admission stings in a way you weren’t prepared for. The vulnerability in his tone should comfort you, but instead, it exposes a deep-rooted wound. He only looks back to make sure you’re still following, doesn’t he? Never to meet you halfway, never to let you stand beside him.

And as fucked up as it seems, you’re willing to let that be until you can no longer understand what distance means. You’re willing to do all that, over and over again, just so he could stay.

He takes and takes and takes. And you give.

“Then why are you pushing me away?” You couldn’t help the bite in your words, angry and confused. “If you’re so scared, why leave?”

You want to scream. You want to clench your fists and punch a wall and hurt. Yourself, him. But it doesn’t come. The exhaustion overcomes you, and an ache in your chest swells. You wonder if it’s already too late.

“Because you’re like this!” he raises his voice, now matching your exasperation. “I’m giving you a chance to save yourself from me and you’re not taking it!”

Chan’s words hit like a slap, sharp and final. Your chest tightens in a mix of emotions you’re far too dizzy to comprehend. Hatred? Grief? Love? It’s all warring within you. You sit up, the blanket sliding off your shoulders and exposing your vulnerability as much as his words have exposed his.

“Save myself?” you scoff, incredulous. “I think I am way beyond saving, Chan.”

He stiffens. You don’t even give him a chance to respond before you continue, “And what about you?” you ask, your voice trembling. “When do you save yourself, Chan? When do you stop running from everything? From me?”

His hands curl into fists at his sides. “I’m not running,” he mutters, though it sounds more like he’s trying to convince himself than you.

“You’ve been running this entire time,” you counter, voice threatening to rise again. “From us. From what this could be. Three years. And now you want me to be the one to end it? To carry that burden so you don’t have to?”

His head drops, shoulders sagging under the weight of your words. For a moment, the silence between you stretches unbearably, like the final frayed thread of something you both know is about to snap.

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” he whispers, hoarse. “I thought… I thought letting you go would hurt less than holding on and breaking you completely.”

You let out a bitter laugh, louder this time. You meant for him to hear the distaste in it. Tears sting your eyes. “You don’t get to decide that for me, Chan. You don’t get to decide how much I’m willing to give.”

His head lifts slightly, and for the first time he turns to face you. His eyes are glassy, full of a pain you’ve rarely seen him allow himself to show. It breaks something inside you, seeing him like this. It breaks you even further, realizing he turns just like he always did: to see if you were still behind him, following.

“Then what do you want me to do?” His voice cracks when he asks.

You pause, your heart hammering. What do you want? The truth is, you don’t know anymore. You want him, but not like this—not as someone who sees you as a safety net, as a fallback. You know that now, regretting the thought of tolerating his bullshit just to keep him with you.

“I want you to want me the way I want you,” you say finally, voice soft but steady. Resolute. “Not as someone to hold you up when you’re falling. Not as someone to look back on when you’re scared. I want to stand beside you, Chan. I want to move forward with you, not be left behind.”

He shuts his eyes tightly, and your resolve almost falters when a tear slips down his cheek. “I don’t know if I can give you that,” he admits.

The words shatter the last bit of hope you were clinging to. You nod slowly, the realization settling over you like a cold, heavy blanket.

“Then maybe you’re right,” you say quietly. “Maybe I do need to save myself.”

And this time, you turn your back on him. You shift in your bed, lying on your side and staring at the clock by your bedside table. It’s hard, trying to pretend your legs aren’t shaking under the covers, trying to hide the quiver of your lips. Chan doesn’t move, doesn’t reach out to you, and that, more than anything, feels like the final nail in the coffin.

You pause, thinking of any words to say. For finality, for an end. All you could muster is, “I hope one day you stop running, Chan.”

If he leaves later that night, you don’t even know. It’s not like you could feel past the weight of the whole ordeal to even feel anything else.

That’s for you to find out tomorrow.

#*hanllucination #bang chan smut #chan smut #stray kids smut #skz smut #bang chan fanfic #chan fanfic #stray kids fanfic #skz fanfic #bang chan x reader #chan x reader #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #bang chan imagines #chan imagines #stray kids imagines #skz imagines

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thatonetargaryen · 22 days ago

Text

Our Tears Ricochet

Ambessa Medarda x Reader

Part 2 of: My Tears Ricochet

Synopsis: After walking in on a sight that you’d remember for endless nights to come—you mourn what is now seemingly the end of your marriage. However, Ambessa is determined not to let that happen—even if she had to get on her hands and knees.

cw; afab!reader; infidelity; heavy angst but happy ending; smut; more smut; Hex-strap; fingering ; did I mention smut? Ambessa being a bad wife but trying to fix it; not proofread; men and minors dni

Special thanks to @hell0-ki55y for original prompt and @fruitfulfashion for ending idea. Hope both of you enjoy (I’m not too good at writing smut so bear with me). 🎀

……

Your sobs were muffled by Mel’s chest as you leaned into her hold. Her slim fingers made her way through your now loose, frizzled hair. Your hands clenched onto her like a lifeline and right now—she was.

For a moment, she had a sense of deja vu. She remembered when she had first gotten her period when she was 13—the first step to becoming a woman, and instead of running to her real mother, she ran to you. You held her in your arms and the harder she cried, the tighter you hugged. The two of you rocked back and forth as she told you how scared she was, a vulnerability she couldn’t even share with her mother, and how you reassured her and cleared all doubts from her mind.

To you, the act may have thought to be necessary. An act of kindness any mother would show for their daughter. But to her, it was so much more. Every time the breeze blew in a certain way or the sun sat low in the sky—it reminded her of the warmth of your embrace. The warmth of your heart.

And now, she held you in her arms. She rocked you back and forth. And she let you cry out.

When your sobs finally died down, the two of you stayed silent for a moment. But there was a silent question in the air that had yet to be spoken, ‘What are you gonna do now?’.

Mel soothingly rubbed your arm as she looked down at you. “Do you need anything?”

You shook your head. What you needed was something she wasn’t able to give.

She took a shaky breath. “I know this is hard for you. She wasn’t always the most loving, but I never thought she would—”

She stopped as she closed her eyes and scrunched her nose. She shook her head. “I thought she loved you.”

You finally looked up at her through red and puffy eyes. You licked your chapped lips as your hoarse voice spoke, “Your mother does love me. We..wouldn’t have gotten married if she didn’t. I…”

Mel turned to you with an angry look. “Tsk. She doesn’t love you. She can’t. How do you explain what you just saw? You’ve been loyal to her for the entirety of your marriage and have stood by her when no one else did. You gave up so much for her. How can you sit here and say—”

You held Mel’s face in your hands as her own tears of frustration ran down her cheeks. You wiped them away as you spoke softly. “Mel, what your mother has done has hurt me in ways I hope you never experience. But I don’t want this to be another crack in your relationship. It’s already strained as it is. In no way am I justifying her actions but please…don’t let this affect you as much as it has me. A connection between mother and daughter is unlike any other—even one between spouses.”

Mel stared dumbfounded at your words, but stayed silent as you continued. “I love you Mel. Never forget that. Even if this causes a rift between your mother and I—I will love you no less.”

Mel fought back tears in her eyes as she held your gaze. She nodded at your words and leaned into your shoulder. You held her hands in your own. She spoke, barely above a whisper, but it was as loud as any shout—“I love you too, Mom.”

After a moment of silence, there was a vibration felt on the bed. She looked over at her phone with a mixture of annoyance and confusion.

As she checked to see whoever had messaged her, a look of realization crossed her features. “Shit!”

You looked at her, surprised at her language—but ultimately ignored it. “What’s going on?”

“I set up plans with Jayce a while back before you told me you were coming to Piltover. I totally forgot to reschedule…Now he’s on his way.”

She shook her head, “I’ll tell him to cancel and we can do it some other time. I know you need me right now.”

You shook your head, “No, no. I’ll be fine. Please, go enjoy yourself with this….Jayce.”

She looked at you softly, “Are you sure? I mean, we can always do it another time….”

You nodded, “Go ahead. I’ll be fine.”

She smiled as she kicked on her shoes as straightened up her hair and makeup. She threw on a robe as she changed out of her previous dress. She didn’t get the chance to choose one before she turned back to you.

You stared out the window in a pool of your own thoughts before you felt a tug on your arm.

“Come on, you’re coming with.”

“What?”, you said, surprised.

“You’re coming with Jayce and I. You said you wanted to meet him.”

You looked at her, considering her offer. “Look at me. I can’t go out like…this. I look and feel like I just had an emotional breakdown.”

She looked at you in silent agreement and ordered one of the maids outside to prepare a shower. She ushered you into the shower and said she’d be right outside if you needed her. You wanted to under the hot water, but you know you were on a tight schedule.

After you got out and dried your body and hair, she rushed over to her large vanity, pulling out a plethora of hair supplies. She ushered you over, and you sat in front of the mirror.

The two of you sat in a comfortable silence as she practically pampered you. She detangled, brushed, and curled your once frazzled hair. She pinned it back as she applied your preferred makeup from the bag you brought with you abroad.

The makeup was simple—yet it complimented your features. You hadn’t known Mel was so good at this. When she was small, she was gotten her first makeup kit that she begged to have for practically a year. You had been her first test subject. The looks you got from the nobles when you kept on the makeup throughout the day did little to dampen the wide smile of little Mel’s face.

When she was finally satisfied, she turned away from the vanity and started to put the things away. “Do you like it?”.

You nodded as a smile graced your features. You ran your fingers through your loose curls, careful not to mess them up. You felt prettier than you had in a long time.

“Good. Now we just need to pick an outfit.”

She went over to her closet as she raked through her many dresses. After a moment of indecisiveness, she picked a white satin off-shoulder dress that fell just above her knees, showing off her long legs. Her braids were done in a tight low bun as she let two frame the sides of her face.

Meanwhile, you were still struggling to find something to wear. You didn’t want anything too provocative since you were married despite the circumstances but you didn’t want to cover too much because of the relentless heat of Piltover.

You ended up choosing a sleeveless sage green dress with a heart neckline. It reached your ankles, being modest and flowy at the same time. You threw on a gold necklace and small diamond earrings.

Mel approached you as she took in your appearance. “You look…amazing, Mom.”

You smiled bashfully at her compliment. You threw on a purse as you both exited the room.

It was time for you to unwind.

….

The three of you ended up going to a nice restaurant not too far away. The sun was still high in the sky as the three of you looked outside the window at the beautiful view.

“So, how’d you meet my Mel?”, you asked—going into interrogation mode now that you all were seated.

The boy turned his attention to you, his charismatic personality slightly cracking under your gaze, “Well, uh—I’m actually working on a project here in Piltover. It was way before I became a council member. I was stationed in the main building and she just so happened to be there. We’ve been together ever since.”

Mel smiled, “I heard about him through the grape vine. One of the prodigies behind the Hextech. It was only a matter of time before the two of us met.”

The two were deeply in love—heart achingly so. It reminded you of when Ambessa first introduced herself to your own parents. She refused to crack under their scrutinizing gazes and answered every question as if she had meticulously prepared beforehand—which she probably did. It didn’t take long before your parents were nagging the two of you to get married.

“I take it you’ve met my wife?”, you asked.

Jayce visibly tensed at the mention of Ambessa. He took a sip of his fruit drink before clearing his throat, “I have. She was, uh….she definitely let an impression.”

The silence was loud as Mel took a French fry from Jayce’s plate.

“But if I may speak freely, Mrs.Medarda—”

You nodded towards him, curious at what he had to say.

“The two of you are so….different. From the way you look down to the aura you exude. I-I’ve heard stories as a boy detailing how you brought peace to Noxus and many other lands they once butt-heads with. They always said you were soft and kind. But you had a firm hand and possessed the political knowledge to end wars before they could they were even declared. You’ve saved the lives of so many people—soldiers, citizens, and nobles alike, and yet—”

He stopped, realizing he was rambling—a habit he picked up in his early years. “What I mean to say is, the two of you are basically the Sun and the Moon. Polar opposites.”

You smiled softly as you mindlessly toyed with the straw in your drink. “The Sun and the Moon complement each other. But if the Moon were to disappear without a trace—the Sun wouldn’t bat an eye. It would keep thriving as it always has. Yet, if the Sun were the disappear—the Moon would mourn its death for endless nights to come.”

A silence overtook the three of you, and Jayce seemed confused at the comparison. Mel spoke softly, extending the metaphor, “And yet…the world would notice if either disappeared.”

You nodded your head at her words as you pushed your plate forward. “Yes, yes it would.”

…..

As the sun started to set, the three of you headed to a nearby bar for drinks. It was getting slightly chilly, and Jayce through his jacket over Mel’s shoulders to shield her from the cold.

You simply held yourself tighter, cursing yourself for not bringing a jacket.

You sighed in contempt as you finally entered the bar and took a seat. The two lovebirds sat a few seats away from you, but not too far.

The bartender made his way to you first. He wore an all black button down shirt and pants, and his jet black hair complemented his piercing blue eyes. He smiled warmly, “What can I get for you?”

You took a glimpse at the menu as you spoke tiredly, “Just a Daiquiri, please. Chilled.”

He nodded. But he stood there for just another moment, “Rough day?”

You gave him a small smile, “You could say that…”

He began to talk out the necessary ingredients for your drink at an impressive pace, “In that case, first drink’s on me then.”

You smiled at him gratefully as you gave him a ‘Thank you’. You reminded yourself to give him a generous tip before you left.

You brought the drink to your lips and took a generous sip. The taste of sugar, rum, and citrus made its way onto your tongue, and you hummed in satisfaction. You set down your glass as you looked around the bar.

You saw people smiling and laughing as they shared drinks. You saw couples giggling and holding each other tight. You saw people sitting alone—yet even they looked content. They were all happy.

Why couldn’t you just be happy?

Over the years, Ambessa started to bury herself more and more. She pulled herself away from you, often leaving you in a cold bed and practically engulfed your small frame. She wouldn’t come back until the wee hours of the morning, and even then, she wouldn’t greet you. Wouldn’t touch you. Wouldn’t even spare you a glance.

I should’ve seen the signs sooner, you told yourself. I should’ve went away before it got too far, should’ve filed for divorce the moment she became distant.

But you didn’t. You stuck by her side. Waited endless nights in a cold bed hoping she’d come home and be normal again. Notice you. Love you.

Yet the moment never came. You had waited for something that was never going to come.

Before you knew it, you lost count of the number of shots you ordered and downed in come take. You ignored the look concern the bartender gave you as you stared down at your fingers. You trailed shaped across your thighs—something Ambessa used to do—and, fuck—

You just couldn’t get her off your mind. No matter how hard you tried. No matter how much you desperately wanted to.

Your eyes drew heavy, and you practically tumbled out of your seat. You made your way over to Mel—who was practically sitting on Jayce’s lap—and let her know you were going home. Her once carefree gaze turned into one of concern.

“Did you need me to call you a ride? Give me one second and I’ll—”

You shook your head, “Mel, really, I’ll be fine. My place isn’t far from here. Enjoy your night, don’t worry about me.”

She sighed, “Alright…call me when you get home.”

You nodded at her words, gave the cashier a wad of cash and told him to ‘keep the change’, and stumbled out of the bar on two left feet.

…….

You stumbled towards the door of the apartment you were renting out while in Piltover. It was luxurious—one of the most expensive of its kind. Though, you hadn’t spent much time in it.

You shuffled through your purse as you searched for your keys in the dark. You sighed in victory as you finally found them, and clumsily put your key in the doorknob.

You opened the door and stumbled through your apartment with low eyes. You threw your purse somewhere are you walked up the glass stairs.

You heard slight shuffling upstairs, but your drunk, hazed mind decided to ignore it. Big mistake.

You walked through the hall and towards your room—only to freeze at the door way.

In less than five seconds—you swore you were now sober.

There she was. Your wife. Ambessa. She sat faced away from you on the far side of the bed. Her shoulders were stiff and her back was rigid. She looked down into her lap, and without even looking at her face, you could tell she was in deep thought.

You slowly started to walk backwards, but at the absolute worse time possible, your left heel decided to break, and you stumbled backwards. With a thud, you were brought to your knees on the floor.

Shit.

She spinner around and her gray coils moved with her. She scrambled to her feet as she went to help you up, but you snatched your arm away. “Don’t touch me.”

You scurried into the room and sat on the bed as you rubbed your ankle. That was definitely going to bruise in the morning.

“Y/N…”, you heard Ambessa whisper. You’d never heard her speak so softly.

You tried to ignore her presence, but that was impossible to do. She stood where she was—yet her gaze enveloped the whole room.

You shook your head as you held back tears, “I—I don’t ever ask for much….”

She stayed silent as you spoke.

“I don’t ever ask for much. All the presents and gifts you gave me…All the houses and land you bought me…All the jewels and diamonds you gave me….”

You shook your head harder as your tears fell harder, “I ain’t ask for none of that. All I asked is you give your kids the light of day. That you give me the love and attention I give you non-conditionally. That you stay loyal to me—as your wife—and show me that our marriage wasn’t out of infatuation—but genuine love for one another.”

You sobbed harder as you fought to breathe. “You think I don’t have wants and needs too? You think I don’t imagine myself being able to have a stable relationship with someone else? You think I don’t want to have sex and have somebody fell up on my body? To whisper sweet nothings in my ear? To show me that I matter to them? But I would never go behind your back and do that to you because I love you. I love you so much it hurts, Ambessa. I wish I could just let you go. Rip you out of my life and run far,far away. But I can’t. I just can’t…..”

You grew frustrated at her silence and wiped your snotty nose. “Why’d you do it, Ambessa? Why you have to do me like that?”

Ambessa’s own’s tears clouded her vision as she fought to find the right words. Her breath hitched, and she could tell you were becoming impatient. So she spoke her mind, and didn’t hold back.

“I—I thought….you made me weak. I thought if I allowed when I allowed myself to get close to you, I weakened the walls I fought so hard to built around myself. I’ve fought so hard to become the woman I am today, and I couldn’t let anyone take that away from me—not even my own family. So I distanced myself. From Mel. From Kino. And from you. I thought I was doing us both a favor. It allowed me to make the necessary decisions to keep us safe, and for you….I thought it would allow you the satisfaction of knowing you weren’t sleeping next to a monster.”

Surprise crossed your features as she continued to speak, “I have the blood of thousands—if not millions—on my hands. Women, children, and men alike. The thought of it haunts me every night, and yet, and I have brush it aside. I opt to spend most nights asleep in the very same chair I spend hours reviewing and signing papers in because I can’t bear to sleep beside you knowing what I have done. What I will do.”

Tears started to spill onto her scarred cheeks as she approached you. You didn’t move, and simply stared.

She knelt before you, and grabbed both of your small hands in hers, “What I have done is unforgivable. And I will accept any punishment you give me. I—I’ll build you a new estate for you to stay in. I’ll have it done before winter, but please—”

You grabbed her face in your hands, halting her words. The two of you met eyes, and a thousand words were spoken before either of you could say anything. Your mind betrayed your anger as you looked down at your wife. Your wife. Not the war general, not the most powerful figure in Piltover, not the formidable warlord, but your wife. A woman. With a mind, and a soul, and a deep, aching heart confined in the thickest of chains. Chains only you could break.

What she did hurt you deeply. But you could see the regret in her eyes. How it spread throughout her body. How it seemed to age her face even more.

You took your thumb and wiped a stray tear on her face, and she closed her eyes as she leaned into your touch.

You brought her head into your bosom, and for a moment, the two of you were silent. You laid your cheek on her head as you embraced her. Years of regret seemed to radiate off her. She spoke softly into your chest, “I don’t know if you can forgive me, but I want you to know….I’m sorry. For everything. And I will spend the rest of my life working for your forgiveness. I swear it.”

You took in your words as you shook your head. “While I certainly can’t forgive you now, I’ll give you a chance. Prove to me that our marriage is worth keeping. Show me that you can change, for us.”

Her head shot up, and a look of relief like none other crossed her features. A genuine smile—one you hadn’t seen in a long time, but adored—graced her features as she held you tighter.

“I’ll change—for us.”

……

The next few weeks brought you happiness that you hadn’t felt in a long, long time. The two of you finally traveled back to Noxus.

You hugged Mel tightly on the dock while the guards and servants prepared the ship. However, the tension between her and her mother could be cut with a knife as they shared brief goodbyes.

The morning after you came home drunk to Ambessa in your apartments, you called Mel and told her about the apology. She was taken aback, not believing a word you said. She had asked why she did it in the first place, yet you didn’t want to share too much on the private conversation. You gave a brief summary, leaving out some stuff, and she simply hummed. You could tell you were holding back something through the screen.

The ride back home wasn’t what you expected, and for a moment, you doubted Ambessa would stay true to her word. That quickly changed when the two of you arrived home.

It was like a switch flipped inside her. Instead of lingering behind after meetings, she spent the rest of her free time with you. She no longer spent countless hours hunched over a desk looking over papers, and finally got a trusted assistant to help her. She invested more time in the things you enjoyed and even found out things about herself. Her side of the bed was finally warm as she held you in her arms at night and shared hot baths with you in the morning.

Your wife—the woman you fell head over heels for—was finally back. You couldn’t be happier. However, despite how much your relationship has improved….she had yet to touch you.

The thought lingered in your mind as you fought to push it away. Instead, you stared at Ambessa’s back as she undressed and got ready for bed. That didn’t help.

You continued to look at her as she switched off the lamp and climbed into bed beside you. You heard her breathe a sigh of relief before she reached over to give you a ‘goodnight’ kiss.

However, as she leaned in, you took her by her shoulders and gave her a deep,passionate kiss.

You could tell she had an initial reaction of surprise, but quickly recovered and leaned into the kiss. Your tongues and mouths collided as her large hands roamed your body.

Being the impatient woman she was, she started to undo the bralette you wore to bed. Her hands immediately began to knead your breast, and you moaned into her touch.

She buried her head into the crook of your neck and planted hard kissed onto the soft flesh as she practically rubbed herself against you. The heat in the room seemed to increase by the minute.

She pulled herself of you after a moment as she started to plant kissed on your chest and stomach. The redness in your cheeks spread throughout your body. She threw off the lacey underwear she wore and held your legs on either side of her head.

She pressed kissed into the insides of your thigh, and your heat was practically pulsing just as hard as your heart.

You moaned as she pressed a tantalizing kiss to your pussy, and practically came right there when she sent a lick to your slit.

Without any warning, she began to feast on your heat. Every lick, suck, and bite elicited a new sound from your lips, and every one was music to Ambessa’s ears.

You weaved your hands through her hair as you grind yourself against her face. Your toes curled as you recognized a familiar coil inside your stomach. And with a shout, it finally snapped.

You should feel Ambessa’s smile as she continued to lap at you through your orgasm.

You breathed heavily, trying to come down from your high. You heard Ambessa shuffling around through the drawer—and you already knew what she was looking for.

A soft blue glow radiated from her hand as she adjusted the Hex-strap on her hips.

You vividly remember receiving the strap on an anniversary. She never told you where she got it—or how she got it—but she put it to good use the same night.

“I can’t remember the last time we used this….”, she said more to herself than to you.

You were brought back to reality as she took you by the forearm and flipped you over as if you weighed nothing—and you didn’t to her. Your face was stuffed into a pillow as she arched your back, and you could already feel yourself clenching around nothing.

She rested one hand on your thigh as she spread you open and roughly inserted two fingers into your wet entrance. She pumped them in and out at a steady pace and you moaned into the pillow beneath you. You took your hand and started rubbing small circles over your clit—but Ambessa’s hand quickly replaced yours as she nipped your ear.

Your second climax that night soon came to you in waves as you relaxed against Ambessa’s shoulder. She didn’t give you much time to collect yourself as she aimed the strap at your dripping cunt. You took in a shaky breath as you felt her slide in. She leaned over your shoulder as she whispered sweet nothings in your ear and held both of your hands in hers. When she was finally in, she slid halfway out, and drove herself into you again—rougher this time.

She continued this act a few more times before she had a steady rhythm of going out and roughly driving back into you. You could feel her hips collide with your thighs and ass and her rough hands gripping your soft love handles. If not for her tight grip on your hips—your head would’ve collided with the intricately carved wooden headboard.

She continued this until you were both moaning and panting—sweat pooling on your brow. Her grip on your hands loosened as her own groans filled the room. Her hips lost its steady rhythm and became to more at a sloppy and frantic pace. You knew she was close, and you reached back to run your fingers through her hair and tug at it. She groaned at the action—but made no move to stop you. With one deep thrust, she came undone. She practically fell on top of you as you both panted, exhausted. She carefully pulled out the strap and threw it on the end of the bed. The two of you rolled over on one side and sighed in content.

You could tell she was tired as her breathing became heavier. She held you from behind and tightened her large hands around your waist. You looked over your shoulder was low eyes, “Tired already?”

She chuckled at your dig. “I’m getting old, y’know.”

In your younger days, the two of you would go at from moon up to sun up—only stopping because she had a meeting scheduled that morning. Then, when she was finished with the meeting—you’d go again just for the hell of it.

If she were a man, the two of you would’ve had an army of babies together.

You smiled, reminiscing in the past. You came back to the moment as she buried her head in your shoulder. You leaned back into her touch as your own eyes fell to a close, and sleep enveloped you like a warm blanket.

While your marriage wasn’t perfect—it was definitely improving.

One kiss at a time.

…….

Taglist: @maaaaaaaaaaari

A/N; Pretty in Pink coming soon…See you in 2025 🎀

#ambessa x reader #ambessa medarda #arcane #league of legends

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solxamber · 10 days ago

Note

'Elloo! :D I saw your requests open, can I request some hcs or short imagines for the first, second, and third years, separate characters?? Or you can just do it as a single scenario with all the characters. They're (Their??) reaction when they've realized the things reader/Yuu had to go through starting from the very beginning ,when they first got transported to the school. Like, the shock of not being able to go home, new environment, the fear-- just the emotional and mental turmoil reader/yuu went through starting from the beginning.

Also, as time goes by it just gets worse and worse along with all the overblots and stuff that got reader/Yuu over the edge. And now the students kind of help?? Or at least try to soothe or comfort the reader I guess??

Does this make any sense?? I dunno :'D

I want me some angst hehe >:]

But if this is kind of too much then it's okii if you wanna skip this one, I love the effort you put into your writings! <3

I kinda just wanted to ramble and yap about this idea I had hehe

Toodles!

thank you!! and i'm sorry it too so long, but i hope you like it <3

They realise what you went through - All NRC + Rollo + Neige + Grim, Staff

Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle doesn’t realize the extent of your struggle until much later, likely after witnessing you reach your breaking point. The way you bottle up your emotions reminds him of himself before his own overblot, and it fills him with guilt. He prides himself on upholding order, but he feels like he failed to notice the chaos within you.

“Why didn’t you say something?” Riddle asks, voice trembling as he stands before you, his normally stern expression soft with regret. He places a hesitant hand on your shoulder, unsure if he has the right to offer comfort after overlooking your pain for so long. “I… I should have noticed. I’m sorry.”

Riddle dives into a methodical plan to ease your burdens. He takes on your academic concerns, ensuring your assignments are manageable and offering personal tutoring. When you’re overwhelmed, he insists you take breaks in Heartslabyul’s peaceful rose garden. While he’s not good at openly expressing affection, he’s steadfast, always by your side with words of encouragement and warm tea.

Trey Clover

Trey picks up on your struggles sooner than most, his observant nature allowing him to notice the small cracks in your demeanor. He doesn’t pry but stays close, offering quiet support until he realizes you’re beyond your limit. His heart aches knowing you’ve been carrying so much without asking for help.

“Hey… you don’t have to pretend everything’s fine,” Trey says softly, kneeling beside you as you sit slumped in an empty classroom. His usual calm demeanor is tinged with concern. “I’ve seen you pushing yourself too hard. You’re not alone in this, you know.”

Trey becomes your sanctuary. He’s the type to cook comforting meals for you, often sneaking you your favorite desserts. He encourages you to talk at your own pace, listening without judgment. Trey also ensures you’re surrounded by people who care, gently urging you to spend time with friends so you never feel isolated again.

Cater Diamond

Cater doesn’t fully realize how bad things are until he catches you breaking down when you think no one is watching. The sight hits him hard—he’s used to wearing masks himself, but seeing you put on a brave face while falling apart reminds him of his own struggles.

“Whoa, hey, hey…” Cater’s voice is unusually soft as he crouches in front of you, the playful lilt replaced with genuine worry. “You’ve been holding all this in, haven’t you? Man, that’s not healthy… You should’ve told me!”

Cater becomes your cheerleader, using his energy to lift your spirits. He takes you on spontaneous outings, distracting you with fun activities and selfies to remind you of life’s lighter side. When you need to vent, he’s surprisingly patient, letting you talk without interruptions. His go-to phrase becomes, “No filter, just let it out. I’m here.”

Ace Trappola

Ace is the last to understand the depth of your pain, brushing off your struggles as stress until you finally snap. Seeing you cry or lash out leaves him dumbstruck—he’s not used to serious emotions and struggles to process it at first. But beneath his awkwardness, he genuinely cares.

“Whoa… I didn’t think it was this bad.” Ace rubs the back of his neck, guilt clear in his expression. “Look, I’m sorry if I made things worse. I didn’t mean to. I just… didn’t know.”

Ace sticks close to you in his own Ace-like way. He cracks jokes to make you laugh and distracts you with playful banter, but he’s also there for the serious moments. If you’re feeling overwhelmed, he drags you outside to play a quick game of basketball or to look at the stars, insisting, “You’ve gotta clear your head, or you’ll go crazy.”

Deuce Spade

Deuce notices your struggles but doesn’t know how to approach you about them. When he finally sees you crumble, it makes him feel like he’s failed as your friend. His protective instincts kick in, and he becomes determined to help you in any way he can.

“Wait—you’ve been feeling like this the whole time?” Deuce’s voice is thick with emotion as he looks at you, his fists clenched at his sides. “Why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve done something! I’m supposed to have your back!”

Deuce takes your well-being seriously, to the point of overcompensating at first. He insists on walking you to class, carrying your things, and defending you against anything he perceives as a threat (real or imagined). Over time, he learns to provide quiet support, sitting with you during tough moments and saying, “We’ll get through this together. I promise.”

Leona Kingscholar

Leona is a perceptive man, even if he acts otherwise, but your struggles slip under his radar for too long. It isn’t until he notices how you’ve stopped rising to his teasing or how the light in your eyes has dimmed that the gravity of your situation hits him. It reminds him of his own sense of isolation, and the guilt gnaws at him.

“Tch. You think you’re the only one who has to deal with this crap?” Leona’s voice is gruff, but there’s no malice in it. He sighs, sitting beside you under the shade of a tree. “You should’ve said something sooner, herbivore. Doesn’t mean you have to carry it all yourself.”

Leona doesn’t coddle you, but his actions speak louder than his words. He offers his presence, silently inviting you to nap in the botanical gardens with him when you need a break. If anyone dares to make your life harder, Leona handles it with a quiet, lethal efficiency. “Rest up. You’re not falling apart on my watch.”

Ruggie Bucchi

Ruggie notices your struggles quickly, but his initial reaction is to brush it off as normal stress—until he sees you genuinely hit your breaking point. It stuns him; he’s used to dealing with hardships himself but hates the idea of you enduring the same without support.

“Oi, don’t do this to yourself,” Ruggie says, his usual playful tone replaced by something softer. “You’re not alone, y’know? I don’t let my people suffer in silence. That’s not how we roll.”

Ruggie uses his resourcefulness to lighten your load however he can. He sneaks you snacks, takes care of tedious tasks for you, and even makes you laugh with his sharp wit. When you’re overwhelmed, he shares stories of his struggles to show you that it’s okay to lean on others. “You’ve got me, okay? I’ll make sure you’re okay, promise.”

Jack Howl

Jack notices the signs of your stress early on, but he hesitates to bring it up, unsure if it’s his place. When he finally realizes how deeply you’re struggling, it stirs a protective instinct in him, and he immediately resolves to do whatever it takes to help you.

“You should’ve told me,” Jack says, his voice low and filled with regret. His ears twitch as he glances away, guilt etched across his face. “I could’ve helped. You don’t have to do this on your own anymore.”

Jack becomes your steadfast support, encouraging you to exercise or go for runs to clear your mind. He’s a calming presence, offering quiet companionship when words aren’t enough. “You’re strong, but you don’t always have to be. Let me help carry the weight, okay?”

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul prides himself on noticing vulnerabilities in others, but your ability to mask your pain throws him off. When the cracks finally show, it shakes him deeply, reminding him of his own insecurities and the times he felt powerless.

“I didn’t realize…” Azul murmurs, his hands wringing nervously as he looks at you with uncharacteristic vulnerability. “I should have seen it. I’m sorry—for everything. Let me help you now.”

Azul’s approach is practical and calculated, but it’s rooted in genuine care. He offers to take over responsibilities or negotiate solutions to ease your stress. When you’re overwhelmed, he’s unexpectedly tender, sitting with you in his VIP room and reminding you, “Even the strongest need someone to lean on. You’ve been there for others; let us be here for you.”

Jade Leech

Jade notices your struggles early but refrains from intervening, assuming you’ll reach out when you’re ready. When he realizes how much you’ve been bottling up, he’s surprised and slightly guilty for not addressing it sooner.

“My, you’ve been carrying quite the burden,” Jade says, his usual calm tinged with regret. “It seems I underestimated just how much you’ve endured. Forgive my oversight.”

Jade is a master of subtlety, offering comfort in ways that feel natural and unintrusive. He invites you on quiet walks through the woods, using the serene atmosphere to help ease your mind. When words are needed, he listens attentively, his soothing voice offering reassurance. “Do not hesitate to lean on me, should you need support. I’ll always be here.”

Floyd Leech

Floyd doesn’t realize how bad things are until you completely snap, and even then, it takes him a moment to process that your outburst isn’t just a temporary mood. Seeing you so broken flips a switch in him, his usual playful demeanor replaced with a rare seriousness.

“Shrimpy, why didn’t you say anything?” Floyd’s voice is uncharacteristically quiet, his sharp eyes scanning your face. He pouts, but there’s no mischief in it—just genuine concern. “You don’t gotta handle everything alone, y’know?”

Floyd sticks to you like glue, his unpredictable nature becoming a strange source of comfort. He drags you out for spontaneous adventures, insisting that fun will help you feel better. When you’re feeling low, he’s surprisingly gentle, wrapping you in a tight hug and muttering, “I gotcha, Shrimpy. Nobody’s messin’ with you while I’m here.”

Kalim Al-Asim

Kalim is always full of energy and positivity, so it takes him a while to notice the depths of your struggles. When he does, he’s devastated, blaming himself for not seeing it sooner.

“Wait—you’ve been feeling like this?” Kalim’s eyes widen, tears threatening to spill. “Why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve done something to help!”

Kalim does everything in his power to brighten your days. He showers you with gifts, invites you to lively parties, and insists on spending time together to lift your spirits. When he realizes that quiet support means more than grand gestures, he sits with you, holding your hand. “You’re not alone, okay? I’ll always be here for you.”

Jamil Viper

Jamil is highly observant, and while he notices your struggles early on, he assumes you’re managing on your own until he sees how much you’ve truly endured. It reminds him of his own bottled-up frustrations, and guilt eats at him for not acting sooner.

“...I should’ve known,” Jamil mutters, his voice low and filled with regret. He rubs the back of his neck, avoiding your gaze. “I’ve been through this too. I know what it’s like to feel trapped. I’m sorry I didn’t step in sooner.”

Jamil’s care comes in quiet, thoughtful gestures. He prepares your favorite meals, arranges peaceful moments away from the chaos of NRC, and ensures you never feel overwhelmed alone. “You’ve done more than enough. Let me take care of things for a while.”

Vil Schoenheit

Vil’s sharp eyes catch the signs of your struggles quickly, but he initially brushes them off, believing you’ll overcome them like any challenge. When the full weight of your burden becomes clear, he’s horrified and deeply regretful for not intervening sooner.

“I failed to notice something so glaringly obvious,” Vil says, his tone laced with self-reproach. “That’s not acceptable—not as your friend and certainly not as someone who should’ve supported you better.”

Vil approaches your comfort with precision and care, determined to help you regain your footing. He insists on self-care days, encourages you to vent your frustrations, and teaches you grounding techniques. “You’re stronger than you think, but even the strongest need rest. I’m here for you, no matter what.”

Rook Hunt

Rook is attuned to the emotions of those around him, and your pain does not escape his notice. He marvels at your resilience but is deeply saddened that you’ve been enduring so much without seeking help.

“Mon cher trésor, your suffering… it pains me to think I let you endure this alone,” Rook says softly, his gaze earnest. “You’ve carried a weight that no one should bear by themselves. Allow me to lighten your burden.”

Rook’s support is poetic and heartfelt, crafting moments of beauty to remind you of the world’s wonders. Whether it’s a bouquet of flowers, a handwritten letter, or a quiet moment under the stars, he ensures you feel cherished. “You are not alone in this grand stage of life, and I shall remain by your side as your steadfast ally.”

Epel Felmier

Epel is initially too caught up in his own frustrations to notice the extent of your struggles, but once he sees you falter, his protective side kicks in. It reminds him of his own insecurities about being underestimated.

“Aw, geez, why didn’t ya say somethin’?” Epel frowns, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “You’re always lookin’ out for us, but ya never let anyone do the same for you. That ain’t fair.”

Epel takes a straightforward approach, offering to help however he can. He sticks close, ensuring you never feel alone, and encourages you to vent when needed. “You’re tough as nails, but that doesn’t mean you gotta do it all by yourself. We’re a team, remember?”

Idia Shroud

Idia is slow to notice your struggles, being so wrapped up in his own world, but when he realizes the extent of your pain, it hits him hard. He sees a reflection of his own struggles in you and feels immense guilt for not seeing it sooner.

“This is my fault, isn’t it?” Idia mumbles, his voice trembling. His hair dims as he nervously fiddles with his tablet. “I should’ve… I don’t know, paid more attention. I’m sorry. I—I wanna help, if you’ll let me.”

Idia comforts you in his own awkward way, creating a safe space where you can relax without judgment. He shares his favorite games, shows, and quiet moments, offering you an escape from the chaos. “You don’t have to be ‘okay’ all the time. Just… take it easy for now. I’m here if you need me.”

Ortho Shroud

Ortho is one of the first to notice your struggles, his advanced sensors picking up on changes in your emotional and physical state. His concern is immediate, and he wastes no time in seeking to help.

“You’ve been so sad for so long, haven’t you?” Ortho’s voice is soft, as he hovers close. “I wish I could’ve made you smile sooner. I’m sorry you’ve been hurting.��

Ortho’s comfort is warm and reassuring, filled with optimism and boundless energy. He’s always ready with encouraging words, small gifts, or simply a cheerful presence to brighten your day. “You’re not alone! I’ll do everything I can to help you feel better, okay?”

Malleus Draconia

Malleus has always sensed something amiss about your emotions, his acute sensitivity to auras making it impossible for him to overlook your struggles. However, he hesitates to approach, fearing he might overstep or worsen your burdens. When he finally understands the depth of your pain, he is both heartbroken and determined to help.

“You’ve been enduring this in silence?” His deep voice is laced with regret as his green eyes soften. “If only I had been more attentive, perhaps I could have eased your pain.”

Malleus ensures you feel his unwavering support. He invites you for peaceful strolls under the stars, shares his favorite quiet spots, and reassures you with his calming presence. “You are precious to me. Whatever darkness surrounds you, I will remain by your side until the light returns.”

Lilia Vanrouge

Lilia has lived long enough to recognize the signs of emotional turmoil, and it pains him to see you suffer. While he often masks his seriousness with cheerfulness, he doesn’t hesitate to step in when he sees you reaching your breaking point.

“Oh, little one, you’ve carried such a heavy heart all this time.” His playful demeanor fades into solemnity as he places a gentle hand on your shoulder. “You shouldn’t have to face this alone.”

Lilia comforts you with wisdom and warmth, drawing on centuries of experience. He shares stories to make you laugh, cooks (albeit questionable) meals to distract you, and offers sage advice when you’re ready to talk. “Life’s trials are harsh, but you’re stronger than you know. And if you need someone to lean on, I’ll always be here.”

Silver

Silver is observant despite his drowsy nature, and he’s one of the first to notice your growing exhaustion. When he realizes the extent of your suffering, he feels deeply remorseful for not acting sooner.

“I should have seen this sooner,” Silver says quietly, his tone filled with regret. “You’ve always looked out for others… I should’ve done the same for you.”

Silver stays by your side, offering silent, steady support. He doesn’t push you to talk but is always ready to listen when you’re ready. His calm demeanor helps ground you, and he often sits quietly with you under a tree or by a calm lake. “You’re not alone. I’ll protect you—not just from danger, but from this weight you’re carrying.”

Sebek Zigvolt

Sebek’s initial reaction is frustration—not at you, but at himself for failing to notice your struggles while being so focused on Malleus. His loyalty shifts into overdrive as he becomes determined to help you.

“You’ve been struggling this much, and I didn’t see it?!” Sebek’s voice is loud, but there’s a rare softness in his expression. “That is… unacceptable. I failed you as a companion.”

Sebek’s attempts to comfort you are a bit clumsy but heartfelt. He insists on helping you with daily tasks and loudly declares his commitment to your well-being. Despite his rough edges, his sincerity shines through. “Know this: I will not allow you to suffer alone any longer. You have my loyalty, now and always.”

Rollo Flamme

Rollo’s disdain for magic only deepens when he realizes how much you’ve suffered due to the chaos and overblots of NRC. His concern for you is genuine, though it’s laced with anger toward the school and its culture.

“This place… It’s a cesspool of disorder and harm,” Rollo says, his voice cold yet trembling with suppressed emotion. “You’ve been caught in its web for too long. You deserve better.”

Rollo’s comfort is practical and protective. He tries to create a sense of normalcy for you, offering quiet, structured moments away from the chaos. His words are sharp but sincere. “You deserve a life of peace and stability. If you can’t find it here, I’ll do what I can to give it to you.”

Neige LeBlanche

Neige is quick to notice your distress, his naturally empathetic nature making him keenly aware of your struggles. He’s horrified to think of you enduring so much alone and wants to do everything in his power to make you smile again.

“Oh no… You’ve been feeling like this?” Neige’s voice is soft, his eyes brimming with concern. “You don’t deserve to carry such sadness by yourself.”

Neige’s comfort is gentle and uplifting. He sings for you, offers kind words, and encourages you to express your feelings without fear. “You’re so strong, but you don’t have to be strong all the time. It’s okay to let someone take care of you for a change.”

Grim

Grim initially doesn’t notice your struggles, his focus often on his own ambitions and mischief. When he finally realizes how much you’ve been enduring, he feels both guilt and panic.

“Hey… You’re not okay, are ya?” Grim’s ears droop as he looks up at you, his voice unusually soft. “Why didn’t ya tell me? I—I’m supposed to be your partner!”

Grim becomes fiercely protective, sticking by your side at all times. He tries to cheer you up with his antics and insists on being your “emotional support boss.” “You’re stuck with me, got it? So don’t go actin’ like you’re all alone. I won’t let ya.”

Staff:

Crowley

Crowley prides himself on being the "benevolent" headmaster, but when he realizes how much you’ve suffered under his care—or lack thereof—he’s struck by a rare pang of guilt. While he’s not one to admit fault outright, he becomes visibly uncomfortable with the weight of his oversight.

“My dear, you’ve been carrying all of this on your shoulders?” His dramatic flair falters for a moment, his usual exuberance replaced with awkward sincerity. “I… suppose I may have been a tad neglectful in ensuring your well-being.”

Crowley tries to make amends in his own roundabout way, offering resources, extended accommodations, or attempting to be more attentive (though his efforts are often misguided). “Rest assured, I shall personally oversee that you are well cared for! You have my full support—within reason, of course.”

Divus Crewel

Crewel is not one to tolerate weakness, but when he sees the toll everything has taken on you, his stern demeanor softens. He’s the type to take immediate, no-nonsense action to ensure you’re taken care of.

“You’ve let it get this bad without saying a word?” His sharp tone is laced with frustration, but his eyes betray his concern. “Pup, I thought I taught you better than to carry burdens alone.”

Crewel’s approach is practical yet caring. He insists you rest, brings you comforting meals, and ensures you know you’re valued. “You’re stronger than you think, but even the strongest need support. Lean on me, pup. I’ll make sure you’re back to full strength in no time.”

Mozus Trein

Trein is a man of wisdom and observation. He likely noticed your struggles but respected your space, waiting for the right time to step in. When he realizes the full extent of your distress, he feels deep regret for not intervening sooner.

“I should have addressed this earlier.” His voice is steady but tinged with remorse. “You’ve faced more challenges than any student should. It’s a testament to your resilience, but it shouldn’t have come to this.”

Trein offers gentle guidance, providing stability and reassurance. He shares stories of his own trials and reminds you that even the hardest times pass. “Life is fraught with difficulties, but you’ve shown remarkable courage. Allow others to help shoulder the burden—you need not face this alone.”

Ashton Vargas

Vargas isn’t the most emotionally perceptive, but when it finally clicks that you’re struggling, he’s hit with a wave of guilt. He immediately shifts gears, trading his usual boisterousness for genuine concern.

“Whoa… I had no idea it was this bad,” Vargas says, his brows furrowed in concern. “Why didn’t you say something sooner? I would’ve helped in a heartbeat!”

Vargas focuses on physical activity as a form of comfort, encouraging you to blow off steam in healthy ways. He also offers constant positive reinforcement. “You’re tough, kid, but even the toughest need a break. Let’s get some fresh air and clear your head—you’ve got this!”

Sam

Sam has always been attuned to the emotions of others, so when he realizes the depth of your struggles, he feels a pang of regret for not stepping in sooner. His usual upbeat demeanor becomes tinged with quiet sympathy.

“Well, well… Looks like someone’s been carrying more than their fair share.” His voice is soft, his usual grin replaced with a concerned expression. “You’ve been through a lot, haven’t you?”

Sam provides comfort through small but meaningful gestures, like preparing your favorite treats or giving you space to talk. He reassures you with his calming presence and wise words. “Don’t keep it bottled up, friend. Whatever you’re feeling, it’s valid. I’m here to help you through it.”

Masterlist

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thatfeelinwhenyou · 1 month ago

Text

THE TATTOO ON MY RING FINGER —PREMIERES @ 15th DEC SUN 0000 KST

word count: 22k

pairing: ceo!jake x fem!reader

genre: marriage of convenience, slow burn romance, enemies to lovers (kinda), second chance romance, angst

taglist: officially opened! comment, send ask or submit the form on my profile to be added.

notes from nat: i know i'm supposed to be working on my won smau... but this was brewing in my drafts and i just happen to start writing, and yeah... don't worry i'm still working and trying my best to push the smau out as quick as i can, in the meantime enjoy this very impromptu one-shot!

READ HERE

TEASER

They say if he’s not calling, it’s because you’re not on his mind. The first time you heard it, you shrugged it off. Of course, it wasn’t true. He was busy, wasn’t he? Busy with work, with meetings, with people who needed his attention more than you did in that moment. You told yourself it didn’t mean anything when the texts became shorter, when the phone calls grew less frequent, when the hours between hearing from him stretched into days.

But over time, the silence becomes heavier. The excuses, sharper. If he promised to be home by eight and didn’t show until eleven, it was work. If he forgot to call when he said he would, it was exhaustion. You let these small disappointments settle into the cracks of your relationship, a habit you didn’t even notice forming until you could barely remember what it felt like to be a priority.

You tell yourself he’s under pressure, that he’s got a lot on his plate. But deep down, there’s a gnawing thought that won’t leave you alone: If he wanted to, he would. If he cared, he’d show up. Not just in the big moments, but in the small, forgettable ones—the ones that don’t require much but say everything. A text to check in, a call to ask how your day went. Something to remind you that you matter, that you still have a place in the life he leads without you.

But the truth settles in like a bitter cold creeping under your skin: he doesn’t think about you the way you think about him. When he’s late, when he misses promises, when he leaves you waiting—it’s not a fluke. It’s a choice. And the more you excuse it, the more he learns that it’s okay to disappoint you, that your needs can always wait. He’s fine with it because he doesn’t have to feel the weight of your frustration, your sadness, your growing resentment.

"Busy" has become his favourite shield, his go-to excuse for everything. But “busy” is just another way of saying, "I don’t care enough." “Busy” is what he hides behind when he doesn’t want to confront the fact that he’s letting you down, over and over again.

And each time, you forgive him. Each time, you swallow your hurt, tell yourself it’s not a big deal, and convince yourself to wait a little longer for him to make the effort you’re aching for.

But deep down, you know. "Busy" is another word for “asshole.” And “asshole” is another word for the man you’re married to.

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ghost-bxrd · 1 year ago

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I wholeheartedly return the sentiment ✨

And I’m sorry, I’ll have to suffer the bombastic side eye after all 😩 but feel free to let me just scream into the void dear 💚🦇✨

Look I have a horrible history of getting way too attached to Jason’s goons, so this is brilliant. Even if Jason hadn’t introduced Little!Bruce as his son, it’s glaringly obvious that the kid’s got Hood wrapped around his little finger and god have mercy on anybody dumb enough to take shot at the boy, because Red Hood sure won’t. The goons quickly realize that the best way to stay alive and well with all limbs intact is by making triple sure that the Anti!Robin (he really needs a better name doesn’t he) is in peak condition at all times. They even organize day-shifts to patrol Hood’s territory to make absolutely sure that nobody takes a go at the kid should he be out and about for whatever stupid reason. They do NOT want a repeat performance of last time, thank you very much.

And omg YES, little!Bruce being keenly aware of how much power Jason has semi-accidentally give him (because he’s still a genius) and by the end of the week he’s roped a couple goons into configuring some kind of outfit-slash-armor for him. Jason thinks his whole hair might be turning white from stress when he catches the anti!robin on the fire escape one night. Little!Bruce fumes through the entirety of the ensuing lecture, but Jason still has enough authority to make him cave to rules he puts down. Partly because he knows that Jason is absolutely NOT kidding about literally tying Little!Bruce up to keep him from patrolling. It’s still Jason we’re talking about. He’s no pushover.

At this point (and let me just say I laughed so hard I started coughing at the phrase “hate boner”) Dick is furiously combing every inch of Gotham for the kid some psychopath manipulated into becoming a junior rogue. Jason thinks it’s hilarious (mostly because we haven’t gotten to the threatening-to-take-the-kid thing yet) and casually drops several hints about the kid’s identity that nobody catches, along with a healthy dose of sarcastic remarks as to how he’s manipulating and sabotaging the boy currently sitting in his apartment and eating a painstakingly put together three course menu while watching Pride and Prejudice.

Batman is also losing his mind because the Red Hood doesn’t make any sense. He kills people, but not as many as he used to only a few months prior. His movements through the Bowery are still erratic and unpredictable, but now there’s a distinct lack of risk-taking going on. Nothing makes sense. Especially the Anti!Robin that appeared seemingly overnight out of thin air. And the Joker’s death, executed in his own cell. But still, his priorities are to keep the children he has left safe, and that means he’s still going to take Hood’s threat of “clipping a little birdy’s wings” dead serious. He will never let one of his children get hurt ever again.

(Jason totally made that threat before his interdimensional trip. He’s got a wealth of other problems to deal with right now than hunt Robin through Gotham. Namely, his personal little Anti!Robin.)

And then after Little!Bruce’s declaration that Robin lives all alone in a huge manor and is living off cheap takeout and with no heat on even during winter, like you said, Jason does a friggin 180 and starts kind of—- chaperoning the meetings between Robin and Anti!Robin. From afar, at first. Just to make sure the Replacement doesn’t try anything funny with his kid. But eventually Tim catches on and tentatively tries to get to know Red Hood too and— that’s it. Jason’s a goner. He’s got a second kid now. He doesn’t make the rules.

The first time Tim comes back to the cave and tells Dick and Batman about his encounter with the two “rogues” and how they’re not so bad and that Hood even bought him a chili dog—- Dick sees red. One kid is bad enough, but now Hood is trying to corrupt slash groom Dick’s baby brother? Yeah, he’s out for blood now.

Interestingly enough it’s Bruce who chooses to put further investigation into Tim’s recount of the night (Alfred’s calm voice of reason helps) because while he’s worried to high heavens, he also trusts Tim. Tim is smart enough to know when he’s being manipulated. (Unless someone offers him hugs and affection free of charge, he’s a goner then. But Bruce isn’t aware of Tim’s home situation atm and how much it screwed with his survival instincts.)

Tim is very annoyed when all his future attempts to meet up with Hood and the Anti!Robin are hampered by an overprotective Nightwing following him at a distance. 🦅

Prompt:

Jason gets booted to another dimension and adopts a recently orphaned Bruce Wayne.

Whom he also takes along for the ride when he’s pulled back into his own dimension.

#Red Hood and Nightwing duking it out on random rooftops every other night #and look I KNOW we’re mostly in crack and comedy territory here #but how about a sprinkle of angst #because while Jason can handle himself #Nightwing is still Nightwing #and he’s a force to be reckoned with #so little Bruce is panicking and trying to get between them #to protect Jason #because trauma is still a thing and he’s terrified of losing another dad #and Jason just blue screening when HIS LITTLE KID IS SUDDENLY RIGHT IN THE PATH OF NIGHTWING’S ESCRIMA #hello pit madness my old friend #after that Jason devises a strategic protocol for Nightwing encounters #and resorts to psychological warfare by distracting Nightwing with juicy details of Jason’s death in Ethiopia #never fails to rattle dick enough to become sloppy #ok I’m sorry feel free to ignore this #my brain is braining #I think there’s no point denying that I will eventually write this #like #I’m making a playlist right now #and if it’s gotten this far I may as well admit defeat

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wolvietxt · 2 months ago

Text

𝓢AFE IN 𝓨OUR 𝓐RMS !

pairing : bucky barnes x fem!reader warnings : angst, hurt / comfort, heavy insecurities, reader lowk takes a beating, kidnapping, fluff, reader’s insecurities stem from natasha, happy ending wc : 4.9k a/n : writing this felt like a fever dream i’ve literally never written anything so quick

you tried not to think about it too much, really, you did. but it was hard not to notice the way natasha lit up a room just by walking into it, the effortless confidence she wore like a second skin. she was a force of nature, all sharp edges and deadly grace, the kind of woman who turned heads wherever she went. and then there was you - stumbling over your words, always feeling like you were playing catch-up, never quite able to shake the feeling that you were a few steps behind everyone else.

natasha was everything you weren’t, and on some days, it felt like she was everything bucky could ever want. they had a bond that went back decades, something forged in blood and shadows, a history that was impossible to compete with. you knew they were just friends, but that didn’t stop the creeping insecurities that gnawed at you whenever you saw them together. the way bucky would smile, a rare, genuine smile, when she cracked a joke, or the way he’d lean in close to whisper something that made her laugh.

you tried to tell yourself it didn’t matter. after all, bucky was with you, not her. he chose you. but there were days when that choice felt like a fluke, like you were just a placeholder for someone better. it didn’t help that natasha seemed to be everywhere - on missions, during training sessions, even at casual gatherings at the compound. she was a constant reminder of everything you felt you could never be.

and bucky, sweet as he was, had no idea. he was the kind of man who wore his heart on his sleeve, at least when it came to you. he was always looking out for you, making sure you were okay, doing his best to squash any fears you had before they could take root.

“hey, stop that,” he’d say whenever he caught you staring at your reflection, tugging at your clothes like you could somehow reshape yourself into someone you weren’t. he’d come up behind you, wrapping those strong arms around your waist and pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “you’re perfect. just as you are.”

and for a while, you’d believe him. it was hard not to when he was looking at you like you hung the moon, like you were the only thing in his world that made sense. he’d pepper kisses along your jawline, whispering sweet nothings until you were giggling and squirming in his hold, your insecurities momentarily forgotten.

but lately, those moments were fewer and farther between. bucky was busy, always being pulled in a dozen different directions with missions and briefings and god knows what else. you tried to be understanding, tried not to let it bother you when he’d come home late, exhausted and distracted, his mind still miles away even when he was sitting right next to you.

“sorry, doll,” he’d mutter, brushing a kiss to your forehead before disappearing into the shower or falling face-first into bed. “it’s just been a long day.”

you knew it wasn’t his fault. he was doing his best, trying to balance everything. but it was hard not to feel like you were slipping through the cracks, like you were becoming an afterthought in his increasingly chaotic life. the doubts, once small and manageable, were growing louder, harder to ignore.

and then there were the whispers.

it started small, just the occasional passing comment from the other agents - “nat and bucky make such a great team” or “you know, they’ve got years of history together.” you’d laugh it off, forcing a smile even as your heart twisted painfully in your chest.

but it was hard to keep the smile in place when you overheard the hushed conversations in the hallways, the ones that stopped abruptly whenever you walked by.

“i’m just saying, if i had to choose between her and natasha…”

“oh, come on, it’s not even a contest.”

“poor girl. she doesn’t stand a chance.”

you knew it was petty, letting other people’s opinions get to you. but it was like a thousand tiny cuts, each one adding to the weight already pressing down on you. you tried to talk to bucky about it once, stumbling over your words, trying to explain how you felt without sounding like you were accusing him of anything.

“it’s just… sometimes i feel like i’m not enough,” you’d confessed, your voice barely above a whisper. “like you could do better. like you deserve someone who - ”

“hey, hey, stop that,” he cut you off, his hands coming up to cradle your face, thumbs brushing away the tears you hadn’t realised were falling. “you’re more than enough, baby. you’re everything to me, okay? don’t you dare think otherwise.”

and for a moment, it helped. the way he looked at you, eyes so full of love and sincerity, made you feel like maybe, just maybe, you were worth it. but the doubts never truly went away. they were always there, lurking in the back of your mind, waiting for the next opportunity to rear their ugly heads.

the breaking point came one night after a mission. it was supposed to be a simple extraction, but things went sideways, leaving bucky and natasha stuck behind enemy lines for days. no communication, no updates - just radio silence that left you pacing the floors of your apartment, sick with worry.

when they finally made it back, bruised and exhausted but alive, you’d barely been able to hold back your tears. you’d thrown yourself into bucky’s arms, clinging to him like he was the only thing keeping you grounded.

“i’m okay, doll. we’re okay,” he kept repeating, but you couldn’t shake the image of him and natasha, side by side, fighting their way out of whatever hellhole they’d been trapped in. they made the perfect team, a well-oiled machine, and where did that leave you?

the insecurities you’d tried so hard to bury came rushing back, stronger than ever. and this time, they brought friends - ugly, vicious thoughts that whispered cruel things in the dead of night.

what if he only stayed with you out of pity? what if he wished you were more like her? what if, deep down, he regretted choosing you?

you did your best to hide it, plastering on a smile whenever bucky was around. but he could tell something was off, even if he didn’t quite know what. he tried to coax it out of you, tried to make you laugh, but it was like a wall had gone up between you, one you couldn’t seem to break down.

“are you okay?” he asked one night, his voice tinged with that soft concern that always made your heart ache. “you’ve been… distant lately.”

“i’m fine, buck.” you lied, avoiding his gaze. “just tired.”

“you’ve been tired a lot lately,” he pointed out, his brow furrowing. “you know you can talk to me, right?”

“yeah, i know,” you muttered, forcing a smile. “i’m good, buck. promise.”

he didn’t look convinced, but he let it go, pressing a kiss to your forehead before pulling you into his arms. you curled into his chest, inhaling the familiar scent of him, but it did little to soothe the storm raging inside you.

you wanted to tell him, to pour out all the fears that were eating you alive. but what good would it do? it would only make you seem clingy, needy, and the last thing you wanted was to drive him away.

so you kept it all locked up, burying the insecurities deeper until they were practically choking you. and that’s when the nightmares started - vivid, gut-wrenching dreams of bucky walking away, of him choosing natasha over you, leaving you in the dust without a second glance.

you’d wake up gasping, tears streaming down your face, but you never told him. you couldn’t bear the thought of him thinking you were weak, that you were doubting him.

but the cracks were starting to show, no matter how hard you tried to hide them. bucky could see it in your eyes, hear it in your voice, but he didn’t know how to fix it. he just held you tighter, kissed you longer, hoping it would be enough to chase away whatever demons were haunting you.

but it wasn’t enough. not this time.

it happened on a friday, the kind of day that started off unremarkable and ended with everything falling apart. you’d been looking forward to a quiet evening at home, maybe ordering takeout and curling up with a good book while waiting for bucky to come back from his latest mission. he’d promised it was a quick one, nothing too dangerous, just an intel-gathering job that would have him back before midnight.

you should have known better. things rarely went according to plan when it came to the avengers’ line of work. but you’d let yourself relax, lulled into a false sense of security by the thought of a quiet night in. you were in the middle of deciding between thai or pizza when it all went wrong.

the first sign was the knock at your door. you weren’t expecting anyone, but you figured it might be one of the neighbors, maybe asking to borrow something or returning the package that got delivered to their apartment by mistake. you didn’t think twice before unlocking it, didn’t even look through the peephole.

big mistake.

the door burst open, slamming into you with enough force to knock the breath from your lungs. you stumbled back, dazed, and that’s when you saw them - three men, all dressed in black tactical gear, their faces hidden behind masks. panic flared in your chest, but before you could even think to scream, one of them was on you, clamping a hand over your mouth while the other pinned your arms to your sides.

you fought, kicking and writhing, but it was no use. they were bigger, stronger, and they had the element of surprise on their side. something cold and metal pressed against your neck - a needle. you barely registered the sting before everything went dark.

when you came to, your head was pounding, your mouth dry as sandpaper. it took a moment for the world to come into focus, and when it did, you wished it hadn’t. you were in a dimly lit room, concrete walls and a single flickering bulb overhead. the air was damp and musty, the scent of mildew making your stomach churn.

your wrists were bound behind you, ropes digging into your skin, and your ankles were similarly tied to the legs of the chair you were sitting in. every part of you ached, from the bruises forming on your ribs to the throbbing in your temples. you blinked against the haze, trying to remember how you’d gotten here, but it all came flooding back in bits and pieces - the masked men, the needle, the suffocating darkness.

“look who’s finally awake.”

the voice was cold, mocking, and it sent a shiver down your spine. you turned your head to see one of your captors leaning against the far wall, arms crossed over his chest. he was tall, built like a tank, with a scar running down the side of his face. behind him, another man paced back and forth, the metallic clink of his boots echoing in the small space.

“who are you?” you managed to croak out, your throat raw.

the man ignored your question, pushing off the wall and sauntering over to you. “you know, this could’ve been a lot easier,” he said, crouching down so he was eye level with you. “we didn’t want to take you. we were after someone else. but i guess you’ll have to do.”

your heart skipped a beat. “what are you talking about?”

“we wanted the winter soldier,” he replied, his grin widening. “but he’s gotten soft. too many friends, too many ties. makes it hard to get to him. so we figured, why not take someone he cares about? see if that old killer instinct kicks back in.”

fear lanced through you, sharp and sudden. they were using you as bait. your mind raced, a thousand horrible scenarios flashing before your eyes. bucky would come for you, of course he would. but the thought of him turning back into the winter soldier, of all that progress undone because of you - it was almost too much to bear.

“he won’t come,” you said, hoping your voice sounded steadier than you felt. “you’re wasting your time.”

but the man just laughed, like you’d told the funniest joke he’d ever heard. “oh, sweetheart, i think we both know that’s not true. but just in case… let’s give him a little motivation.”

without warning, he swung his fist into your side, hard enough to knock the wind out of you. pain exploded in your ribs, and you bit down on your lip to stifle a cry. you wouldn’t give them the satisfaction. but the hits kept coming, each one worse than the last, until you were gasping for breath, stars dancing in your vision.

“you really think he cares?” the other man sneered, circling you like a predator. “if he did, he’d be here by now. maybe we should’ve taken the black widow instead. bet he’d come running for her.”

the words cut deep, reopening the wounds you’d tried so hard to close. you knew it was a lie, just another tactic to break you, but it still stung. the doubts you’d buried resurfaced, louder and crueller than ever. what if they were right? what if bucky didn’t care as much as you thought? what if he was already too late?

you closed your eyes, trying to block out their taunts, but the darkness was worse. it was like being trapped in your own mind, the insecurities feeding off the pain, growing stronger with every second that ticked by.

“face it,” the man whispered in your ear, his breath hot and rancid. “you’re just a means to an end. he’s not coming for you. no one is.”

meanwhile, miles away, bucky was losing his mind. he’d known something was wrong the moment he’d come back to the apartment and found the door ajar, the lock busted. his heart had dropped into his stomach, a cold dread settling over him as he stepped inside, calling your name.

but there was no answer, just the eerie silence of an empty home. the place was in disarray - furniture overturned, shards of glass scattered across the floor, the faint scent of gunpowder lingering in the air. and then he saw it: your phone, discarded on the ground, the screen cracked.

“no, no, no,” he muttered, a sense of panic clawing at his throat. he’d grabbed the device, trying to call you, but it went straight to voicemail. every second that passed felt like an eternity, the fear tightening around his chest like a vise.

he didn’t waste any time. within minutes, he was on the phone with sam, his voice raw and desperate as he explained what had happened. “she’s gone, sam. they took her.”

“we’ll find her, buck,” sam had promised, his tone steady even as tension crept in. “we’ll get her back.”

but bucky was already on the move, the old instincts kicking in as he pulled every string, called in every favour he had. he tore through the city like a man possessed, following every lead, every whisper, but it was like chasing shadows.

“dammit!” he snarled, slamming his fist into the dashboard of his car, the metal denting under the force. he could feel himself slipping, the old rage bubbling up, threatening to consume him. but he couldn’t afford to lose control. not now. not when you were counting on him.

he had to find you. he had to get to you before it was too late.

you didn’t know how long you’d been there, time blurring into a painful haze of darkness and agony. every inch of you hurt, from the bruises blooming across your skin to the raw, chafed skin around your wrists where you’d tried to pull free. the taunts never stopped, a constant barrage of words designed to break you down, to make you doubt everything.

“he’s forgotten about you,” one of the men said, a cruel smile playing on his lips. “he’s probably with the redhead right now. why would he bother with damaged goods like you?”

you were so tired, so damn tired. every bone in your body ached, and it was getting harder to stay awake, to keep fighting. but you couldn’t give up, not yet. because somewhere, deep down, you still believed in him. you still believed he’d come.

and then, just when you were starting to think you’d never see him again, you heard it - a distant crash, followed by the unmistakable sound of gunfire. hope, fragile and fleeting, sparked in your chest. you struggled to lift your head, blinking against the pain.

“bucky…?”

the world around you was a blur of pain and exhaustion, your captors’ cruel words echoing in your mind like a broken record. the room was spinning, the edges of your vision growing dark as your strength waned. you weren’t sure how much longer you could hold on, the fight draining out of you with each passing second.

but then - there was a sound. faint at first, barely audible over the blood rushing in your ears, but it grew louder, more distinct. the unmistakable roar of gunfire, the heavy thud of boots against concrete. something inside you stirred, a flicker of hope that you hadn’t felt in what felt like a lifetime.

“bucky…” you whispered, the name slipping from your cracked lips like a prayer.

the door to the room you were trapped in exploded inward with a deafening crash, sending shards of wood flying. you flinched, your heart lurching in your chest, but then you saw him - bucky barnes, standing there like an angel, his face a mask of fury.

his blue eyes were wild, searching, locking onto yours the moment he saw you slumped in the chair. “baby,” he breathed, his voice breaking on the single word. he was at your side in an instant, his metal arm slicing through the ropes that bound you, freeing you from your restraints.

you tried to speak, tried to reach out to him, but your body was too weak, too battered. your vision blurred, and you swayed, only for bucky to catch you, pulling you into his arms with a gentleness that contrasted sharply with the violence still crackling in the air around him.

“i’m here, i’ve got you,” he murmured, his voice rough with emotion. he cradled your face in his hands, his thumb brushing over the bruise blooming on your cheek, his touch achingly tender. “look at me, sweetheart. open those pretty eyes for me, okay?”

you tried, but everything hurt. every inch of you was screaming in pain, your body barely holding itself together after the relentless beating you’d endured.

“they - they said…” you choked out, tears spilling down your cheeks. “they said you wouldn’t come… that you’d never come for me like you would for natasha.”

the words shattered something in bucky, his jaw clenching, his eyes darkening with a pain that matched your own. “don’t you ever think that,” he said fiercely, his voice a low growl. “you are everything to me. no one - no one - comes close to what you mean to me.”

you wanted to believe him, but the doubts still lingered, the echoes of your captors’ taunts ringing in your ears. they’d broken something inside you, something that bucky was desperately trying to piece back together with every gentle touch, every whispered word.

he pressed his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “i’m sorry it took me so long,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “i was tearing this city apart looking for you. i’m so fuckin’ sorry, baby.”

but there was no more time for words, not when the sound of approaching footsteps signalled the arrival of more enemies. bucky’s eyes hardened, the winter soldier slipping into place as he gently laid you down on the floor, his touch lingering as if he couldn’t bear to let you go.

“stay here, okay? just for a minute,” he said, his voice steady now, controlled. “i’m gonna take care of this.”

you nodded weakly, your body trembling as you watched him stand, turning to face the oncoming threat. he was a force of nature, moving with a deadly grace that took your breath away, every movement precise and lethal.

you tried to stay awake, tried to focus on the sight of him, but your body was shutting down, the pain too much to bear. you could hear the sounds of battle, the screams and gunfire, but it all felt distant, like a dream you couldn’t quite grasp.

when you came to again, it was quiet. the kind of quiet that felt heavy, like the world was holding its breath. you blinked, your vision clearing slowly, and the first thing you saw was bucky kneeling beside you, his face streaked with blood and sweat.

“you’re okay,” he murmured, his voice soft, soothing. “you’re safe now.”

you tried to sit up, but a wave of dizziness hit you, and bucky was there, his arms steady around you, holding you close. “easy, easy,” he said, his hand gently brushing through your hair. “i’ve got you.”

you leaned into him, your body shaking, and for a moment, all you could do was breathe him in, the familiar scent of leather and metal grounding you in a way nothing else could.

“you came for me,” you whispered, your voice barely more than a breath.

“of course i did,” he said, his voice fierce and raw. “i’ll always come for you.”

but even as he held you, you couldn’t shake the lingering doubts, the fears that had taken root deep inside you. “why?” you asked, the question slipping out before you could stop it. “why would you… when you could have natasha? she’s… she’s perfect, bucky. she’s everything i’m not.”

his grip tightened on you, his hands trembling slightly. “don’t say that,” he said, his voice low and desperate. “you’re not a consolation prize. you’re not second to anyone. nat’s a good friend, but she’s not you. no one could ever be you.”

the tears came then, hot and fast, and you couldn’t stop them, couldn’t stop the flood of emotions that had been building inside you for what felt like forever. bucky held you through it, his arms strong and steady, his whispers a lifeline in the darkness.

“i’m sorry,” you sobbed, your hands clutching at his shirt, desperate for something solid, something real. “i’m so sorry, bucky.”

he shook his head, pressing a kiss to your forehead, your temple, your cheek, like he couldn’t stop himself. “no, baby, you have nothing to be sorry for,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “i’m the one who’s sorry. i should have done more to make you feel safe, to make you feel loved.”

you pulled back slightly, just enough to look at him, to really see him, and what you saw there took your breath away. it was love, pure and unfiltered, shining in his blue eyes, his gaze locked on you like you were the only thing that mattered.

“you… you really mean that?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper.

“damn right, i do,” he said, his lips curving into a small, soft smile. “you’re everything to me. nothing and no one could ever change that.”

he kissed you then, slow and gentle, like he was trying to pour every unspoken word, every promise, into that kiss. and for the first time in what felt like forever, the doubts started to fade, the fears quieting into nothingness.

bucky didn’t leave your side after that, not even for a moment. he carried you out of that hellhole, his arms strong and sure around you, and when you were finally safe, finally back in the comfort of your shared apartment, he stayed with you, tending to your wounds with a tenderness that made your heart ache.

“i’m not letting you out of my sight again,” he said, his voice low and fierce as he wrapped a bandage around your wrist. “not ever.”

“i think i’d be okay with that,” you whispered, a small smile tugging at your lips.

he looked up at you then, his eyes softening, and for the first time in days, you felt a flicker of warmth, of hope. “i love you,” he said, the words slipping out like a confession, like something he’d been holding back for far too long.

your breath hitched, tears welling in your eyes. “i love you too, bucky,” you whispered, reaching out to cup his cheek. “i always have.”

he kissed you again, soft and sweet, and for the first time in what felt like forever, everything was okay. because you had him, and he had you, and that was all that mattered.

🌀 two weeks later…

the rain outside was a gentle lull, a soft patter against the windows that filled the quiet of your shared bedroom. the storm had come out of nowhere, blanketing the city in a soft gray, but inside, wrapped up in bucky's arms, everything was warm and bright.

you were lying on his chest, your fingers tracing absent patterns over the smooth lines of his metal arm, marvelling at the way it glinted even in the dim light. his other arm was draped over your waist, holding you close, like he couldn’t bear the thought of letting you go even for a second.

“you know,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through his chest, “i don’t think i’ll ever get tired of this.”

“tired of what?” you asked, your voice soft, a little teasing.

“this,” he said, squeezing you just a bit tighter. “having you here. being able to hold you like this.”

a smile tugged at your lips, a warmth spreading through your chest that had nothing to do with the blankets cocooning you both. it was moments like this, the simple, quiet ones, that made all the darkness, all the doubts, feel like a distant memory.

“i don’t think i’ll ever get tired of it either,” you whispered, lifting your head to meet his gaze.

his eyes were that perfect shade of blue, soft and warm as they watched you, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “good,” he said, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. “because you’re not getting rid of me anytime soon.”

you laughed, a light, breathy sound that made his smile widen, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at him, your heart so full it felt like it might burst.

there had been a time, not so long ago, when you would have doubted this, doubted him. when you would have let the fears, the insecurities, creep in and convince you that this, that he, was too good to be true. but now, lying here in his arms, it all felt so silly, so far away.

“you know,” you said softly, your fingers still tracing those gentle patterns on his arm, “i used to wonder… why you’d want me. i used to think i wasn’t enough.”

his brow furrowed, the faintest hint of sadness clouding his eyes. “don’t ever think that,” he said, his voice low and serious. “you’re more than enough for me, doll. you’re everything.”

you felt your cheeks heat up at his words, but you couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face. “i believe you,” you whispered, leaning up to kiss him, soft and slow.

he sighed into the kiss, his hand coming up to cup the back of your head, holding you there like he never wanted to let go. when you finally pulled away, he was looking at you with that same look he always did, like you were the most precious thing in his world.

“i’m glad you do,” he murmured, brushing a thumb over your cheek. “because i’m gonna spend every day proving it to you.”

“you already have,” you said, resting your forehead against his. “you always do.”

he hummed, a soft, content sound, and then he was rolling over, pulling you with him so that you were both lying on your sides, face to face.

“good,” he said, his voice a low whisper in the quiet room. “because i’m not going anywhere, sweetheart. you’re stuck with me.”

you couldn’t help the giggle that bubbled up at that, your heart feeling lighter than it had in a long time. “sounds like a dream come true,” you teased, your smile widening when he leaned in to steal another kiss.

“damn right, it is,” he said, his eyes twinkling with that playful light you loved so much.

and as he held you there, the storm raging outside but nothing but warmth and love between you, you knew that he meant it. all those old fears, those insecurities - they were nothing compared to the love he showed you, every single day, in every single way.

because this was real, he was real, and for the first time in a long time, you felt like you were exactly where you were meant to be.

🌀 bucky barnes : @notacleangirl, @v3lv3tf0x, @dugiioh, @whxtewolf, @lemoanaid

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roosterforme · 8 months ago

Text

Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw Part 10 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: After just two days back home, Bradley takes you on a second date. He wants more, and you don't seem to mind when he can't keep his hands and lips to himself.

Warnings: Fluff, angst, language, Bradley being boyfriend material

Length: 5000 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female teacher!Reader

Check out my masterlist for more! Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw masterlist

"Shit."

It had been such a long time since Bradley wore anything other than a flight suit, a khaki uniform or gym clothes, he had no idea what he was supposed to wear to dinner tonight. You mentioned weeks ago you thought Italian food sounded nice for a second date, and he agreed wholeheartedly. He managed to snag a table for the two of you at Salvatore's, and he was absolutely prepared to drop over five hundred bucks, but his clothing was becoming a situation.

After spending the entire day with you yesterday, Saturday morning was a bit of a reality check. He was trying to work through three loads of laundry while he sorted through a box of mail. There was nothing sweet in there like the packages you and your class sent to him while he was deployed. It was mostly bills that had already been automatically paid online, mortgage statements, and junk. Then he started folding laundry, somehow expecting some articles of clothing that weren't threadbare tee shirts or tropical print button downs to jump out at him.

"Why don't you have normal clothing?" he asked himself as he picked up his phone now that it was late enough to text you. He wanted to make sure you were okay with grabbing a drink before the dinner reservation which wasn't until 7:45. But when he unlocked his phone, instead of zero new messages, he found a picture you sent seven minutes ago.

"Oh my god," he groaned softly, dropping onto his bed next to some unfolded laundry. You were in your own bed wearing his favorite sweatshirt and a bright smile.

Good morning, Handsome. Last night felt like a dream, but your sweatshirt is real, so it must have happened.

He scrambled to write back, clothing crisis forgotten. God, he wanted to be in that bed in the worst way. Things would definitely get out of hand pretty quickly, but he knew those first few kisses would be the sweetest things. After last night at the beach, waiting for a few more dates was going to be the challenge of his life, but he wanted you to know he was in this for the long haul. Especially after you mentioned that you thought he may have ghosted you.

Hey, Gorgeous. My sweatshirt looks way better on you than it ever did on me. Did you sleep in it?

He hit send and then wished he hadn't asked that question. He sounded like a horny twenty year old. It was bad enough that he had to practically beg you to go inside your apartment last night while you were kissing his neck, but he didn't want to embarrass himself.

Of course I did. It smells like you. The only thing better would be having you in my bed, too...

How the hell was he supposed to wait until this evening to see you? He tossed his phone aside. His blood felt like it was on fire, and he was sweating. Never before had he wanted to move this fast from a first date to making things official. But he knew you. He'd been working up to this point for months. And the Thai dinner with Prosecco on the beach wasn't really a first date. That felt closer to a reunion with a girlfriend than anything else. The only thing missing for that to have been true was a sleepover instead of him taking you home for the night.

He was too many steps ahead right now. You hadn't yet done the drive down to Coronado from Mira Mesa for yourself, but he already caught himself wondering if you'd consider moving in with him in the future. "You need to relax," he ground out through gritted teeth. "You'll scare her away." He cracked his neck and forced himself to fold a stack of underwear before picking up his phone to reply.

I don't want to rush things, but your bed does look very comfortable. I'm confident we could get cozy there... You're making me blush. I need to get this conversation back on track. Cocktails before dinner at Salvatore's? I'll pick you up at 5:30?

A few minutes later, you responded with a photo of you still all snuggled up in bed, smiling and giving him a thumbs up in his shirt.

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

"Just in case," you muttered, making sure your bedding was straightened and your room was tidy. You left Bradley's TOP GUN sweatshirt folded on your pillow, but you certainly wouldn't mind having the man himself in your bed tonight. Your fingers and toes tingled when you thought about it. You bit your lip and scooped up his shirt, inhaling his scent one more time before you realized he would be here any minute.

When he knocked on your door, you set it back on your pillow and glanced at yourself in the mirror as you bounced past it. Cocktails and dinner at Salvatore's would have been a major splurge for a night out for you, but Bradley selected the restaurant. All you did was mention Italian food, and he really ran with it. You'd have been happy with some pizza and breadsticks, simply excited he remembered you mentioned Italian food at all, but this called for your littlest black dress and your brightest red lipstick.

"I'm coming!" you called, going as fast as you could in your black heels, giggling at the double meaning. You had to compose yourself before you could open the door, and when you did, you were met with the actual man of your dreams.

"Hey, Gorgeous." Bradley's crooked little smile faltered a bit as his gaze slid down from your eyes to your lips, but he didn't stop there. He was shamelessly checking you out as a pretty shade of pink crept up into his cheeks, and you did a slow turn for him.

Your skin felt warm as you met his eyes after doing a full circle. His lips were parted as you whispered, "Hi," and reached for his hand. As soon as your skin met his, he pulled you closer to him. "Bradley." His lips were on yours as he backed you up into your apartment until you softly met the wall behind you. He was big and warm, and you were holding his left hand while his right one came up to your face.

He broke the kiss by tipping your chin up so you were looking at him. "You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen," he crooned softly. Your lipstick was smudged along his mouth, and his tongue darted out to taste it before he said, "I'm fucking crazy about you."

His rough thumb dragged along your bottom lip as you said, "And you've never even seen me dispose of a spider for you."

"Baby," he rasped. "I'd probably propose."

A shocked giggle escaped you, and his crooked grin was back as he kept you there against your wall with your door wide open. You reached up and ran your fingers along the collar of his oxford shirt before tugging on the fabric until his lips were on yours again. You let your head tip back against the wall as he devoured you, tasting your lips, tongue and teeth before his forehead came to rest gently on yours.

"You know," you gasped, trying to catch your breath, "I thought all your emails were sweet and romantic."

He chuckled as he pulled away from you. "I was hoping I was doing okay in person, too."

You shrugged playfully and tried to spin out of his grasp, but his hand was still wrapped up in yours. He followed you to your coffee table so you could grab your purse as you casually told him, "You're even better in person than I thought you'd be."

"Oh yeah?" he asked, pulling you close again. "You like my stupid looking clothes and how I can eat three meals for dinner?"

He was so endearing, you didn't know how to handle him. So you kissed him again and whispered, "I like all of it." You let your fingers trail along his shirt buttons as you said, "You look nice in this, but I can already tell you're more comfortable in your colorful Aloha shirts and jeans. And I love that you can eat three meals for dinner, because we ended up sharing everything last night."

"Let's go," he coaxed, leading you toward your door. "I'll let you pick whatever you want to try at Salvatore's. I don't usually like sharing my food, but there's just something about you, Gorgeous. You make me feel comfortable."

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

You tried to tell Bradley twice that he still had some of your lipstick smudged on his face, but he just shrugged and said, "Good," in response both times. If he didn't mind, then neither did you. It couldn't be any more obvious that he was with you when the exact color that was on your lips was also on his. You listened to him hum along to the retro oldies station as he merged onto the coastal highway while you took a minute to fix up your own smudged lipstick.

He grinned over at you as you put your makeup away and said, "Come on, Baby. If you didn't want it on my face, then you wouldn't be putting more on your lips."

Every time he made a bold statement like that, you wanted to cancel dinner altogether and take him to your bedroom. "I never said I didn't want it on your face. It looks good."

He reached out blindly for your hand, and you grabbed his immediately. "You did tell me you wanted me to kiss you as soon as I saw you."

"Yeah," you muttered. "Don't stop doing that." You knew things with him were going to get physical pretty quickly, but you'd never been quite this attracted to someone before. You drew little shapes on his palm as you asked, "How was your first night back in your own bed after so many months away?"

He groaned softly. "Epic. Fantastic. I don't fit very well in an extra long twin bed."

"No, I would imagine you don't," you said with a laugh as you watched him drive his Bronco in the evening sunlight.

He licked his lips and grinned as he said, "Would have been better if you were there though."

The eruption of butterflies in your belly left you biting your lip. You wanted to respond, but you needed to be able to make it through dinner before you were hanging off of him again like you were last night. That's when he brought your hand up to his lips and kissed your knuckles, treating you to his mustache there. "Feel like getting a drink or two in the lounge first? Maybe a bottle of wine?"

"Mmhmm," you hummed, ready to go anywhere he took you. As soon as he parked, he jogged around to help you down, letting you slide against his body with your hands on his shoulders. You wobbled a bit in your shoes, but he kept you steady.

"You good?" he asked as he leaned in, his lips brushing the side of your neck as his arm wrapped around your waist.

"So good," you promised. "Never better."

Bradley kept his hand right there on your hip as he led you along the sidewalk toward the restaurant. The lounge was packed; this was definitely a popular weekend date night locale. Couples filled the space with noisy conversation, but you could hear Bradley perfectly as his lips found your ear when he said, "There's an empty stool at the far end of the bar." He gave your hip a little squeeze as you headed for it, and he leaned on the bar next to you. "Why don't you pick out a bottle of wine or whatever you want? I'll go let the hostess know we'll be hanging out in the lounge."

When you agreed, he kissed your lips like the two of you had been at this for years, not just since yesterday. You weren't the only one who watched him walk away in his snug pants and Oxford shirt that somehow showed off his biceps. He was just that good looking. When you saw him without a shirt on, you'd probably faint and need him to revive you. When the bartender came over, you were chuckling to yourself at the idea of having sex with Bradley while he kept his shirt on to save you from that fate.

"Can I get you a drink?"

You looked at him in a daze, realizing you meant to choose a bottle of wine. You blurted out what kind you liked best, and with a nod and a smile, he turned to fill your request. And that's when you finally looked at the menu and realized the bottle was more than a hundred and fifty dollars.

"Oh shit." But it was too late. He had already opened it and was heading your way with it. You scrambled in your purse for your wallet, cringing at the idea of Bradley seeing the bill when you could have simply ordered a cocktail instead. Just as the bartender was pouring out a bit of the wine for you to try, you found your credit card successfully. And that was also when Bradley came back.

"They'll come get us when our table's ready," he said. "I told them it would be easy to find me since my date is the most beautiful woman in the restaurant." He watched the bartender pick up a second glass and said, "Oh perfect, you found some wine that you like."

You nodded and tried your best to pass your credit card across the bar undetected with your hand covering it. "I sure did."

Bradley's eyes followed your hand as he took a sip of the wine. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing," you told him, picking up your own glass with your other hand. You tasted the wine and nodded at the bartender, and then he filled up both glasses while Bradley reached for your credit card.

"That's not necessary, Gorgeous. You can put that away."

You waited until the bartender walked off before you shook your head. "Let me pay for the wine. I was distracted and just picked a random bottle before I looked at the price, and then it was too late because he already had it opened. It's expensive."

Bradley looked completely unfazed as he eased your card from your hand and tucked it back into your wallet. "I don't care about that."

"I do," you said softly in your embarrassment. "I don't want you to think that's what I expected."

Bradley laughed in response. "First of all, I would never think that. And second, I was on that aircraft carrier for so long, and this wine tastes so good, and you look so pretty... I don't even want to tell you how much I'd be willing to pay for that bottle of wine and our dinner."

You simultaneously felt better and a little warm. "Okay, fine. But next time we go out for dinner, we're getting burgers from In-N-Out, and I'm paying."

His smile grew as you sipped your wine which really was quite good. "So that means you want to go out again?"

You rolled your eyes up at him where he stood, his hand brushing your knee where it was crossed over your other leg. "I'm about to make an In-N-Out reservation right now."

"Perfect," he replied. "Which night? I have to work late a few days next week to get caught up on everything I missed while I was away."

"You're ridiculous," you told him with a laugh. "How about Wednesday?"

His fingers toyed with the hem of your dress as he said, "Wednesday's good. You also need to let me know when I can visit your classroom again." His words were so sweet, and his gaze was sincere, but the feel of his fingertips inching along your skin above your knee was something else.

You set your glass down next to your purse and reached for his hand, letting his fingers slip underneath your dress as you met his brown eyes. When he teased your skin with his rough hands, you reached for his shirt, and Bradley came willingly. Salvatore's didn't provide the two of you with the same level of privacy as the beach last night had, but you didn't really care, and he didn't seem to either.

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

You had the softest skin. How was he supposed to keep his hands off you? And that red lipstick made your little pout when he teased you even more delectable than he could have imagined. And he'd been doing plenty of imagining for the last few months. He'd imagined you in a variety of scenarios with him, but so far being with you in person surpassed everything his vivid thoughts came up with.

When he mentioned visiting you at work, you treated him to the silky soft feel of your skin, and then you literally grabbed the front of his shirt and tugged until he was kissing you. Oh god, he was never going to recover from this. He had to wrap his hand around the middle of your thigh to keep himself from going any further as you moaned softly into his mouth. He was absolutely starving and a little dizzy from the wine, but he was thinking about skipping dinner in favor of the solitude of the Bronco right now.

"Mr. Bradshaw?"

Your tongue was slowly tasting his when you jerked away from him as the hostess strolled over. Embarrassed, you turned toward the bar as Bradley grunted in response at the young woman who told him the table was ready for the two of you. And maybe that wasn't a bad thing, because feeling you up in the middle of the crowded lounge wasn't something he'd feel good about later. At least not on the second date. He'd bring you back here in a few months and see if the two of you even made it to dinner.

With a smile, he reached for your free hand after you picked up your glass. You halfway hid your face against his bicep as the hostess picked up the bottle and led the way through the lounge and into the restaurant. Bradley kissed your forehead and murmured, "If I could keep my hands off of you, this wouldn't be a problem."

You peered up at him through your lashes. "Hanging out on your couch alone is sounding better and better."

"Fuck," he groaned softly as you released his hand and took a seat at the table set for two which was overlooking the bay. Bradley pushed your chair in, and his thumbs met your bare arms. He took a few deep breaths before taking the seat opposite yours and accepted one of the menus as he listened to the specials while he looked at your face. He muttered some sort of response, and then the two of you were alone.

You emptied the remainder of the wine between his glass and yours, and then Bradley watched you lick a little droplet from your thumb as you smiled at him. "So which three dinners are you planning on ordering tonight?"

It took him a second to realize that he was holding an open menu even though he hadn't looked at it once. He cleared his throat and said, "Definitely some homemade spaghetti and meatballs. The last time I ate spaghetti, it was overcooked and sad, and I had to go back to my bunk and think about you to make myself feel better." You covered your mouth with one hand while you laughed, and it was the most charming thing he'd ever seen. "I'm so serious, Gorgeous. I got a plate of soggy noodles, and literally the only thing that made it better was imagining you teaching your class about military grade jets and aviation."

Your pretty eyes were glittering as you told him, "I keep extending my lessons on the topic, and you are completely to blame for that. After the first time you responded to us, my students asked about you every single day. They are completely enamored with you."

"Yeah? Just them? Or you too?" He knew his words were reminiscent of the way you'd tried to blame it on your kids when you asked him to send you a picture so you could see what he looked like.

"Hmm." You pretended to peruse your menu. "I'm thinking about the ravioli. Or maybe the penne with vodka sauce." Your foot tapped his leg beneath the table, and he had to fight the urge to reach under and touch your skin again. You were teasing him in every way right now, and he was absolutely loving it. When the waiter dropped off glasses of water and some freshly baked bread, he asked if you wanted anything else to drink.

"You want another bottle of wine, Gorgeous?" Bradley asked, deciding to tease you right back.

"Absolutely not," you told him, looking at him like he had two heads before kindly telling the waiter, "No, thank you."

He was still laughing when he picked up a piece of bread. "So we'll get spaghetti, penne and ravioli?"

"You don't have to order what I want," you told him, your foot still running along his calf while your expression dripped with innocence.

"No. I want to though." It was kind of fun spoiling you with something as simple as dinner. Vanessa would have made a comment by now about how much she hated the slightly kitschy, over the top restaurant, even if the food was supposed to be immaculate. You didn't seem to mind one bit that he ordered three massive entrees and intended to finish whatever you didn't. Vanessa always got embarrassed, but all you said was that you were excited to try all three.

There was never a lull in conversation. You actually listened to Bradley when he was talking, and he could have listened to you all night.

"So you know how last night I mentioned... that I'd never really thought about dating someone in the military who deploys for work?"

"Yeah," Bradley rasped, not sure he loved where the conversation was heading.

You looked a little apprehensive as you said, "I was thinking about it more last night after you dropped me off."

"And?"

You kind of shrugged and said, "I think I'd actually be okay with it, as long as it's you. It almost feels like we got some big, scary thing out of the way already, you know? And I could always write to you, because I kind of loved doing that. And yes, Bradley, I am also completely enamored with you."

It was almost a shame that the food arrived then, because as you started to cut into an enormous ravioli, all he could think to say was, "I'm completely enamored with you, too."

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

You were so full from dinner, you didn't know how Bradley could walk. He ate at least two times what you did, and then he insisted on ordering a piece of cheesecake. When you caught sight of the bill, you tried not to gasp, because it was more than you spend on groceries for a whole month. But he handed over his credit card and signed his name without even breaking conversation with you. And now you were discreetly grabbing a handful of mints on your way out of the restaurant as he held your hand.

It was late, and you knew he was still tired. He mentioned briefly that he had a lot of chores to do this week amidst some late nights at work, but you didn't know how you'd be able to wait until Wednesday to see him again. When he started up the Bronco and headed in the direction of your apartment, your mind flooded with questions, but he asked you one first.

"I already have plans tomorrow, but I don't think I can wait until Wednesday to see you again. What time do you usually get to school?"

"7:20."

"Okay. And what kind of coffee do you like?"

You couldn't stop smiling as you told him what you usually ordered on the rare occasion you had time to stop at Starbucks. You kind of already felt like he was spoiling you.

"Have you memorized everything I've ever told you?"

"Yep," he replied, his handsome smile evident in the street lights. "And I've gotta say, you're one of a kind, Gorgeous."

You honestly didn't want the ride to end. The fact that there was no buffer of traffic to add to the twenty minute drive made you pout a little bit. Bradley's deep voice layered over the music playing on the radio while he held your hand was intoxicating, but you made a disappointed sound as he parked in front of your building.

When he released your hand to kill the engine in the near darkness, all you could see was his handsome profile. "You thought the drive would be too much for me," you whispered. "But when I'm in the car with you, I don't want it to end."

He cleared his throat and softly said, "Well, we don't have to get out quite yet if you don't want to."

Your pout turned into a grin as you unbuckled your seatbelt. "I can tell you still need to catch up on some sleep. I don't want to keep you out too late, Bradley."

He chuckled and undid his own seatbelt. "Why don't you come a little closer and say my name again."

As you eased yourself onto your hands and knees, you scooted across the seat and whispered, "Bradley," with a little laugh.

"Closer?" he asked, and you crawled over to him until you were able to kiss his cheek.

"Bradley."

He turned his head so his lips met yours, and he whispered, "Closer," against your mouth.

You were immediately in his lap, your hands resting on his chest as the steering wheel met your lower back. Your lips found his scarred cheek just like last night, and you kissed your way along his mustache and the side of his nose. You let your hands drift slowly down over his abs until they met the leather of his belt, and you whispered his name one more time.

His big hands closed around your wrists as he groaned, "You really love teasing me."

You nodded and said, "I really do," as he guided your hands up to his shoulders and around his neck.

"You're really good at it, Baby. All those pictures of you in your bed are enough to get a man through a deployment and then promptly kill him once he's on dry land if he can't touch you immediately."

He kissed the inside of your arm, and you scooted your body a little closer to his. "You can touch me." Your words elicited a deep groan as he slid his big hands along your bare arms, leaving goosebumps in their wake. He kissed your lips, swiping his tongue against yours as his fingers trailed down your sides. You almost cried out when his thumbs grazed the sides of your breasts before he gently squeezed your waist and your hips.

You could invite him to stay over. You didn't think he'd turn you down if you did. But all you could manage to say was, "Bradley," between kisses.

He tipped his head back against the headrest and whispered, "I love the way that sounds." His eyes were glittering in the darkness as he looked at your face and your body, and you remembered his text message from earlier.

I don't want to rush things

It was hard for you to remember that yesterday in your classroom was the first time you touched him. The first time you heard his voice in person. As much as you wanted to lean in close and ask him to stay, instead you kissed his ear and said, "You promised me movie night on your couch. When?"

"Friday?" he asked, kissing along your neck. "Let me end the week with my Gorgeous girl?"

"Yes."

You were afraid you were going to melt right out onto the pavement when he opened his door, but he helped you down and kept his arm wrapped around you. Bradley walked a half step behind you in the darkness all the way to your apartment. While there was no expectation that he was going to join you inside, you ended up pinned against your door, because it didn't seem like he was quite ready to leave yet either.

He was eager. You could feel it as his lips found your neck again. He smiled against you as he whispered your name in that deep raspy voice. "Since you don't like surprises, I'm telling you right now that you should expect to see me in the parking lot at your school on Monday morning. Sound okay?"

"Oh god, yes," you whined as he released you. There were so many things you wanted to tell him as he put a foot of space between your bodies, really giving you a chance to see his pink cheeks and the way he was breathing deeply. You blurted out, "I'm falling so hard for you."

His crooked little grin was back as he nodded at your door. "Lock it behind you. And when you get in bed, in my sweatshirt, send me another selfie."

"I will," you promised, and you did exactly what he said. A minute after you texted the photo, you got a message back from him.

I think I'm falling even harder.

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

I'm so obsessed with them. She was so concerned about that bottle of wine! And he really wasn't lol. Coffee and burgers and a couch date coming up. This story will be 18+ soon. Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 11

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