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twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat · 1 year ago

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I’VE ALWAYS LOVED THE WAY YOU EAT ; SUGURU GETO

synopsis; suguru is a morning person. he likes the serenity of it all; the quiet of the early hours, the expensive feel of his coffee pot. more than anything, he likes bringing you breakfast in bed.

word count; 4.9k

contents; suguru geto/reader, gn!reader, just comfy morning vibes, fluff fluff fluff!!, suguru being a good soon-to-be husband, lots of petnames, reader is whipped (and so am i) but suguru is even worse, i need him biblically.

a/n; this is my personal essay on why suguru geto is the perfect man and wife. bon appetit !!

something smells good.

as your eyelids flutter open, and you gradually slip out of sleep’s fuzzy embrace, you are engulfed by that one thought. that one sensation.

there’s a sweet fragrance in the air, an unnamed something you can’t place. a force of love.

soft sunrays flit in through the haphazardly closed window blinds of your bedroom, cascading across the floorboards and bouncing off the walls. splotches of sunshine envelop you in a hazy kind of glow; gentle and coaxing, stirring you awake. it feels good on your skin.

indulging in a few more slow blinks, you shift to lie on your back, halfheartedly attempting to chase the sleepiness away. tangled up in silken sheets and fluffy blankets, you stare at the ceiling — but even such a mundane task feels so nice. just wallowing in the tantalizing scent drifting through the bedroom, the flurry of little kisses that the sun smothers you with.

it’s still early, and you’re still sleepy. outside the walls of your apartment, the sun is rising to its feet, dyeing the world in warm colours; violets and blues melting into pinks and oranges, like an egg cracked open on the canvas of the sky. everything is quiet, not a sound to be heard except for the very distant chirping of cicadas from the trees outside your window. utter peace. like time isn’t even passing.

in the midst of such a precious moment, all you want is to laze around. it’s just that kind of pleasant, mellow morning; the kind that makes you wish the sun would never fully rise.

a satisfied little sigh slips from your lips. content to soak in the heavenly feeling until it passes, your eyes flutter shut — you’re just so sleepy, and the sun just feels so warm. soothing you, making it even harder to stay awake, cradling you in its hazy embrace. sunlit and saccharine.

with the morning fatigue clouding your senses, you don’t even notice the other presence in the room.

suguru smiles, from his spot by the door — leaning against the wall and gazing at your relaxed expression, an immense fondness reflected in his eyes. taking a moment to silently admire you.

you look so content. tangled up in blankets and pillows, with your limbs outstretched and starfished across the mattress. your hair is a little messy, and you’re drooling just a smidge, wearing his shirt; it’s a couple sizes too big for you, slipping off your shoulder and exposing your sunkissed skin. as suguru’s eyes trail over your features, the fond smile on his face only grows, shifting into something honeyed and giddy.

you’re perfect, he thinks. absolutely perfect.

a moment passes. then another. suguru continues to stare, as if trying to etch the image of you into his memory. trying to prolong the moment for as long as he can.

until, finally, he’s had his fill. simply admiring you from afar isn’t enough — he needs to see you up close, needs to hear the sleepy little tilt of your voice. so he opts to make his presence known, voice gravelly and sweet, echoing softly throughout the room.

“good morning, sweetheart.”

softly, your eyes flicker open. the familiar voice sends a tremor of something running through your chest — and suddenly, it feels as if some of the sleep clinging to your skin has been washed away. it’s a little easier to make yourself move, shifting to your side to get a better look at the source of the sound.

and the warmth that blossoms in your chest when your eyes meet suguru’s is almost overwhelming.

(god, he’s pretty.)

suguru looks perfect, in the morning. he looks like the rest of your life. hair a little messy, tied up into a lazy half-done bun, silky black strands cascading down his neck. and wearing a pair of comfy sweatpants that hang a little low on his hips, but no shirt — showing off the curve of his tiny waist, the slight twitch of his arms when he indulges in an idle stretch.

you try to restrain yourself from ogling his bare chest and arms too much, but it’s tough. frighteningly so. with the sunlight embracing his skin, muscles on full display, he looks a bit like a sculpture. a little too good to be real.

but he is. and he’s yours. and he’s smirking at you, lazily, affectionately — eyes half-lidded as he balances the tray that’s making the room smell so sweet. just standing there, looking so unfairly gorgeous. waiting for you to muster up the energy to respond to his greeting, more than happy to watch the way your eyes soften as they trail across his features in the meantime.

“morning,” is all you can rasp, eyes closing as your cheek sinks deeper into the mattress. a bit too tired to talk to him properly, and a bit too unguarded to look at him without feeling as if your heart is about to leap out of your throat.

he’s a little too pretty, like this. framed by the hazy sunshine, like something out of a dream. all soft clouds and gentle caresses, the scent of dried lavender, the pitter patter of rain against a windowsill. all things kind and comforting.

you’re afraid that your heart might give out, if you look at him for too long.

suguru doesn’t seem to mind. he only chuckles, voice deep and husky, sending shivers down your spine. his lips quirk up into a smooth kind of smile, and he’s quick to make his way to your side; crouching down to meet you at eye level after placing the tray on the nightstand.

a hand comes to caress your cheek. the rough pads of his fingers smooth down your jaw, gentle and doting, as if coaxing you out of hiding. as if you’re made of porcelain. suguru always treats you like you’re fragile, like you’re the most precious thing he has.

(because you are, he thinks. more precious than the expensive vanilla extract he used to make the waffles on the tray, more precious than the diamond-clad ring he’s hidden away in a drawer of the guest room. more precious than anything this world has to offer.)

a blissful little sigh slips from your lips, as you nuzzle into his palm. suguru leans forward to smear a kiss against your forehead, overcome with fondness; warm lips lingering on your skin.

the sensation strikes you as just a little heavenly. his touch is so tender, every caress so full of love. instinctual, the way his love bleeds into his touch, trickles down his veins to the tips of his fingers — smoothing along your skin. such a heavy thing, but he just makes it feel so light.

“still sleepy?” he hums, a little teasing. eyes crinkling, voice bordering on a coo.

and it’s infuriating. the amusement that flickers through his eyes, the way you can tell he’s itching to tease you for being so groggy and tired.

between the two of you, suguru’s always been the one to get out of bed first, to your grave annoyance. and he’s so smug about it. you want to tell him that waking up so early on a saturday isn’t normal, that he’s the weird one for not being sleepy —

but when he’s cupping your cheek so gently, all you manage is a meek little murmur of mm. one that has suguru stifling a coo, lips curling up into an adoring smile.

look at you. his sleepy little baby, dyed in sunrays and tiny specks of dust. so effortlessly pretty, tangled up in fluffy blankets, an image so precious he almost feels like he shouldn’t be looking at it. yet he continues to do so, mesmerized.

(suguru doesn’t mind being a little greedy, when it comes to you.)

“i made you breakfast,” he continues, as you melt into his touch. an absentminded action, but almost brimming with trust; the trust you have in him to treat you well. one he’ll always, always affirm. “your favorite. wanna eat with me?”

breakfast.

something in your brain visibly reacts to the sound of the word, shooing away a little of the morning fatigue still clouding your senses. before you know it, you’ve forced yourself into a sitting position, with groggy movements and a soft groan. rubbing the skin beneath your eyes and kicking the blanket off your legs, a little clumsily.

suguru breathes out a soft bout of laughter, low and amused, as you lazily stretch and indulge in slow blinks. his hand goes to ruffle your hair, and all you do is lean into it.

“i’ll take that as a yes,” he teases, eyes full of fondness. you crack a sleepy smile at his amused tone of voice.

suguru’s hands are big, and a little rough, but still so very soft. you could spend hours tracing them — from the tips of his fingers down to the veins of his wrist, across his knuckles littered with small scratches and barely visible scars. stories of his childhood, that he loves telling you about, almost as much as you love hearing them.

you love his hands. they’re so pretty. so warm and grounding, as they smooth down your hair, unmistakably caring. the weight of them is a comfort, as his fingers card through your bedhead, scratching softly at your scalp. a sensation that makes you feel all fuzzy inside.

suguru is just so good to you.

and you’re only further reminded of that fact when your gaze trails over to the assortment of breakfast foods he’s prepared, neatly stacked on the nightstand. all your favorites, made with so much love; and it’s so evident, even just in the presentation. the freshness of the strawberry slices, the perfect amount of syrup spread over the waffles. the cup of coffee made just the way you like it.

maybe it’s the morning fatigue, or just the softness of the moment. the intimacy, so palpable you can almost reach out and touch it. or maybe it’s something else entirely — whatever the cause, you feel your eyes get somewhat glassy.

a meek little sniffle leaves your lips, and it catches even you off guard.

suguru blinks. suddenly alert, his morning-fatigued brain trying to comprehend the sight of your teary eyes. brain spinning in circles, not sure if it should be telling him to panic just yet. something in him constricts, twists and turns, a desperate kind of yearning to protect you.

but before he can even reach out to wipe away the wetness with his thumb, you’ve latched yourself onto him.

arms snug around his waist, face tucked under his chin. fitting into him like a puzzle piece. breathing in the remnants of the cologne on his neck; a nice bergamot mix that you like, so he sprays on a little extra just for you. so close to him that you can feel the patter of his heart against you, as you soak in his body warmth.

and his arms find their way around your form just as naturally, without him even having to think. like every bone in his body was born with a desire to cradle you close. like he was crafted in the image of someone made to soothe you.

being in suguru’s arms is pure bliss. the most grounding sensation you know, one that never fails to calm you down, no matter how stressed or anxious you’re feeling. with his broad chest and strong arms, his bergamot-scented skin. so doting, pressing little kisses to your shoulder, trying to console you. his hair tickles your cheek a little, but it’s comforting.

��what’s wrong, honey?” he questions, voice set on a low, particularly soothing lilt. coaxing, almost cooing — a tone that buzzes with safety. his big hands go to rest on your head and back, smoothing down your spine.

”nothing,” you sniffle. feeling a little silly. ”you’re just too perfect. ‘s not fair.”

a pause.

then, a chuckle bubbles up from suguru’s throat. something fond and delightful unfurls in his chest, a kind of relief; a feather-light amusement.

(you’re so ridiculous, he thinks.)

but you only nuzzle further into his neck, all sleepy and affectionate — and it stirs his heartstrings in a way that makes him feel rather helpless. crumbling beneath your touch. gazing at you with soft eyes, a happy little hum buzzing in his throat.

he takes you in, in all your clingy glory; so impossibly sweet. maybe he should have sprinkled some sugar on the strawberry slices, just to see if the taste could ever measure up.

”ah, is that so?” he drawls, a lazy amusement flickering through his eyes. playful. ”i’m sorry, baby. i should be the one saying that to you, though.”

but you just shake your head, arms tightening around his midriff. as if offended that he’d have the audacity to brush off your objectively correct statement, to even think to deny how perfect he is.

and suguru raises a brow at you, in tandem, a mild protest resting on the tip of his tongue — offended at your blatant disrespect, shaking your head at his factually correct words, as if disagreeing with your own evident perfection.

but before he can even begin to fight you on the topic, you part your lips to speak.

”thanks for breakfast, sugu,” you sleepily murmur, biting back a yawn. still a little meek, but oh so loving. ”i would die for you.”

he stills, once more. then another soft bout of laughter escapes his lungs, rumbling through his chest like a soothing thunderstorm. it makes you feel so terribly safe.

“there’s no need for that,” he assures you. ”don’t you wanna eat instead?”

to his surprise, he’s met with another soft shake of your head. so snug in his embrace that you could practically live there, only clinging to him a little tighter with a huff.

”just wanna hug you first…” you yawn, arms squeezing at his waist affectionately. shifting in his hold until your lips find their way to his neck.

”i love you,” you mumble, kissing down his jaw and collarbone. sleepy, open mouthed pecks, trailing over the expanse of his pretty skin. ”so much.”

it tickles, a little. suguru digs his teeth into his cheek, ever so slightly, just to hold back the giggle that threatens to break out from his throat.

and it’s maybe just a little too sweet, the sensation that blossoms in his chest, something honeyed and flowery; fluttering deep within his ribcage, like a dragonfly buzzing and trying to break free. it gets him a little weak in the knees.

to distract himself from the voice in his head urging him to go get the ring in the guest room drawer right this instant, suguru scoops you up. cradling you close, as he plops down on the mattress, legs crossed to give you space on his lap.

you don’t protest, only snuggling a little closer — as if yearning to tuck yourself away within his ribcage.

and suguru chuckles, the deep tremor of his voice reverberating through his chest, echoing in your head as you listen to the rhythmic beating of his heart. rubbing your back with a teasing smile, pressing a kiss against the crown of your head.

“i should make breakfast more often if it’ll get you like this,” he grins, basking in the warmth of your body against his.

a little whine falls from your lips. muffled into the curve of his shoulder, against his bare skin. “it’s not about the breakfast,” you pout, looping your arms around his neck. “it’s everything you do…”

a heat rises to your cheeks, a little embarrassed at the sappiness you’re exuding. but the sun feels so nice on your skin, and the bedroom smells so good, and the whole world feels so kind.

inhaling the fragrance of bergamot and coffee, you can only fall apart at the intimacy of the moment.

“i’m really grateful…” you murmur, resting your lips against his skin. buzzing with a warmth that has him shuddering. “‘m just bad at expressing it.”

suguru’s eyes soften. melting into a tender hue, like that of a creamsicle sunrise sky. a dreamy look smoothes over his features, and a fond hum buzzes in his throat.

“nah, you’re fine,” he drawls, squeezing at your hips affectionately. pulling away ever so slightly, just to plant a kiss on your forehead, brushing your bangs away with a certain bleeding tenderness. “you don’t need to say it out loud. i know, anyway.”

and he does. suguru understands you better than anyone; a point of immense pride, for him. knowing you so deeply that he can practically hear your thoughts before you speak them, knowing what you need at a single glance. just from a certain furrow of your brows, or the slight tilt of a smile you’re trying to hide.

always one step ahead, folding your laundry on days you’re feeling particularly stressed out, or giving your hand a comforting squeeze when he notices that you’re nervous. always so attentive. it’s a little overwhelming, but also so comforting — to be so thoroughly understood.

his eyes are warm. full of pure affection, a devotion so heavy it makes your heart stutter in your chest. all you can do is glance down, shyly, slumping your forehead against his bare chest.

your voice comes out a little strangled, still raspy. a little wobbly in the wake of your adoration.

“i wanna appreciate you…” is muffled against his skin, your lips curled down into a soft pout. and suguru breathes out a flustered little breath, amused — somewhat delighted.

“you can appreciate me by eating a hearty breakfast,” he suggests, a teasing tilt to his husky voice. cradling you just a little closer, as if even the miniscule distance between you is unbearable. as if he needs your hearts pressed together to keep himself intact. “how about that, hm? or would you rather give me a kiss?”

a moment passes, and a sleepy hum slips from your tongue. he feels your lips touch the soft skin of his neck, once more; then you muster up the strength to pull back from his embrace, slumping against his shoulder with your back against the headboard. it takes concentrated effort.

and suguru chuckles, again. odd, how a man who’s normally so put-together can’t seem to ever hide his joy whenever you’re around. but suguru is just a little too weak for you — he can’t help but let you strum his heartstrings along, however you want. any kind of melody you desire.

(it just so happens that no melody sounds prettier than a joyous one, when it’s falling from his lips.)

a lovesick smile painted on his face, suguru watches as you finally dig in. and he thinks it’s precious, the strawberry juice smearing your lips, the contentment in your features as your eyelids flutter shut. a mellow kind of pride swells in his chest with every satisfied hum that you grace him with, every giddy declaration of how delicious it all is.

there’s something about it he can’t quite explain, can’t put his finger on. something almost otherworldly, in how fulfilled it makes him feel, like he’s lived his entire life just for this moment. just for the sake of making you breakfast and watching you wolf it all down.

suguru doesn’t think there's a single better way to show his love for you than this; cooking for you, putting every last drop of his love into everything he makes. from beverages to pastries, each of them carefully chosen to suit your tastes.

there’s an intensity to the labour, something that brings him great joy. the care and excitement in something as small as the flick of his wrist when he pours sugar into your coffee, or the weight he puts on the kitchen knife while cutting the fresh strawberries he spent four minutes picking out at the market.

there’s something about it that’s just so, so tender. that earnest wish to see you happy and healthy, to make sure you never go hungry. taking care of you. it's pure, domestic, love incarnate. he’s so weak for it, so sappy, but he just can’t help it — suguru loves watching you eat his cooking more than anything.

that, and your blissful little expression is a sight to behold. sunkissed by the morning rays flitting in through the window blinds, suguru thinks you look something like an angel, soft and fleeting and so beautiful it makes his heart squeeze painfully inside his chest. heavy thumps of blood; warmth trickling from his heart to his wrists to the pads of his fingers, as he rubs absentminded circles into the skin of your thighs.

and he thinks to himself that all the happiness he needs is right here in front of him. in this moment, with you tiredly munching on the breakfast he made, sipping slowly from your cup of coffee and savouring every last drop. smiling at him so sweetly, so positively precious that he simply can't resist leaning down to taste the caffeine off your lips.

everything feels so wonderful, so completely and utterly right. the world feels so kind, like this. a world where all that exists is you, and him, and the sun. heaven on earth.

all of it sends a tremor running through his heart, every slight change of the scene reflected in his eyes. the soft smile on your lips, the way you lean your head against his shoulder and bite back a yawn, the expectant look in your eyes as you feed him pieces of your food with a giddy grin —

suguru thinks to himself that he’d sooner die than give it up.

as much as he loves sleeping in, loves indulging in your warmth until the sun sits comfortably on the blue canvas of the sky, he loves this even more. loves dragging himself out of bed before the sun even has a chance to peek out beneath the horizon painted pink and purple, tired and groggy, and so disgruntled at the warmth that leaves him when he pulls away from your skin. loves making his way to the kitchen almost in a daze, moving around the open space so very naturally; fingers curling around the lid of the espresso machine, and the crinkled paper bag of pastries, and the carton of orange juice he bought just for you.

just watching the world wake up, basking in the peace and domesticity of it all. basking in the thought of you — you, with your messy bedhead and droopy eyes, always blinking up at him so sleepily when he returns to you in the morning. he loves it all.

the soft little frown that sometimes tugs at your lips when you’re still lost in dreamland, blindly and subconsciously reaching for the empty side of the bed when he gets up to stretch. the weight of your arms around his waist, hugging his back on the somewhat rare occasion that you make your way to him before he makes his way to you. the grumbles against his skin about how he always abandons you on your days off, even if he only does it so he can make you both coffee.

you, in all your glory — now resting against his shoulder as you plop the last strawberry into your mouth, closing your eyes with a blissful little sigh.

and suguru feels so lucky. so very honoured, to be the one you chose. the one and only person who gets to see you like this, when your voice is still raspy and your hair is still messy, and you have crumbs sticking to your soft lips that you're too sleepy to wipe away.

he does so, himself, with an amused little huff that’s really more of a sigh laced with adoration. thumb smoothing over your skin gently, a silent i love you hanging on the tip of his tongue. his fingers find their way to your skin so effortlessly. like they belong there, like they exist solely to trace the softness of your jaw and to cradle your cheek.

”thank you,” you beam up at him, grinning sweetly.

and suguru knows that you mean it. he knows that you’re grateful, knows not a moment goes by when you don’t notice his affections, no matter how subtle. he thinks you're a little bit silly for worrying that he doesn't. but he thinks you're even sillier for not realizing that you deserve all of it and more, that just that sweet smile of yours alone is more than enough to make up for it.

more than anything, he hopes from the bottom of his heart that you know the opposite is true as well. that he appreciates every single thing you do, notices everything you do for him, no matter how small or insignificant it may seem to you.

you're so good to him. always have been. how could he ever bear to not repay you in tenfold?

”you’re welcome,” he smiles, soft and saccharine and genuine. his lips brush against your forehead with a soft peck, one that has your body melting into his just a little more.

breakfast passes you both by in a flurry of warmth, splotches of sunlight and content hums, until you’re lying side by side beneath the blankets once again. curled up close to each other, with you resting on suguru’s chest, cheek smooshed right over his heart. his arm rests on your back, cradling you closer.

”that was delicious,” you chirp, something soft buzzing in your voice as you bite back a yawn. stretching your limbs out lazily, a honeyed smile on your face. ”as always.”

suguru’s a little too tired to fully hide the soft grin that crawls up to rest on his lips, almost smug. awfully happy with himself, and your words of earnest praise.

“yeah? ’m glad,” he hums, looking at you with affection swimming in his eyes. ”i haven’t lost my touch yet, then.”

”of course not,” you exhale, somewhere in between a huff and a chirp. “you could start a whole breakfast diner with your skills!”

the words are teasing, a little much, but laced with a syrupy sweet sincerity that has suguru’s heart doing laps in his chest. thump, thump, thump — strumming his heartstrings along as you please, conducting the orchestra inside his ribcage. but he’d much prefer to think of you as his muse.

a low chuckle rumbles through his body, akin to a purr. buzzing right by your ear, as his fingers curl around yours, his thumb rubbing soft circles into the skin of your hand. ”you think so?”

an eager nod, as you gaze up at him happily. the sight makes his lips twitch upward, and he can only hope you don’t catch the way his heart skips a beat.

smoothing a large palm over your head, he tousles your hair fondly. ”yeah?” he chuckles, again. “you'll be my first customer, then.”

the smile on your face widens. ”will i get a discount?” you ask, a fuzzy contentment in the way your eyes glimmer. ”since i’m your favorite.”

suguru grins. a husky puff of laughter seeps out of his throat, filling the air with a palpable fondness. it’s almost overwhelming, the affection that simmers in his chest, a cup overflowing. he wants to reach over and smother you in kisses, wants to coo at you. wants to tell you how irresistable you are, like this; so cute and sleepy that he thinks you could probably coax him into giving you every star in the sky.

but that can all wait for another time. he doesn’t want to break the peace of the mellow moment, the subtle intimacy that lingers in the air. the playfulness in your words.

”of course,” he simply says, indulging you with a sweet smile. ”you’ll get all the discounts you want, baby. nothing less for my favorite customer.”

suguru’s eyes crinkle, brimming with love when he hears the happy little giggle that tumbles from your pretty lips. so pretty that he can’t resist pulling you a little closer, to give you another kiss — relishing in the way you soften against him. like you could fall asleep just like this, so safe and comfortable. breathing him in.

sunlight shines in through the window blinds, engulfing you in that familiar heavenly hue. your bedroom almost seems to glow, like a hazy polaroid, a moment that feels too precious to put into words.

you look stunning, he thinks, with your droopy eyes and sleepy yawns. absolutely breathtaking. soaked in a brightness rivaling that of the sun herself, the most precious thing this world has to offer.

and suguru thinks to himself that this might just be it. that this might be all that he needs, all that he’ll ever need — but he already knew that.

he thinks of sunrises. of soft embraces and fluffy blankets, of expensive coffee pots and diamond rings, of the way your lips curl up every time he kisses you. he thinks of the light of morning, how it always seems to devour everything else. how it makes every sliver of darkness seem so inconsequential.

he thinks of how your presence always seems to do the same.

when suguru looks down, pulled out of his lovesick stupor by the sound of a little snore, you’ve fallen back asleep. cheek squished against his bare chest, drooling a smidge as you dream so prettily, your chest rising up and down in a rhythmic serenity.

his heart flutters. fleeting and giddy, a little dove trapped in his chest. with a sweet coo, he reaches over to caress your skin with the back of his hand, careful not to wake you — so gentle that he holds his breath, as if afraid that even a single exhale could disrupt your well-deserved rest.

butterflies dance in his stomach, when he sees the way that makes you smile. a whirlwind of them, wings fluttering eagerly, as if attempting to fly out of his throat. he gulps them down again, but he can still feel them. just like he could when you first met.

butterflies that still haven't gone away, despite how long you’ve been together. butterflies that never will go away, as long as there are plates to fill and breakfasts to be made.

in other words, they're there to stay — forever and ever.

(suguru’s gaze falls on your ring finger. he thinks of the secret in the bottom of the drawer, and wonders what kind of breakfast he should make for you when it’s time to bring it out.)

#im normal abt him!! i swear i am!!!!!#smth about extremely devoted malewives with black hair just do it for me #suguru geto n aki hayakawa are like this🤞in my brain #i think suguru was like. crafted specifically to look good in the morning #like that deep voice……. his hair in a messy bun………. wearing sweatpants w no shirt……………….. i am on my hands n knees #this ended up almost as a parallel to my gojo fic…. it wasnt even intentional blame stsgs soulmatism #geto suguru #geto suguru x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #geto x reader #geto fluff #geto suguru x you #jjk geto #jjk x reader #jjk

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bangaveragewhitewine · 23 days ago

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⋆⁺₊❅ the snow ball

teacher!Steve Harrington x teacher!Reader

Word Count: 1.7k

Summary: My second fic for @littlexdeaths The Twelve Days of Promptmas takes us back to 1996. At the annual Snow Ball Dance, Girl Power is supreme and the English teacher is standing very close to Mr H…

Content: The tension is high. 90’s nostalgia, teacher puns and passing notes. Redefinition of the word nemesis, now to be read as ‘that one colleague you have a lethal crush on’ (the girls who get it, get it)

✨bang average festive fics✨ Steve Harrington masterlist ✨

December 1996

The opening bars of Wannabe are cut by the sound of thirty-odd teenage girls squealing with excitement as they crowd onto the dancefloor in threes and fours. The too-cool-to-dance girls bop and bounce their heads, the popular girls perform like they are at home in their bedroom mirrors or the Superbowl Half-Time Show. Geeky and quiet girls sparkle joyfully under the disco ball, any lack of confidence forgotten by utter glee. Girl Power reigns supreme over Meadow Hill Middle School as the world-ending pettiness and hormonal squabbles of thirteen and fourteen-year-olds are soothed and solved by the bouncy vocals and practiced choreography.

You watch the boys stand and stare from the sidelines, buoying each other up as they whisper about who they might ask to dance with later and playing down their nerves. You have seen first love and first heartbreak tonight, watching Andi Cooper sway with Brian W to Always Be My Baby as Danny D looked on with tears in his eyes. Poor kid.

“D’you think they’ll riot if Just A Girl comes on next?”

Your head tilts back against the streamer-covered wall behind you and you can’t help a little smirk at the thought of Female Revolution fuelled by Gwen Stefani and the Spice Girls.

“Mm, imagine the headlines. Ballroom Blitz - Meadow Hill reduced to ruins by festive female rage.”

He laughs and places a cup of punch into your hand, keeping an appropriate distance between your bodies as you survey the Snow Ball in full swing.

“And that’s why you’re the English teacher. Such a way with words.”

“Mm, nice use of sarcasm, Mr Harrington. Gold star.”

The punch is not spiked, but your words sound a little barbed to the unfamiliar ear. All part of the fun.

Speaking of the punch, there’s a hipflask in his jacket, full of some strong spirit that he will share with you once the kids have been picked up, while the DJ is packing away his kit.

“Thanks, you’ve taught me well...”

You look up, meeting his cocoa-coloured eyes, caught staring. His tone is less barbed, more sincere, and when he says your name - your teacher name - you feel fizzy and warm all over.

Steve feels it too, a swirling spiralling drag low in his gut.

It’s fleeting, too quick and far too much for where you are. Too heavy for a gym that smells like sweat masked by Tommy Girl & Victoria's Secret body spray, and looks like an explosion of blue and silver and glitter, festooned with polystyrene snowflakes.

You’re the first to look away, breaking his stare to make sure that revolution is not in fact being stirred up by girls in sparkly dresses and frosted lipgloss.

Across the dancefloor, you watch Coach Farrell mouthing along the words as he keeps an eye on the aforementioned untainted punch. A perfect distraction from that moment of too much.

“Look at Farrell. Be subtle.”

Steve can just about hear your voice over the scream-singing and chances a glance at the veteran of Physical Education.

“Maybe he’s mellowing.” There’s the sarcasm again. He sips his punch and murmurs, “Asshole.”

Your shoulders shake with laughter as Wannabe reaches its peak. You are more tickled by Steve’s candour than the spectacle of it all. So here’s the story from A to Z… Neither of you is immune to its catchiness as you watch your students create core memories.

If you wanna be my lover…

You catch each other’s eye again as the proclamation of Girl Power bleeds out. Your face feels hot, the fluttering feeling returns.

Steve is the one to break it this time, sipping his punch to cool down what is threatening to boil over.

It’s not just tonight, not simply because he looks hot in his navy blazer and slacks with his stupidly perfect hair. Not only because he helped you re-stick the streamers that had started to sag and fall before the night even began. Not because you caught him looking at the way navy velvet hugged your body, or because he told you looked ‘a million bucks’.

This has been simmering for two years since he walked into the teacher’s lounge full of confidence and charm, sent searching for you by the administrator who promised the new History teacher that you would show him around. Two years of teaching next door to each other, pretending to be competitive about how your homeroom performed in the Readathon, using the playful rivalry to feature ‘nemesis’ as your word of the week with a picture of Mr H pinned to the board.

Two years of sharing gossip and frustrations about the district and asshole parents over teacher’s lounge coffee and ungraded papers. Coming in early and staying late to help each other decorate your classrooms for the holidays, just because. Two years of pretending you were not stoking the fire of a crush bigger than the sun, and brushing off teasing questions from students and teachers alike.

You were just friends, but it stung when you overheard he had a date planned for the weekend. You were just friends, but when you saw his arm around a pretty blonde at a bar one Friday night, you headed home early and hoped he had not seen you. You were just friends but you understood again why teens and poets were so dramatic about matters of the heart.

You tried to close yourself off, became spiky and quiet to protect yourself from inevitable heartbreak. But Steve was persistent. When you stood him up for coffee for the third time, he delivered it to your desk with a homemade maple pecan muffin with ‘Drink Me’ and ‘Eat Me’ tags as a nod to your seventh graders' reading assignment for the term.

You let your friends set you up on dates with colleagues and cousins and made yourself unavailable. You found it harder and harder to pretend not to want to spend your shared-free periods shooting the shit with him. To see him looking a little bit lost without his work bestie for company, even when he fit in just fine with the other teachers.

So you gave in.

You had seen first-hand how crushes ruin friendships; you saw it every day in your classroom and the hallways. You were too old for that and felt like a fraud standing at the top of your classroom teaching kids how to identify themes and literary devices and formulate an objective summary of a text while you were stuck on how Steve's hair looked today and the way he smiled at you in the parking lot.

You could get over yourself, choke down your feelings and mask the bitterness with his baked treats and teacher’s lounge coffee.

The olive branch came in the form of a mug festooned with the face of Abraham Lincoln and the words ‘That’s so four score and seven years ago’. There was also a whole box of peanut butter chocolate chip cookies to sweeten the deal.

His smile was brighter than the sun and his laugh echoed around the empty classroom. Friends again.

Things went back to normal but your crush could not be overcome. It only got worse as Steve became more charming, opened more doors for you and opened up a little more when you graded papers together. You found it easy to open up to him too. The simmering of something more than friends was threatening to bubble up and boil over.

This afternoon, you found a gift on your desk. Beneath blue and white snowflake patterned paper was a mug.

‘Though she be but little she is fierce.’

Inside the mug was a note in Steve’s handwriting.

Will you dance with me at the Snow Ball tonight? Yes / No.

The note feels like it is burning your skin, tucked beneath your bra strap. He has been playing it supremely cool all night - you would expect nothing less from Mr Harrington - but you have caught him staring all evening, fleeting glances that the kids are too excited and distracted to see.

Wannabe is followed by the Macarena. You both watch on as the boys standing around the edges of the gym are herded onto the floor by Mrs Willis, who has hogged the mic and insists that ‘everyone knows this one!’

Shared laughter is smothered and hidden by cups of untainted punch, and it’s only a matter of time before both of you are pulled onto the dancefloor to join in.

Over the music and Mrs Willis’s encouragement, you hear him mutter “Not what I had in mind,” as you fall in step with the student body who are totally mortified that their teachers are dancing.

You both endure almost four minutes of in-sync choreography before the DJ pulls the plug and transitions into All I Want For Christmas and you are free to shuffle to the sidelines again, side by side against the streamers.

The myrrh and amber notes of Steve’s cologne tickle your nose as you stand close.

You have to do it now.

Before you can chicken out, you quickly slide the note from its hiding place and into the pocket of his blazer and pray that no one saw.

“I love the mug. Thank you.”

His eyes light up with more than the reflections of the silver streamers and his fingers wrap around the body-warm slip of paper.

“Yeah? You’re welcome, I thought it suited you. And, y’know. Shakespeare.”

Steve’s back to playing cool, but beneath the surface the bubbles fizz and rise and the butterflies flap their wings. You can see it, feel it too.

“And,” he continues, “I’ve seen you in action at those district meetings so ‘fierce’ felt appropriate. And I’m taller than you so…”

His lips curve into a smile as you roll your eyes.

“Yeah yeah, big guy. I can still change my answer on that note…”

Mirth and mischief are replaced by relief, pure joy and a little hint of a scowl.

“I’ll play nice. Promise.”

There’s an unspoken, “Will you?”

“I’ll play nice too. Just don’t step on my tiny girl-feet.”

Another look that is both too much and just right is held between you for just a few moments.

“Find me later, Mr. Harrington.”

Steve watches you swish away, swathed in deep blue velvet and your dancing shoes.

Later on, when the hall is clear of students and chaperones, when the hipflask has been opened and shared, he will spin you under his arm and watch you glitter beneath the disco ball.

If you made it to the end, thank you for reading - I hope you enjoyed!! Comments, reblogs and likes are loved, adored and stored in my heart!

#thetwelvedaysofpromptmas #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x fem!reader #bangaveragefics #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington fanfic #masterlist #steve harrington fic #steve harrington x y/n #90's steve harrington #steve stranger things #steve harrington x f!reader #promptparty #bangaveragefestivefics

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ruershrimo · 8 months ago

Text

take me back (take me with you) | f. megumi x fem! reader | chapter 7: conversation

ao3 link for additional author’s notes | playlist | prev | next | m.list

chapter synopsis:

' “I can’t believe you’re leaving us for a boy," she goes, rolling her eyes. She doesn't even blink.

“I’m not.” You are. '

---

Megumi calls you back. You leave for Tokyo again, like a soul yearning for its body.

word count: ~6k; tws: none for now :)!!

19-6-2018

“So you’re really going to let go of them now?” your father asks.

“...yeah.”

“That’s good. I’ll miss that Itadori boy, though.”

You will, too.

In a way you suppose Megumi and Yuuji are very similar. They’d go well together, be good, fast friends and all that.

They’re both undoubtedly good people, no matter how they’ve beat people up before and how different their beliefs may be.

In Megumi’s case, everyone knew how good a person Tsumiki was, her younger brother included. Her kindness and virtue extended itself, inspiring other people around her. But Megumi was a good person, too— polite, patient (most of the time, unless it were Gojo— but who wouldn’t be annoyed by that man, right?), kind in his own way. He cared for you in all sorts of ways in the past, even then you could tell, gentle with animals and objects and your hand. Gentle in his own way. Giving you reminders despite the tiny calumniations sprinkled in (they barely do as much damage as comb bristles can), being sharp because he must have had to, kind because it was in his very nature. Easy on the eyes, tall, deep soothing voice— he ticked all the boxes for that, too. You bet that if things were different, and the two of you had stayed in touch with each other, you’d have fallen deeply in love with it by now. Yet that thought only makes you feel sour now that things hadn’t gone that way at all.

And Yuuji, too— there was no explanation needed for Yuuji. Even Megumi could tell he was a good person. And at some times he was almost like Tsumiki. You weren’t ever surprised that you’d caught feelings for him, because— who wouldn’t? He was always popular, even if he was ignorant of his own charm around others. But he wasn’t just a good guy with a ripped torso, he was honest, perceptive and smart in conversations. Smarter than he ever credited himself for. Smart in a way you could never be— people with cute faces, nice bodies and good social skills were in a league of their own, practically. You’d thought that for a long time.

Did either of them ever know how you felt?

Probably not. Your heart was guarded, intensely so, and you’d never lay your feelings bare and out so easily. You weren’t the type of person to say you loved people as easily as others did, even within your own family.

This, you presume, is probably an acquired trait, now that you think about it. You were much more different as a child, free with praise and love and unabashed affection as well as appreciation for the people around you. What changed?

(Everything.)

You miss 2010. You miss Tsumiki the way you miss your mother’s cooking, miss her the way you miss when you wrote emails and letters and text messages to her with multi-coloured pens or your old phone that eventually broke a year after. You miss the conversations the two of you had, miss how you used to be your parents’ little angel.

And in the end it all comes back to that, doesn’t it? 2010. Nostalgia. Reminiscing on old memories in a way akin to how the elderly do in their youth. That just made you seem more pathetic, because, weren’t you supposed to be making those memories right now, at this time of your life?

You’re a teenager. You should be going out with friends, and having fun, not rotting at home ruminating on the past, with the only friends you’ve ever had hundreds of kilometres away from you (you weren’t sure if you could even call one of them a ‘friend’ anymore), and your acquaintances not close enough to replace them (how could they ever? How could there ever be a replacement for Yuuji?)

In a way you feel your life is miserable: awkward, socially-impaired teenage girl with her only friend practically out of her life at this point; nothing special to your name besides a cursed technique that most times does you more harm than good; stuck not being able to completely get over friends she met at eight who left her as quickly as someone can blink their eyes; with the thinking process of a nagging, stubborn mother sometimes, or if not that then a blurry, mingled train of thought that gets delayed or lost when moving from station to station; someone not of use at all. Not miserable, you think to yourself like a slap to the face, pathetic.

You’re not sure how Tsumiki is now— maybe she has a partner, or better friends than you were, or she’s busy being president of the student council or something (she’d be a sterling leader, of that you’re certain, that girl who you’d always known was bound to go places in the span of her lifetime).

Hopefully, she’s alright, and doing the best she can in life. That’s all you wish for when it comes to Tsumiki.

At this point, there’s no point in wishing to join them, or to linger on them and memories of the past. It’s a mosquito in summer heat, which is why, if it stays, you decide, you’ll just suppress and ignore it until it goes away. Even if you didn’t know how long it would take you to get over them— weeks, months, but goodness forbid a whole lifetime or forever— you needed to accept that you’d be like this for nearly the rest of your life: pathetic, lonely— ah, that’s the word that so very perfectly delineates the situation you’re in— and then some.

So that’s why, when you hear your phone buzzing on your bed like a cicada during a balmy night, you assume it’s someone else. Yuuji must be busy settling in (he’s been texting you, and you took that as a sign that he wouldn’t call), and Megumi must be… —Well. Megumi has made a promise, and it’s not that you don’t believe in him, but it would be better to expect less than what you’d like to in order to evade disappointment.

Must be someone else. A prank call, or a scammer, or something. Or a telemarketer, but you’d be surprised if telemarketers were calling you and not your father. And you were never one to pick calls up mindlessly anyway, so if it were some stranger out to get you or swindle you, you’d just hang up or check the number.

If not either a scam or a telemarketer (well you suppose both of those could be scams in certain contexts), though, then you’d suspect it would be either Yuuji (Yuuji’s the one who has been texting you, after all, conversations strewn over checking in with the other over the past few hours or snippets of advice from you telling him not to bother Megumi very much, and to be cautious and keep himself safe) or Gojo— definitely not Megumi, and probably not Gojo either, but still it was more likely that Gojo was calling you instead of Megumi, so you’re considering it— and you can’t really remember Gojo’s number anyway, so what if an unknown number wasn’t a prank call or something—

You wonder if you should just pick it up instead of burying your head in your study notes and overthinking everything.

But you know it’s definitely not Megumi.

You check the phone.

Well, you’ll be damned.

It’s Fushiguro Megumi.

You know his number by heart, after all. Keyed it in too many times to forget, and it’s not like he’d have any reason to change it. Not with the way he cares for things, inanimate objects, not with the tenderly quiet, secretly caring, emotionally jaded way he maintains them.

“Ah… hello?”

Your heart thumps in your chest and heat flares up in your cheeks with a frenetic speed.

“Hi,” you blurt out, shakily. You’re sure your voice is quivering, yet your mind feels like it’s barely functioning, almost about to drown in a seven-feet-deep pool, so you can’t really tell. You can’t really hear yourself.

You don’t know why you feel like this— no, you know exactly why, actually. It’s because you haven’t gotten over him. Your thoughts are scrambled but you know, for sure, that you’re like this because you want to get rid of feelings like these but you can’t. Or because you’ve been saying that to yourself like a mantra, for so long, even though a part of you wants it to stay— out of what, that’s what you don’t know; maybe desperation or nostalgia or an inability to stop dwelling on days long gone. But you know what this is— you’ve seen the movies, read the manga, watched the dramas. It’s romance. Crushes. Something you’re not quite able to call love yet, something you’re too scared to properly name, still, but something you can understand is one-sided nonetheless.

“…hi. [Name].”

“Hello…”

What happens when two estranged childhood friends with a book’s worth of history behind their relationship that happen to be socially awkward teenagers actually have a conversation semi-beyond what keeps them estranged in the first place?

“Hi— no, wait… how are you?”

Pot, meet kettle, because you’re going off nothing but the fact that you’re at the very least surprised (the other emotions are too complicated to explain) that he’s speaking to you again, and not just on text, but he’s calling, and he sounds like he’s reading off a script, but the script is in a whole other language, somehow, and the uncertain nervousness in his voice is tangible, even for a deep, low voice like his.

Script or not, you appreciate the effort, though.

“I’m good, um… I’m happy you were able to call. It’s been a long time.”

“That’s good.”

There’s silence on the other line; time feels like it’s moving achingly slowly. But you’re mildly happy.

Not happy, maybe, but you definitely feel light, as if you’ve been severed from the heaviness of everything else that has happened lately. This is the first time in years something like this has ever happened.

“Ah, wait, I forgot to ask! Sorry, um.. how are you?”

“I’m doing alright, too. Oh, wait, I should apologise. I didn’t tell you— thanks for helping with my injuries the other day. Gojo told me about it after you left. You… you didn’t have to, though. You shouldn’t have risked your health like that.”

You shake your head. “Don’t mention it. You know why I do this, anyway.” Out of necessity or a need to be useful, you’re not even sure yourself, but he must know, to some degree, right? It seems as if he’d be the one to know the most of this, of you— at least, when matters came to this. “And I’ll be fine, don’t worry. Dr Ieiri probably ended up helping more with the bigger ones once the three of you got back. I mean, she did, right?”

“…no. She said that she didn’t want to waste her time, so if injuries were more minor like mine, she wouldn’t heal them fully.”

“...ah.” More minor? Seriously, doctor? You’d normally not question her judgement over matters that she had more expertise in dealing with, but seriously?

“I’ll be fine, though. Most of the bandages have come off, and all.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

You wonder where he is now, on the bed, maybe, or sitting on the floor. You’ve seen the classrooms, but not the dormitories— you hope wherever he is, that it’s comfortable. That he’s okay.

“We’re going to see a new student soon.”

“Really? Have you met them before?”

“No, but Gojo said she’s from the countryside. But we’re meeting her in Harajuku, for some reason.”

“Oh, Harajuku! I miss it,” you let out a plaintive sigh, “I can’t wait to be back in Tokyo. You know, whatever happens, I still love that city like nothing else. I know how many people hate it, but I love it so much.” And you love it so much in the first place, mostly because of Megumi and Tsumiki. “Maybe she just wants to chase a bit of the sweet city life— I mean, you know how it is when country bumpkins go to the city for the first time… kind of. Or when they love the city— yeah, that’s a better way of saying it. I was like that, kind of.”

“...if you’re worried about the train ride here and want to travel alone, I could always pay for you. Uh… wait—”

“Oh, no, no! There’s no need, uhm— thank you anyway, it’s just—”

“It’s Gojo’s money anyway.”

“Pft,” you snort. Anything to seep out some of Gojo’s money like gluttonous leeches, right? “Nah, I’ll be fine. I mean, I don’t even think I’ll be able to come back in a few years’ time, and by then I won’t even be relying on my parents’ money for this stuff anymore— I mean, I will still be relying on their money, but I’ll be managing it as my own.”

He chuckles lightly over the line, the silent way he shows his emotions, the way that goes unnoticed if one is not attentive to it. It feels like he’s whispering directly into your ear, and the heat on your face (which you weren’t even sure was still there until that point). Your heart skips a beat and it completely, absolutely shocks you. “...the offer still stands.”

Yeah, you can get behind it if he’s like this now. What happened to him, anyway? Puberty hit him like a brick and gave him, like, one more ounce of emotional maturity?

You shake your head like a character in a piece of crappy romance fanfiction. No way. Not now, at least. Calm down.

(...you’re just a girl.)

“Well, no take backs from now on, okay? Even if it’s, like, five years into the future, you’ll still be using Gojo’s credit card to cover for all my travel expenses.”

He does it again, that low, soft, attractive sound. Makes you want to hit him and hit yourself at the same time, and then kick your feet up in the air giddily, and then throttle yourself, if it were possible, out of sheer embarrassment. “Yeah.”

You’re having the time of your life.

“Anyway, how is everything else? Like, are your studies and grades okay? Is the training you do alright to handle?”

“My grades are pretty okay,” he answers, “Not like Gojo cares, honestly. And the training’s fine, it’s nothing I’m not used to.”

“Gojo seems like he’d be a good teacher. When he wants to, he can command respect pretty easily, too. I guess he just… chooses not to. But I saw it yesterday, when you and Yuuji were passed out in the hospital.”

It still strikes a pang of guilt in your chest, your inability to have done anything else besides calling Gojo over for help.

“...I suppose he does.”

“Yeah.”

“How about you? Itadori, he… he can be an idiot sometimes, but he speaks of you really admirably. He talks about how smart you are a lot.”

The thought of Megumi calling Yuuji an idiot of all things doesn’t feel like it falls short from him, but it still makes you frown— though, you realise that that’s just his way of expressing things, because in a way he’d treated you somewhat the same in the past, even if he hadn’t shown it outright or expressed it very vividly. Classic Megumi.

“Hey, he’s smarter than people give him credit for, okay? Wait until you see how talented he is at things other than sports and martial arts. You’d be surprised after trying the meatballs he makes. Would be good if you asked him to give you the recipe sometime; I make them, like, once a week, at least.”

He sighs, “...I will. But the point is, he cares for you a lot.”

“Yeah, beautiful soul, that guy. Loves people the way curious children love nature.”

“That would be a fitting way to put it.”

“How are the dogs?”

“My shikigami?”

“Yeah. Do they have names?”

“The black one is Kuro and the white one is Shiro.”

“You named them black and white?”

“Look, I named them when I was barely six years old, and six year olds aren’t exactly the best when it comes to these things…”

You giggle, “So the name stuck?”

“Yeah, sort of.”

Real cute.

“What about your father? How is he?”

“He’s okay, but, well. I guess we’re not that close anymore.”

“...I see.” He probably can’t imagine a version of you who wasn’t immensely close to her parents. You couldn’t then, either.

“We’ve been talking even less now that my mother’s in the hospital, but at least I get to talk to him before he eats, maybe. I’ve been doing most of the cooking now that my mother isn’t here and my father doesn’t really know how to handle himself in our kitchen without her guidance.”

“Oh… if you don’t mind me asking, what happened to your mother?”

“Cancer.”

You can practically hear the gulp he’s taking, the bobbing of his throat— sensitive topic. “I’m… so sorry to hear that.”

“It’s okay, don’t be,” you reassure him, “I should have told you that day anyway. I was just… exploding at everybody on that night. I should apologise— I’m sorry for how badly I treated you.”

“No,” he goes, “No, you shouldn’t. I understand why you were like that that night. And it was mostly my fault, too, so…”

“No, no, I’m serious! Feel free to ask almost anything as long as I have actual answers to your questions and all.”

“Still… I just wanted to know. Sorry if I caused you any trouble.”

“No— you didn’t do any of that at all, don’t worry! I’m alright with people asking about this. Ah, anyway… besides Yuuji, do you have any friends?”

“Itadori and I aren’t friends.”

“Trust me, if I asked him, I bet he’d beg to differ. Yuuji’s like that with people— soon he’ll be more important to you than you could have ever thought at first.”

“Whatever you say,” he sort of grunts, “But I don’t have any friends, I think… except you, maybe. What about you?”

You were honestly expecting him not to consider you a friend at all, and at this point so much has happened that wouldn’t even be that bothered if he no longer thought of you as one but called you anyway out of his commitment to his promises, or as an apology.

“I’m surprised you can still call me a friend,” you say. Calling people instead of talking to them physically does something to your inhibitions.

“...should I not?”

“No, no, I’m happy,” you say over the phone. You’ll forget this conversation tomorrow, at least, when the sun has risen and the night returns back the hold you have over yourself, your composure, to you. You’ll act like this never happened. So you’ll say whatever you want to now, disgorging yourself of years of withheld secrets. “I’m happy that we’re still friends. I think I like that.

“Yeah?”

“Um— yeah, it seems like a good place to start,” you grin slightly. “And I, well. I don’t really have any friends beyond Yuuji,” —You’re not even sure if Tsumiki still sees you as a friend— “Even if I may have acquaintances like Sasaki or Iguchi it still feels like Yuuji’s one of the only people I can give that kind of title to, so, um… the more the merrier?”

“That’s… nice.”

“...it is, isn’t it?”

“Thank you.”

Why? “Okay.”

The two of you go through the next few seconds in silence, time feeling like it’s blending and bleeding into a mix of years and events. You can hear the light, steady sound of his breathing from the other line. If you could, you’d sleep to it— fuck the phone bill, you’ll be the one paying it in your father’s stead this time if it was for this.

It’s comforting, and you don’t want to break it— the quiet. If he can hear you now, can hear how you’re breathing through a smile with your chest only slightly moving, you hope it feels the same as the sound of his breathing did for you. You hope it feels just like home. Like a warm pillow in the one place you love the most that you bury your head into when the weather gets especially cold.

“Fushiguro!”

Oh dear.

Wincing at the sound of the creaking door’s shrill shriek as it's opened and then hits the wall, you know exactly who it is— you’d recognise that voice anywhere.

“Is that Yuuji?”

“Oi! I told you not to barge into my room like that!” Megumi shouts.

“Huh? You’re calling someone? Sorry. Wait, is it [Name]?”

“It’s none of your business.”

“Hi, Yuuji.”

“Can I talk to her?”

“Is it alright if we do, Megumi? Just for a few seconds.”

“Fine,” he sighs. You can practically hear that eye roll.

“Yo!” he cheers.

“Has everything been okay lately?” you ask.

“Yeah. We’re meeting a new student soon.”

“Ah, yeah. Megumi told me.”

“—Oh, and my uniform came in! It looks pretty neat.”

“That’s good. Maybe you can send me a picture once you start wearing it, then.”

“I will!”

Things are going better than you thought they would.

21-6-2018

It’s been a few days now.

You don’t know Sasaki and Iguchi well enough to call them friends, but the three of you do know each other. You had never decided to change any contacts with them, and considering that they and you were never closer than acquaintances, friends of a friend— you had never really regretted it. But now that Yuuji is gone— and you know he’s not dead, but still— you wonder whether you should have gotten closer to them, just to be less alone once Yuuji left, even if it could not be the way things were with Yuuji. (“I thought I was a pretty lonely guy, and sometimes I still do. Like— I mean, you’re a lonely girl too sometimes, I think,” he had told you as you patched him up.)

Still, Yuuji and you were two peas in a pod— so they’re bound to ask what happened to him soon enough, especially Iguchi.

You’ll have to start getting used to spending your Thursdays alone. And then you’d have to start getting used to every other day without him, too. If you went to the arcade or watched movies or sing-screamed the lyrics to English songs you don’t know the Japanese translations of without his presence there, you know how it wouldn’t feel the same. In life it’s not what you do that matters, you’ve come to realise— it’s who you’re doing these things with. That’s what puts meaning to it all and makes all things done in your life worthwhile.

The two of them pass you by during lunch.

“[Last Name]? —Oh, hey!” Sasaki says as she turns around.

You almost scream and run away like a mouse fleeing from the eyes of a vicious house cat, tremors in your voice. “Hello…”

“Where’s Yuuji, by the way? The occult club’s going to fall apart without him.”

You pause. “He transferred to another school…”

“Huh?” she goes, Iguchi almost reeling back in shock. “Transferred? But why? We’ve barely even made it to the middle of the year!”

“I… I don’t know, it was something really urgent,”

23-6-2018

Your room is a cluttered mess— lucky as you are that it’s the weekend, the past week has been a rollercoaster that knocked your room’s usual standard of cleanliness off track. Scattered all over your desk were worksheets, notebooks, graph paper pages and foolscap paper, chicken-scratch writing and meticulous notes scribbled all over them to compensate for your absence the day after the incident took place.

It isn’t the time or the discipline you lack— it’s just that it’s going to be awfully tedious. You’ll have to wipe your desk again, and clean the walls, and sort through all your clothes, too, since you haven’t been folding them in any way that isn’t merely fastidious and nearly careless. So as you get to work, you suppose that calling someone wouldn’t hurt.

Maybe you could call Megumi. That would be okay.

For the past few years, you’ve never noticed it. So when you do, it hits you like a bullet train at the fastest of speeds.

You miss him. Not just in the way you miss 2010, the way you miss the past, the way you miss and mourn the person you used to be. It had been so obvious for Tsumiki, but not for him, and now that you know this it’ll be another quiet revelation— another rediscovery of fragments of yourself concealed by memories.

You miss him— all of him; you yearned to be his friend again because he was unlike Tsumiki who you knew cherished you as you did her; you miss him regardless of who he is now, because somewhere inside him is the boy who read dog books and brought you to the school library and ran your finger through water when you burned it. Somewhere inside him is the person who offered to hold your bag as he walked with you through a snowy garden, and helped you when your nose bled.

So it would be okay to call Megumi right now.

“Fushiguro speaking.”

“Hi, Megumi. Are you busy?”

“Not right now.”

“Want to call?”

“Fushiguro!” It’s Yuuji. “Wanna go—”

“I said I’m not going!”

You chuckle, “Be nice. Were the two of you supposed to go somewhere?”

“Nothing important. Gojo said he wanted us to ‘bond’ with each other, so he concluded that we could watch a movie. Some kind of gory horror film or something.”

He’s… actually making an obvious effort not to scold Yuuji that much or call him some insulting, derogatory term this time… wow.

“Ah, yeah. Yuuji likes his horror movies.”

“Anyway, anything urgent you wanted to tell me?”

“No, I’m just… uh—” you laugh nervously, “I’m just a little bored.” Nowadays you’re not really sure what he’d do— scold you, maybe, or roll his eyes so hard that you can hear it over the line, or he may even flash into a quick bit of awkwardness and hesitation through his words.

Or maybe— and this was the worst of it all, he’d ask why you were calling him, and his bouts of awkwardness would have only been something temporary, soon to be replaced once again by anger and annoyance, the same he gives to everyone else— even if you knew he didn’t always mean it, per se. No more special treatment for you.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, uh… I have to clean, and usually it’s not as much as what I have to do today, so I just thought that since the only other person in the house is my father and we don’t really talk much anymore, we could, um… chat for a while. Yeah.”

“Okay.”

“Uh-huh, so.” You stand up, leaving your phone on your desk and putting the call on speaker mode. The mountain of papers and books is a wasteland and your desk has been degraded to a landfill— the state of it would make your mother a wailing mess— no, she’d faint instantly as soon as she saw it, becoming worse of a mess than the table itself was. “Anything interesting happened lately?”

“Not really.”

“Oh—! Yuuji sent me a picture of his uniform the other day. Was that one special?”

“Yeah. But they let students make adjustments to the uniform, and he said he hadn’t changed anything, so I think that was Gojo’s doing.”

“Oh, well, that’s Gojo. It suits him, though, right? Not to sound mean or be presumptuous, but…” you chuckle, “When you wear the uniform, you look so formal. It’s not a bad thing— it’s just that Yuuji’s just always been more casual like that. And the red of the hoodie goes with his hair, too!”

“I guess so.”

“I can’t imagine you wearing anything other than the default uniform, though. Not to insult you, I mean, you still look good in the normal uniform, I just— can’t imagine it.” You remark, sorting the materials and books by size and subject. You’ve got to handle some of the drawers, too, now that you’ve started and can’t stop your momentum just yet. You can already feel the dust particles that have gathered on whatever is inside them still, jostling around once you’ve taken them out.

“If you’re going to say it like that, you can just say it outright.”

“No, no! I mean that I just can’t imagine you wearing, like, Yuuji’s uniform. Wait, what do the other students’ uniforms look like?”

“The second years?”

“Yeah. Did they choose the normal ones?”

“Inumaki did. They have three boys and one girl, but only two of the boys wear the normal uniform. Okkotsu has a special uniform in white.”

“Oh, I see,” you nod your head, “It’s a nice uniform, though. I wish I could wear a uniform that pretty.”

“You could always enrol yourself here,” he suggests, “They’d welcome you with open arms.”

“Maybe they will,” you chuckle, “But my mother would be adamant on me staying in the ‘normal’ world. She’s unyielding like that.”

“And your father?”

“Wouldn’t mind, at least I don’t think…” you say, “I’ll have to wonder when to tell him if I do end up in jujutsu high; you never know when he’s mad. He’s always unpredictable like that nowadays and it’s not… particularly pleasant.”

“I see. It would be good if you were here, though. You would be closer to Dr Ieiri that way. And it would do good, because, um… well, I’d like you here. You’d be… good for the people around you here.”

“Ah, you— you would?” you ask, slightly phased— not like he hasn’t been a bit nicer to you since you’ve seen him again (maybe it was the awkwardness, maybe it was the guilt). “Thank you,” you say, the corners of your mouth tugging up sheepishly, heading to the dusty drawer (you haven’t touched it in what feels like years, usually excluding it from your list of things to clean).

After a scrupulous amount of wiping away at the dust outside of and surrounding it, you open the drawer with a slight bit of anticipation— you don’t expect much, but you’re a person who lingers on the past like a ghost that has forgotten how time has passed. There wouldn’t be much in this drawer to reminisce on, you presume, but you still approach it with an eager fascination— you’re the type to do so, after all.

Of everything there, the most noteworthy are two things you grabbed almost immediately— you could never forget how they felt, and the weight that they held in your life back then: a letter, addressed but never delivered to the person you were talking to right now, and a cigarette with a hastily scribbled slew of numbers on it and a lipstick mark on its end.

Oh, that letter. That letter.

From what you remember, you’ve never rebelled against your parents before. At least, not with anything major— for a long time, you were their good girl, and you never disobeyed them, as much as you wanted to at times. You still are, still stuck with that age-old drive to be useful. (But was there even a point in that anymore? At least, was there one with your parents?). You didn’t picture yourself as any kind of righteous goody-two-shoes, but you definitely weren’t a rebel or a delinquent. You followed their instructions and seldom ever questioned what they told you, and so it had always been subtly implanted in your brain that they would be alright with anything you did or said. Yet the first time you did actually start to question them, you realised that their belief in your ‘obedience’ as pure love— and maybe it was; you loved them so much you were blinded and trusted them with everything and did anything they wanted their baby to do— you realised they only treated you so lovingly if you were not an actual person with your own ideals and beliefs.

(But they still loved you, right?)

Even now, you still do obey them and listen to them. If your father needed anything, he could consider it done; if your mother wanted her clothes to be patched up you’d try your utmost best to withstand the pricking of needles and bring it back to her hospital room with bandaged fingers. It was like that with your mother: even if at times it seemed like the only pain she wanted for you was callouses from a pen or pricks from needles, at other times you feel she could have known you’d end up like her, maybe. Maybe she saw it as a curse: the worlds the two of you were born in were different, and she wanted you to stay in yours, lest you die or live in a world of endless pain.

You’ve been doing it for a long time: being dismissive of yourself, prone to self-prostration, subservient; the lovingness of a mother, the sweetness of a teenage girl (you hoped), the kindness of a caring friend. Maybe it was Tsumiki— maybe it was because you’d always seen this in Tsumiki. She was always smiling, always caring; taking on the weight of motherhood before she could carry the weight of her school bag. Hugging you with her saccharine smile; braiding her hair with gentle hands and holding your wrist with her hair tie on it even gentler. (You still have it with you. You had planned to start taking it off more once Yuuji left, but you suppose some habits take longer than a week to develop.) All while having that sickening, fantastical, mysterious sweetness of a teenage girl in what you now understand could have been a hidden misery— because caring for someone like a mother while suppressing the thoughts that spoke to you to act like a child was something you wanted to replicate until you realised you understood it. And then you no longer wanted to recreate it. (Maybe that was the way it was for every woman or girl you knew: watching someone you loved hurt themself or not being able to do anything to prevent it when they started. Life was a cycle that way. A very annoying, frustrating one full of unfortunate circumstances and wrongly-picked out decks of cards.)

“…you know what? I think I may be able to come,” you tell him.

“You don’t have to go against your father for our sake.”

“No, don’t worry about it. I think I know who to ask for help. Thank you, Megumi.”

“Hi, Dr Ieiri?”

“Kid? That you?” she goes, the slightest bit of excitement stark against her usual deadpan tone. “I thought you’d never call because of that old man.”

“Haha, yeah— sorry to disturb you, but, um, Dr Ieiri? I may want to take you up on that offer, by the way, but um, I’m still on the fence. I mean, I know I want to be like you and do what you do but… I don’t know, I’m not quite sure about leaving the two of them alone here and all. But anyway, I just called you because I wanted to ask if there was, you know, any way you could get me to Tokyo somehow. I need to pass something to someone, but, um… I guess I’m going with this with the hope that I’ll change my mind and join you. But I’m… perpetually on the fence for now, I guess.”

“Pft,” she snorts, “You little rebel, I’m in. I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thank you so much.”

24-6-2018

The decision and the plan were made as swiftly as you could.

You decide to tell your father— you wouldn’t want to deceive him, after all. At least, you’d give him a quick notice. And then you’d leave. Like a snowflake before the first day of spring. He’ll probably tell your mother.

“I’m leaving for Tokyo for a while,” you say, “I’ll be back before you can even realise I’m gone. Invitation from Dr Ieiri.”

25-6-2018

“Why?” your father asks, the night before you leave. He suggested going out together at least once before you left. He always knew when you were making white lies.

“I guess that maybe I’m just too much like you, Daddy.”

For the first time in years he hugs you on the doorstep, patting you on the back on the day you’re set to leave. “Make sure you study and work hard,” he reminds you.

“I’m leaving for Tokyo,” you announce.

“I can’t believe you’re leaving us for a boy,” she goes, rolling her eyes. She doesn’t even blink.

“I’m not.” You are.

“You know, your father travelled all over the country to see me again after we’d first met.”

“Oh. Okay?”

“And he’s always been dedicated to his job and dedicated to helping people.”

“Uh huh.”

“I’m saying that the two of you are very similar. I’ve lived through this story before,” she states, “And you look just like your father right now.” your mother says. She hasn’t smiled the way she used to— you remember it vividly, that vibrant gleam in her, the liveliest and loveliest of life— in ages and you don’t think she will, not now of all times.

“Really? Sometimes he says I take after you more.”

“You will.”

It doesn’t feel like a curse. Even if it usually would make your heart well up in guilt, it doesn’t feel like a curse.

Maybe she knows that her time is running out. Maybe this is resignation. Whatever it is, you hold her hand first, but you’re also the first one to let the other go, your fingers slipping away from hers. You leave the door for the last time in a while, making another round in your life of that carousel of abandonment and reuniting and departures.

25-6-2018

Dr Ieiri greets you with a calm smile on her pallid face.

“Good to see you again.”

“It’s good to be back here,” you sigh.

It is.

You keep your hand on your other hand’s wrist, holding them in front of you. The cherry hair tie on it feels warm against your skin as you exit the station, summer heat embracing it softly.

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thetempleofthemasaigoddess · 9 months ago

Text

Let me breathe for you (part 1)

Merman!Shanks x reader. This is part one of two.

*****

Walks along the waterfront have always had the power to soothe you, distract your thoughts from any worry or reason for sadness, and put you in a better frame of mind; it is, fortunately, an activity you can indulge in every time you want, since you were born in a coastal town, and your house is just a few minutes away from a quiet, secluded beach you visit regularly.

Today is one of those occasions. You don’t feel particularly sad or preoccupied, but you have just finished sewing a dress -an important project that had kept you busy for weeks, and that the client who had commissioned it had paid quite a sum for- and you decided that a nice walk was in order, to stretch your legs and enjoy some time outside rather than in your tiny workshop at home.

A gentle wind plays with your hair as you fill your lungs with the salty air -a smell that you have always found comforting, for some reason you cannot explain- and walk leisurely along the shoreline, the orderly line of your footsteps on the moist sand following you. The laces of your sandals hang from your fingers; for years you had left your shoes next to a large rock, since it is more pleasant to feel the warm sand under your feet, but after a pair were stolen, no doubt by some kids who had nothing better to do than to play stupid planks, you decided it was safer to carry them with you. Today the sun is shining for the first time after a week of almost constant rain; you lift your eyes to the reassuringly cloud-free sky above your head and smile, aware that soon the coming of winter will force you to cut your walks short and for this reason determined to enjoy your outing today.

The beach is almost a mile away from the busiest part of the town, and the roar of the waves crashing on the shore is the only sound reaching your ears; the beach is empty around you, as you imagined it would be since you have very seldom encountered other people during your walks over the years, and while you’re usually a pretty social person, and enjoy spending time with your older sister and your friends, you equally appreciate moments like this… when, excused from having to make small talk or listen to the discourses of whoever is next to you, you are free to focus on your thoughts, reflect, mentally prepare for the tasks for the day… and dream, even. Dream things you almost feel guilty for, and that you often quickly chide yourself for…

Today is one of those days. You stop in your tracks to pick up a seashell to add to your collection -it is of a pretty red colour. One day, you reflect, you should use shells as decorations for a dress, in the place of beads or frills; you could start a new trend, and gather supplies to use in your workshop during your walks- and then look in the direction the small creature that once inhabited it must have come from. The blue immensity in front of you is breath-taking as usual, even now that only gentle waves break its still surface; you are a more than able swimmer, who fortunately never risked drowning or other accidents, and you know that the sea is a source of food and livelihood for many of the town’s citizens, but no matter how much you enjoy the quiet, private hours you spend on the beach, there are moments you can’t help hating, even resenting it, like you would do with a man who had disrespected you or a friend who had broken your trust. It is absurd -the sea is after all not a person, it doesn’t have thoughts and emotions and cannot be held responsible for its actions the way all men and women of age are- and you have often reprimanded yourself for that useless bitterness, but you can’t help it. The sea has stolen someone you once loved away from you, and you’ll never forget it -or him- for that.

So many years have passed, and you still remember the pain breaking your heart as you observed his ship disappearing over the horizon, pushed along by deceptively gentle waves, as one of your hands held your sister’s and the other waved, even though you knew he couldn’t see you anymore. You don’t remember whether you hugged him before he left, kissed him, told him how much you loved and would miss him; you probably did, because you always did, every time he left, and you sincerely hope you hadn’t forgotten that time, the last you ever could…

It is a good thing the beach is empty, because you have always hated to be seen as you cry, even though it is just a few tears you can -and do- quickly dry with your fingers. You sigh, reminding yourself this walk was supposed to be a reward for your hard work, and that today is in any case too nice a day to waste it with regret and sad memories; you will find a few more shells, you decide trying to distract yourself, for your little nephews at home to play with, and as you return home you will stop at the tea room and treat yourself to a warm drink. Yes, that would be an excellent way to conclude your day…

You are already feeling a bit better as you start on the way back, when suddenly something in the distance catches your eye, something peculiar and unexpected enough it compels you to quicken your pace to reach it. At first you could think it is a piece of wood, pushed on the beach by the tide and covered by algae and other aquatic waste, or the body of an unfortunate animal, victim of an accident or the cruelty of men; but there are no bright red algae, as far as you know, and dogs and cats don’t have long, glabrous limbs, stretched forward as if in a desperate request for help…

It is a man, you realise, the scene in front of your wide open eyes unexpected but too clear to be misunderstood, a soaking wet, completely still man, lying on his belly with the lower half of his body still immersed in water, as if his strength failed before he could fully pull himself ashore. He is naked, for what you can see, probably the victim of a shipwreck, even though more than a month must have passed since the last serious storm, or another accident at sea, who has been able to reach the island’s shores swimming desperately to save himself… or perhaps it is the tide that has pushed his body there, after stealing his breath and life?

There is only one way to know, and you waste no time in covering the short distance that separates you from the man as quickly as you can, before falling to your knees by his side. You observe him for a moment as you leave your bag and sandals on the sand next to you, your eyes lingering on the bright red of his water-soaked hair before noticing that the man is missing an arm - not because of whatever misfortune led him to your shores, you decide, since he is not bleeding and even your untrained eye can see his is an old wound. This poor man must be unable to swim; he must have drowned, you realise, after having fallen, or been pushed, from whatever vessel he was sailing on…

Realising you should check whether he is actually dead or you can still do something to help him, before wasting time speculating, you hurry to shake him by the shoulder, gently at first and then more forcefully. “Sir, are you alright? Can you hear me?” you ask; you can’t be fully sure he speaks your language, but he will answer in any case, won’t he? “Please… please don’t be dead…”

No answer whatsoever, not even a movement or a grimace of pain; you feel your heart in your throat as you pass his arm around your shoulders and gently push him on his back to check his heartbeat, which allows you to give a good look at who you still consider the victim of a tragic, but relatively normal, shipwreck. The man doesn’t look much older than you, andis almost certainly not a native of the island; he has hair of a beautiful, flame-bright red, the agile but strong body of a man used to physical effort… and a large, nasty wound on his left side, a span under his armpit.

You observe it carefully, deeply shaken but able to keep the horror at bay as you try to figure out if there is still something you can do to help this man. You have never seen anything like this wound; it looks like he was bitten, by something very large, which is not particularly surprising given the fact the man was in the water; but even if he were attacked by a shark or another predator, how could he survive, since his impairment makes it impossible for him to swim? Was he attacked before he fell, or jumped, in the water?

You don’t need any knowledge of medicine (which you completely lack, unless being the sister in law of a capable nurse counts for something) to decide whether a person is alive or dead, so you quickly press your ear against the man’s torso, and sigh relieved in hearing his heartbeat, just a little fainter than it would be normal. He is just unconscious, and, you decide, you will try once more to revive him before going to ask for help in any case; you will find someone strong enough to carry him, and soon the man will be well-cared for at the town’s clinic. “Sir, can you hear me? Please, wake up…”

Finally, he does answer - even if not properly in words. “Aahh…” he moans, clearly in pain; with an evident effort, the man finally opens his eyes, brown irises meeting yours.

“Hello.” you greet him, but judging from his reaction you may as well have threatened his life, because the man, startled, suddenly panics; he cries something unintelligible and waves his arm, clearly trying to keep you away. Instinctively you grab his wrist, trying to hold him still to avoid worsening his wound. “Calm down!”

“No, no…! Let me go…”

He does speak your language, you are relieved to learn. “It’s alright, sir. I am a friend; I don’t want to hurt you, but please, you need to calm down, you are wounded…”

And then something appears, moves, in your peripheral vision, and you, in turn, freeze.

You had paid no mind to the man’s lower half, still submerged, focused as you were on his wound and on making sure he could still be helped, but now, as he struggled, you have seen something pop out of the water for a moment… something that looked nothing like a leg, or a foot.

Incredulous -you must be mistaken, that’s the only logical explanation, and after all you barely saw it, for half a second and not very clearly- you force yourself to look back at the man, tense and worried, who clearly wishes he could escape and put an end to your acquaintance. “You are safe.” you try to reassure him, letting his arm go and opening your own hands to prove you are unarmed “I don’t want to hurt you, but you are wounded…”

The man lowers his gaze to the nasty gash at his side and blinks, as if he hadn’t realised he had been wounded until now - or surprised he’s still alive. He looks back at you, still tense as he tries to ascertain whether you are worthy of trust or pose a danger to him, and suddenly stumbles, too weak even to prop himself up on one elbow. “You need to leave.” he tells you, more desperate than forceful… a plea, not an order “And tell no one you have seen me. Please, I am fine…”

“You couldn’t be less fine if you tried!” you exclaim, exasperated; why is he refusing your help, given the clear state of distress he is in? Doesn’t he realise that if left to his own devices he could die before the end of the day? “You are wounded, I can’t leave you…”

And then the man faints again, his head hitting the sand. Frustrated, you sigh and decide that the first thing to do, before leaving to look for help, is pulling him out of the water, hoping he’s not too heavy for you; this unfortunate, stubborn man is already soaking wet, the last thing you want is for him to catch pneumonia. So you lift yourself up and, circling his shoulders with your arm once more, you prepare to drag him towards the beach… and a moment later you are forced to stop, but not out of tiredness.

You were right.

The stranger who stumbled on your favourite beach, God only knows how, is a normal man from the waist up, but further down… he isn’t, at all.

He is a fish. He has a tail - a long, strong tail covered in blue-green scales, shiny under the late afternoon sun, a single limb roughly as wide as the legs of a man of his size pressed together; his caudal fin, split in the middle, is of a paler blue, the same colour as the gentle waves in front of you, semi-transparent.

You know what he is, of course; you had never seen one, you had never imagined you ever would, given those like him are supposed to be the stuff of the legends sailors tell and artists reproduce on maritime paintings, but you still remember the stories your mother told you and your sister when you were younger, and that you still believed in your innocence to be true; stories of a mysterious, dangerous and still playful kin, whose songs could unleash storms and who lived in great cities in the depth of the sea…

“A mermaid.” you whisper, breathless; you don’t even notice you are speaking out loud, so stunned you are “He is a mermaid.”

You feel the urge to touch him - which would be improper, probably, but would confirm what part of you still can’t come to terms with, even though he is right there, unconscious but clearly alive and real, and suddenly you have so many questions. Where does he come from? Who, or what, attacked him? Is he the last of his kind or, more likely, he is part of a more or less numerous species, whose existence is unknown to yours? How come he speaks your language?

What you know for sure, for some difficult to explain reason, is that you need to hide him; this man needs help, and you are the only one who can protect him, taking care of his wound and making sure no one learns of his presence. You have no reason to feel protective of him, but you do, and while you can’t very well carry him home and ask your sister and brother in law to keep him there hidden, you don’t want the town’s sailors to sell him to the highest bidder, or to cut him in pieces to create some miraculous potions, since according to some legends an elixir made with a mermaid’s blood or flesh can cure any illness or even make a person immortal.

(Children’s tales, of course. Or are they?)

Fortunately you are just a few steps away from a small grotto, at the very end of the beach, its entrance covered by bushes; it is hard to find it unless one knows where to look, which makes it the perfect hiding spot for your new friend. Aware that the quicker you get him away from the beach, the safer he will be, you pass his arm around your shoulders and begin dragging him towards the grotto, the short distance nonetheless requiring several minutes of intense work, the mermaid’s body way too heavy for you. In the end, breathless and aching for the effort, you help him lie down on the ground, the domed ceiling above your heads, and observe your new ward, still unbelieving but suddenly preoccupied for his future. Everybody knows most sea creatures cannot survive long on land; what if your desire to keep him hidden ends up further weakening this already debilitated man, or even killing him? Perhaps, besides taking care of his wound, you should keep his body wet, or at least his tail…

Moan.

You cup his face with your hand. “Can you hear me?” you ask, spontaneously dropping the sir and assuming a more informal tone, as if the two of you had known each other for years; as if you were friends “You’re wounded, but now you’re safe, it’s going to be alright.”

“Hmm…”

“Can you open your eyes?”

He struggles for a while, and in the end brown irises meet yours once more. “What… what happened to me?” he murmurs, still clearly dazed; he speaks your language fluently, even though his accent is different from any you have ever heard.

“I found you on the beach, unconscious; you have been bitten… by something.” you explain, and the mermaid again spends a few seconds contemplating the wound on his side, that must hurt terribly; judging by his expression, he understands the gravity of his situation all too well, as well as the fact he’s lucky to be alive “It’s going to be alright. I’ll go find someone…”

“No.”

“What do you mean, no? You are wounded. If we don’t take care of it, you could die.”

Your new friend shakes his head stubbornly. As he looks at you he seems… not exactly afraid, but somehow reticent; he doesn’t know whether he can trust you, even though he has realised he does need your help and he will probably not survive on his own “No one… no human can see me. No one can know I’m here.”

“But I know. I have seen you.”

“And you’re already one person too many. Please, you need to go; I’ll… manage.”

You softly point out that, wounded and clearly debilitated as he is, he simply can’t manage, especially if someone from the nearby town sees him or whatever bit him is still waiting in the water to finish the job. His wound could get infected, but if you go call your brother in law, a capable nurse who will surely understand the need to keep the identity of his patient secret…

And then, as you are still trying to convince him, you both hear the voices of men arguing, and then a dog barking; they’re still far away, perhaps midway along the beach, but quickly approaching. The mermaid’s sun-kissed skin seems to pale all at once; you hear him swear under his breath. “They found me…”

“Who?” you inquire.

“Fishermen; from your town, perhaps, I don’t know. They saw me swim towards the shore, and they followed me. I thought I had lost them, but I was wrong…”

The men’s voices grow clearer by the moment; you hear one of them ask his friends where has that blasted creature gone. They might not notice the grotto, but if they do they’ll find the mermaid in less than a minute, and you doubt you’ll be able to defend him.

You have only a moment to reflect on what to do; fortunately, it is more than enough. “I’ll take care of them.” you announce as you stand, your skirt and legs covered in sand.

“... what?”

“You just stay here and don’t make a sound.” you order, and your new friend, still uncertain -and how could he feel otherwise, poor soul? Completely alone, his life in danger, forced to rely on the help of a person he has no reason to trust- has the good sense to obey.

You quickly leave the grotto, retrieve the bag and shoes you had abandoned on the sand and put as good a distance as you can from the hiding spot of your new friend; you can feel your heart pounding, but at the same time you are perfectly calm, clear-headed and ready to do whatever you can to help him. A few seconds later, a group of five men, armed with knives and nets, runs into you; one of them is holding a large dog, barking madly, by his collar.

“Hello, gentlemen.” you greet them in your most innocent tone; you have quickly picked up a few shells, in case you are asked what you are doing on the beach, but the men don’t seem to care about your favourite past-times.

“You’ve seen a fish-man?” the one at the head of the small group brusquely asks you.

“Excuse me?”

“A man with a fish-tail! Have you seen him, girl?”

You decide to risk it. “Oh, yes!” you exclaim, trying to remember everything you learnt during the acting classes you attended when you were eleven - all three of them “I think I did, actually! Near the promontory.”

The place you have mentioned to make the men leave is quite far from the beach - so far, in fact, that they pause, unsure if their prey could have actually swum all the way over there in the short time since they last saw him. “Are you really sure?” the dog’s handler asks, raising his voice to make himself heard over the excited barking; you wonder whether the animal, a tracker dog, can smell your new friend’s scent.

“I am, sir. His tail was green and blue, and I saw him swimming just under the promontory as I walked here. I think he was wounded.”

Confirming the existence of the mermaid, when the men had perhaps only barely seen him and could therefore be convinced they had made a blunder and to abandon their search, is perhaps risky, but the details you added convince them of the veracity of your story.

“Let’s go get him, boys!” the group leader exclaims “I bet we can sell him for a million berries and even more!”

They depart in a run, the dog still barking, without even looking at you. You wait for them to have disappeared, shove the seashells in your bag, and return to the grotto, where the mermaid is waiting for you. “Everything is fine; they left.” you inform him as you kneel by his side once more.

“Are you sure?”

“I told them I saw you, but now they are looking for you in a place a mile away. I hope I did the right thing.”

For the first time, the mermaid seems to relax -marginally, given he’s still in danger, but that’s already something; he smiles at you, openly grateful. “That was good thinking. Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

You can’t stop looking at him, by now aware you are not dreaming and he actually is a mermaid, but still unable to fully come to terms with the simple truth of his existence. The creature in front of you is the stuff of legends, or of children's stories, but you can see him, and touch him, and talk to him. He is real, and that changes the meaning of the world as you know it…

“Maybe I should… pour some water on you?” you ask in the end, realising you have been openly staring for a while, something that being in his place you would find discourteous.

“Whatever for?”

“Maybe… I don’t know. Fish die if left out of the water for too long, I thought… since you’re half-fish… it could be the same for you mermaids.”

The man’s eyebrow arches, even though he seems more amused than offended; the bright red of his hair has lost no shine, even in the relative darkness of the grotto, where the sun rays don’t reach. “You think I am a mermaid?”

You look down to his fish-tail. “... yes? I mean, at least this is how I was taught mermaids look, human from the waist up and…”

“Yes, yes. But I am a male, don’t you see?”

“Of course I do. You’re a… male mermaid.”

Your new friend grins. “We prefer merman.” he explains “Or merpeople, when you want to talk about our whole kin. And it’s very kind of you, but we can remain on dry land for a while before it starts sapping our strength. On the other hand… I should probably get back in the water. It’s not safe for me to be here.”

“But you are wounded.” you point out again, feeling more than a little foolish because of course he knows that already; you wish you could ask him what exactly bit him, because if his kind exists then maybe marine monsters do as well, but you feel it’s more important to keep him safe “And you didn’t even have the strength to open your eyes when I found you. You are still too weak to return to the open sea.”

He looks at you; as you expected, your brief conversation seems to have exhausted him already, but the gaze of his brown eyes is lucid, and intense; eyes you can’t help feeling captivated by. “You’re a doctor?”

“No.” you admit “But anyone could see your wound needs to be taken care of. I… I could do it, if you want, and if you don’t want me to call for someone else. I have seen my brother in law sew up many wounds, and I am a seamstress, I’m quite good with a needle and thread.”

The aforementioned tools of the trade are in your bag, since you often visit your clients at home and it’s easier to carry them with you wherever you go; the mermaid - the merman looks at you, as if testing your resolve, and sighs as he lays down on the ground once more, too weak to even keep himself leaning on his elbow. “I guess the fault is mine; I should have been more careful.” he admits “Are you sure you can do it?”

“It will hurt.” you warn him; you’re avoiding his question and you both know it “But if I don’t suture the wound it’ll get infected, and for all I know your people could be ten times more resistant to illness and injury than mine, but…”

“... it would be dangerous in any case; I know. Very well.” the merman decides, his hand raised in a gesture of impotence; but then he smiles at you, and that is reassurance enough “I’m in your hands.”

The merman tells you that, unlike what usually happens with humans, you can use salt water to clean his wound, which you do, quickly pacing back and forth between the grotto and the shore, since you don’t have a bottle or a basin you can use and you are forced to carry as much water as you can in your cupped hands. Then, it is finally time for you to get to work; fortunately your sewing kit has just what you need, a needle of the right size, that you clean carefully, and more than enough black thread to suture any wound. The merman lies on his good side in front of you, as he observes you preparing for an undertaking you are suddenly unsure you can measure up to. You are an excellent seamstress, and while there is clearly a large difference between sewing fabric, no matter how costly, and a person’s skin, you had witnessed your brother in law at work, with his and the patient’s permission, often enough to know what to do. If only your hands would stop shaking…

“It’s alright.” the merman promises softly; he must have perceived how tense you are, but he looks as calm and relaxed as if the one preparing to tend to him were the best surgeon of the four seas “You’ll do great, I’m sure.”

You smile weakly, kneeling in front of him; your sister must be wondering where you are, perhaps even whether something has happened to you, but even though you would never want to worry her, at the moment you are too focused on him to care about anything else. “I just… don’t want to hurt you more than you already are.”

“Those like me are hardier than we look; I’ll be fine. Just imagine I am a frill you are sewing on a dress.”

The thought makes you laugh; you should probably wonder how a creature who has no legs, and therefore has no way to learn about human society and customs, knows what a frill is, but again, the determination to help him has eclipsed any other consideration. A deep breath, a quick prayer… and you get to work. Your patient remains perfectly still as you sew the two halves of the wound together, betraying no trace of pain or discomfort; you can feel his brown eyes on you, his skin cool but tender under your hands.

A whole day passes in ten minutes; in the end you breathe out, and observing the results of your efforts you must admit you did a good job. Will it be enough? Unless there is a well-equipped hospital at the bottom of the sea, and since your new friend refuses to have a professional see him, you can’t help being still worried for him. What if your stitches don’t hold, and his wound bleeds again, becoming infected? What if whatever is responsible for that wound attacks him again…?

“You did a great job.” your patient says, cautiously examining the stitches with his fingers “Really, I think any nurse or doctor would approve. You should be proud of yourself.”

His genuine gratitude makes a smile bloom on your lips. “I’m just glad I could help.”

“And help you did. Thank you…?”

He looks at you questioningly as he slowly turns on his back, his long tail folded on one side, and it takes you a minute to catch his meaning. “Oh! I’m (name), (full name).”

“That’s a lovely name. I wish I could tell you mine, since you probably saved my life, but I can’t, and I’d rather not lie to you.”

You would be curious to know the reason for his reticence, not to mention what kind of names merpeople give their children, but you decide not to ask. “Do you need to eat?” you inquire instead.

“I’m sorry?”

“Well… you must feel very weak, given what happened and the blood you must have lost, so I thought… I have no food with me, or water, but I can go home and take some, if you want. It wouldn’t take long.”

He looks at you, amusement and a touch of disbelief dancing in his eyes; he has a lovely smile, you can’t help noticing. “You are a wonder, you know?” he asks, shaking his head “You didn’t know my kin existed, right?”

“I had no idea! I might have to pinch myself to make sure I am not dreaming.”

“As I expected. You must have… a hundred questions to ask me, and instead you’re worrying I might be hungry.”

“Well, I worked so hard to make sure you don’t die of your wound, the last thing I want is for you to starve.” you point out “Also, since you apparently can’t even tell me your name, I doubt you could tell me… I don’t know, how many of your people exist in the world, how you reproduce or if it’s true that the song of a mermaid can enchant sailors and cause storms.”

Your new friend smiles, admitting that he’d rather not talk too much about his people. “I know it’s unfair; you saved my life, you would deserve to ask as many questions as you want, but we have all sworn to keep our existence secret from humans, I guess you can understand why.”

You think about the bear you have seen exhibited at the fair last year, kept in a cage so small it could barely move, starved to keep him compliant, and in the end killed after the owner had offered a modest sum to any man brave enough to fight him barehanded, and the old wives’ tales, who some people still rely on today, that swear that just a few drops of mermaid’s blood can make a person immortal.

“Of course; no one must know you actually exist, otherwise you’d be hunted.” you admit; unfortunately your new friend has been seen by the fishermen you diverted to the promontory, but you are confident no one will believe their stories, ascribing them to the traditional tall tales told by sea-men or the sight of a normal, large fish “I… I won’t tell anyone I have met you; not even my dearest friends or my family. You have my word.”

“Thank you, (name); I think… no, I know I can trust you.”

An unexpected warmth fills you at those words; you know he has no choice in the matter, since all he can do is hope you won’t share his secret with anyone, but knowing he has faith in you actually… makes you happy; proud, even, that you have earned his respect.

For a minute you both remain silent, simply staring at each other, the merman apparently as curious about you as you are about him, since he’s the one who starts asking questions, even though he’s clearly tired. “Do you visit this beach often?”

“I do; it’s my special place, especially when I want to be alone to think.”

“Well, you’re not alone today.”

“I am not.” you agree, and for a moment you’re about to ask him to return, because the beach, quiet and isolated, could become your meeting place, once in a while, and while you had never asked anyone to accompany you there, not even your sister, you wouldn’t mind sharing it with him: a man coming from the sea and a woman born on land, meeting on a place that is a threshold between their worlds. It would be nice; it would be splendid, but of course, you realise with a sigh, you can’t ask your new friend to risk being captured again.

“What happened to your arm?” you ask back, and his eyebrow arches once more, even though the merman is still smiling.

“I thought we had just agreed that I can't answer your questions.”

“But this concerns you, not your kin; and I couldn’t use this information to hunt you down or prove the fact merpeople exist, even if I wanted to.”

“True.” your new friend admits; he grins, as if genuinely pleased he does have something to share with you. “I lost my arm a few months back; it was bitten off by… well, an animal.”

“A shark?”

“They are larger and more dangerous than any shark, and of anything you could imagine; but they live in the depth of the oceans, which means they pose no danger to humans. That day a child I know had ventured in their territory, and I went after him. You can imagine the rest.”

“Oh, God… that’s horrible.” you murmur, not knowing what else to say “That was… incredibly brave of you.”

“Well, I couldn’t let Luf… the child be eaten, could I? And I don’t need both arms to swim like you do, so it wasn’t much of a sacrifice in the end.”

He smiles, as if losing a limb actually wasn’t something to regret, since it was to save an innocent. “Do you have a family of your own?”

“Do you?”

“I asked you first.”

“And I asked you second.” you answer; you’re having fun, and you know it’s the same for him “The answer is no. I live with my sister’s family, her husband and children.”

“And you never think about leaving?” he asks again, and you tense for a moment, because that is the sort of question your sister often asks you, even though in a slightly different sense from the one you know the merman intends.

And the answer is no; you’ll never leave, because you have been the one left behind, and you don’t care if your sister would be fine with it and even happy for you, you won’t make the same choice he made…

“Find a house of my own, you mean? I could, one day, but until my nephews are a little older I want to remain where I am and help my sister and brother in law with them, since they both work out of the house, unlike me.” you explain. Another possibility would be for you to get married and go live with your spouse, but since no one has ever asked for your hand, or even just attracted your attention enough to make you consider taking the plunge, for the moment at least you’re happy as you are “What about you?”

Your new friend tries to convince you he has seven wives and thirteen husbands before admitting he is unmarried and has no children, even though he loves the child he sacrificed his arm for like a son.

By the time he has shared this information, the merman is fighting to keep his eyes open, the exhaustion clear on his face and in his voice. “You should rest for a while.” you suggest; the ground inside the grotto is not the most comfortable of beddings and you have nothing to fashion a pillow for him, but he does need to regain his strength “I can find some wood and light a fire if you want; and I’ll stay watch outside, of course.”

This time he arches both eyebrows. “You have nothing better to do?”

“Than to make sure no one sees you, and warn you in case those fishermen return? No, I don’t think so.” you retort, and then, as he prepares to protest: “It’s alright; I have no urgent work matters to attend to, and my sister won’t need me until dinnertime. Please, be reasonable; the beach is little frequented, but we can’t exclude the possibility someone sees you.”

You said we, without really thinking about it; it came to you spontaneously, as if it were normal - as if you and the merman were used to acting as an united front, sticking together in times of danger. You don’t notice; he does, and doesn’t complain, but smiles gratefully at you and two minutes later he’s already sleeping heavily, his arm bent under his bright red hair, the green-blue scales of his tail catching the faint light of the sun.

The beach remains completely empty for the next two hours, as the warm afternoon gently declines towards the evening. You wonder whether the fishermen are still searching for their prey at the promontory, or if they plan to return to the area they saw the merman in tomorrow; in that case you should come back as well, you reason as you sit on a large rock not far from the grotto, eyes and ears ready to perceive any sign of an intrusion, and make sure your new friend is safe. You don’t even care about the many appointments you have programmed for the day, not to mention you’ll have to tell your sister you cannot take care of your nephews while she’s at work; this is more important. Protecting him… this is more important than anything you could imagine.

You still can’t believe it. A merman, a creature you considered the stuff of legends and children stories, and he’s there, living and breathing, all things considered much more human than you would have imagined him to be, with his easy smile and open gratitude. If his wound heals as it should, he should be fine; strictly speaking his well-being doesn’t concern you, and trying to defend him from anyone who could find and try and take him away could put you in danger as well, but you don’t care: you want to see him return to the sea, safe and sound, and from then on, even though you doubt you’ll ever see him again, any time you visit the beach you’ll look at the blue expanse of the sea and think back to today, and hope he hasn’t forgotten you…

Two hours after the beginning of your patrol shift, you hear him call your name softly from the grotto; the merman is awake, and smiles at you as he rubs his eyes. “I’m sorry, I didn’t even realise I was going to fall asleep.”

“Well, you did need to rest.” you point out as you sit on the ground “And fortunately you have chosen the least visited beach of the region, because no one came. Listen, I could… go home to take some food, and tell my sister I’ll sleep at a friend’s place, and then come back…”

“Out of the question.”

“The decision is mine, not yours. I can also take an ointment out of my brother in law’s cabinet, something to make sure your wound doesn’t get infected…”

“(name)…”

A moment later, a large, callous but gentle hand has taken yours to bring it to the merman’s face; he kisses the back, something that for your people has gone out of fashion at least a century ago and that has the power to make you blush furiously, and lose the power of speech. There is nothing lascivious, or even just romantic, in that gesture, but the gratitude it expresses is intense enough to move you.

“I hope your friends and family know how kind and generous you are.” your new friend murmurs; he’s still smiling, his messy red hair brushing against your hand “Thank you, (name); I really don’t know what would have become of me if you hadn’t found me. I will never forget you.”

“And I will never forget meeting you, that’s for sure. But I need to stay…”

“No, you don’t; do you really think those fishermen would return at night? I’ll be fine, and you have to go home to your family. There’s no need for you to spend a night in the open.”

You negotiate for a while, and in the end you accept to leave, promising you will be back tomorrow morning as early as you can, bringing the ointment and something to eat for him. “Err… what do you eat, exactly?” you ask, wondering which one of his two halves determine the sort of food he can ingest. On the other hand, a merman can’t very well hunt for game in the woods or farm cattle to produce milk and cheese…

“I’d really like a whale steak, thank you.”

“Sorry, market day is on tuesday.” you answer, feigning regret, and a moment later you are both giggling.

“Some bread and water will be more than fine. Now go, (name), I don’t want your family to worry.” he urges you, and you prepare to leave, retrieving your things and making sure to leave no trace of your passage in the grotto.

“Please, take care of yourself.” you tell him; there is probably no more obvious thing you could say, but you can’t help it “I’ll be back soon, I promise.”

He simply winks in return, looking at you until you disappear out of his shelter, and you have to force yourself to walk, every step more difficult than the last, your determination to go on rather than turning back and spend the night at the grotto, whatever your new friend may think about it, quickly dissipating.

Leaving him is hard. Painful, even, as if you were letting go of something precious; and despite the relative security of the place you have left him at, part of you fears that is exactly what you are doing.

If your sister notices there is something weird in you that night -specifically, that she and her husband need to repeat every single word they tell you because you are clearly not paying attention, and you’re so distracted you have put sugar instead of salt in the soup, ruining the dinner for the entire family- she apparently decides not to mention it. But on the next morning, when she sees you head towards the house door at the crack of dawn -you have tried to be as quiet as you could, but having two young children seems to have somehow sharpened her hearing- she takes your hand in hers and asks where you are going.

“I’m sorry, I can’t tell you.” you answer, holding your bag protectively against you, heavy with food for your friend you have taken from the pantry: a water bottle, a whole loaf of still soft bread and two apples. You also hope your brother in law won’t check his supplies cabinet soon, because he would find his stash of bandages and ointment have drastically decreased “You don’t need to worry, I’m not in danger or anything; but there is something I need to do.”

“Can you at least tell me how long you will be gone?”

“I don’t know.” you admit; if the merman’s wound hasn’t gotten infected there is not much more you can do for him, and the sooner he returns to the sea the safer he will be, but you still hope you can… spend some time together, talk, like you did yesterday. You won’t ask about his people, if there is an even slight chance that could put him in danger, but at the same time there is so much you want to know… about him “Please, don’t ask; I’ll be safe, I promise.”

She looks at you, trusting but still worried for your sake, wrapped in a shawl she inherited from your mother; this is why, perhaps, you are suddenly reminded of her as your sister looks at you. Then, suddenly, she smiles, and “(name), are you going to meet a man?” she asks.

“... what?”

“You are! I should have known. You were clearly distracted last night, and I heard you sing to yourself as you washed the dishes, which is something you only do when you are happy. Have you met recently? Or is it someone you already knew?”

“No, I… it’s not what you think.” you try to explain, suddenly embarrassed for some unfathomable reason; the truth is you are going to meet a man, strictly speaking, but no matter how much you trust your sister, you can’t tell her about him “It’s not… that sort of situation.”

She gently reassures you she doesn’t mean to judge you or to pry, and then mentions that in the afternoon she will accompany the children to visit a family friend, and her husband will be at work. “You can… invite your friend over, if you want. I’m so sorry you don’t have more time for yourself, since you help us so much with the children, perhaps it’s our fault if there is no one important in your life…

“There is someone important in my life; you, and your family.” you quickly point out, not wanting her to feel guilty for a situation you have embraced willingly. Mostly. “You know I love taking care of the children, and I like my life as it is now. Listen… I have to go now; you really don’t need to worry, so please don’t try and stop me.”

Still unsure, your sister nonetheless respects your wishes, and a moment later you are meeting the rising sun as you run down the still empty streets of the town, your heart heavy with dread and excitement both.

When you finally reach your destination your heart is ready to burst, even though the long, hard run is only partially responsible; as you expected -and hoped- the place seems deserted as usual, but you still walk from one side of the beach to the other, making sure the men you were able to mislead yesterday did not return to ambush your new friend.

Your fears assuaged, you finally approach the grotto, from where no sound can be heard. “Hi… it’s me, (name).” you call softly as you reach the entrance; you feel… trepidation, a feeling you have had very few occasions to experiment before and that you can’t explain; it reminds you of the emotion you saw on your sister’s face on the day her husband came to the house to officially ask for her hand “I have the food, and something for your wound. How do you…?”

The words die in your throat; and a part of you dies as well, when you find yourself staring at the inside of the grotto, completely empty. For half a moment your heart is seized by terror as you imagined the fishermen, or whoever could have stumbled upon him and realised the large sum of money he could be sold for, who kidnapped your friend taking advantage of the fact he has no way to run - literally; and then you see something on the ground among the rocks, in the exact spot you sat on yesterday to sew up his wound.

A flower - a small but pretty little thing, picked from one of the bushes covering the entrance of the grotto and left there as a tiny, heartfelt gift, and next to it, the briefest of messages left in the dirt, using the writer’s finger as a pen.

Thank you

It doesn’t say good-bye, but the intention is evident. The sea’s roar fills the air, but perhaps you’re the one who is screaming, in your heart at least, the disappointment so intense, unexpected and painful that you are sure you can feel your heart break in a thousand pieces, a figure of speech that has never felt so real. A moment later you run out of the grotto towards the shore, hoping against hope he lingered, despite the danger, that he waited for you to come as he had promised, to say farewell. Despite the sunny sky above it the sea is rough today, high waves rising from the blue expanse and crashing down on the beach. But there is no bright red head peeking through the foam, no hand raised to wave good-bye.

He left. He left without waiting for you, and that is what pains you the most. In all fairness, he never actually said he would wait (and how could you not think about it? Why didn’t you make him promise he would, to be sure you could see him once more at least?) but you can’t help feeling disappointed, even betrayed, like a bride abandoned at the altar. He did ask you for food, and approved when you said you would bring an ointment for his wound; and it’s not like you arrived late, since you had promised to come at dawn and the sun has barely appeared above the horizon behind the sea - a breathtaking scene you still can’t appreciate. Did he simply wake up this morning and decided he felt strong enough to swim, the longing for home making him overlook the fact you would arrive soon expecting to find him there? Or he had decided your first meeting would be the last as well from the start, and left deliberately before you would come?

Whatever the reason behind it, the truth is you have lost him - you’ll never see the merman again, and that grieves you more than you could explain in words, even though you only spent a few hours together and you had always known he would have to return to the sea soon. You had nothing to gain from that unexpected acquaintance, berries least of all, and still you feel as if you had lost something precious, something special that would have made your life richer nonetheless, that you can’t help grieving.

Your legs hurt after the long run from home, so you let yourself fall on a large rock, from where you contemplate the vast blue expanse, under which your new -and lost- friend is now swimming happily, having left the dry world, and you, behind him.

Why did you leave? I wanted to say good-bye at least. If you were actually grateful, if you actually cared, you would have waited for me…

That is what pains you the most, even though you could never admit it, and it makes you feel more foolish than any love-stricken young girl; the fact that judging by his actions at least, and despite the message he left, he didn’t care for you. You spent a sleepless night, thrilled about the prospect of seeing and talking to him again, and he left, for all you know without a care for you and your efforts. You can’t blame him for being anxious to return home, and you’re happy he had recovered from his wound enough to crawl to the shore and swim, but still… he could at least have said good-bye.

But after all, why am I surprised? In the end, everybody leaves. In the end, no one ever stays for me.

You can feel tears filling your eyes, but you angrily order yourself not to shed them and to stop being foolish, because he owed you nothing and you have no objective reason to feel the merman has abandoned you, no matter how your heart says otherwise.

You remain on the beach until you’re sure you’re in control of yourself once more, then you return home, just in time to help your sister prepare breakfast and send the children to school. When she sees you return, disappointment and heartbreak having taken the place of the excitement she had seen on your face an hour before, she assumes the worst.

“What happened?! (name), did… did someone hurt you? Were you…?”

“No, no; I’m fine, just…” you sigh, both unable and unwilling to explain the reason for your distress; unable and unwilling to explain you feel just like when he left, and you had forgotten how terrible a sensation it is “Don’t ask, please; but I’d really like a hug, if you can.”

She can, and you let yourself feel comforted by her solid presence and quiet, tacit acceptance; reassured nothing terrible has happened to you, and having known her share of heartbreak before meeting her husband, your sister holds you in her arms and murmurs she’s sorry and everything will be alright, and obviously she’s right, but it hurts, and you know already no matter how happy and rich a life you will have, you’ll never forget this disappointment.

TAGGING @alucardsdaddyissues and @luuffyswife. Thank you so much for asking!!

#One Piece #One Piece Live Action #OPLA #Red-Haired Shanks #Shanks #Shanks x reader #Red-Haired Shanks x reader #Peter Gadiot #Bellona's stuff

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ghoulie-67-baby · 1 year ago

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Shadows - Lightwood siblings

Summary: You have vivid nightmares but you’re family is there to soothe you.

Warnings: Nightmares, angst, blood, graphic dream description, crying.

Pairing: GN!Reader x Lightwood siblings (platonic).

Word count: 1,642.

Shadows. Always with the shadowy demons. No breaks, no mercy, just Shadows.

That was my nightmare, day in and day out, it never changed. I was born into a Shadowhunter family but I couldn't help thinking this life didn't agree with me. Whether I failed in training, got injured in the field or couldn't escape my dreams, life just never seemed to go the way I wanted it to. It was tiring, draining and I wasn't sure how much longer I would last.

My family had worked at the institute for centuries so I had grown up alongside the other children whose parents worked here like the Lightwood children. Alec and I were the same age and as we'd all grown, they became my siblings. When Jace joined the family it was no different, I just had an extra brother now. He was my family, just as much as the other three and that would never change.

Every day seemed to pass in a blur of lights and sounds, without ever seeming to become clear. Colours seemed to get blander as though my energy and colour were being drained from the world until all that remained were purple bags under my eyes, pale gaunt expressions and bruises from countless failures to dodge hits. If it wasn't for the loyalty of my family, I doubt I'd even be allowed to stay anymore. I was a liability to everyone especially my siblings and the thought of them getting hurt because of me, shattered my very soul. I lived for my family and the nightmares knew exactly that, perfect fuel to torture me.

Like right now, I knew I was dreaming, knew the street I was running down wasn't real, and the distant figures of my four siblings were actually tucked nice and warm in their beds but it felt so real. The dark, gruelling world in this dream had no end, just suffering and I was in for a night full of it. I tried to force myself awake, to see I was in the comfort of my own bedroom, Izzy just next door and the boys a little further down but my body refused to see it.

And so I was stuck suffering, barely hanging on, trying to pinch myself awake with the fear of being a failure looming as I watched them laughing together.

Shadows beneath my siblings' feet began to swirl and I hauled in a deep breath to prepare. Claws emerged from the shadows, scratching and scraping at their clothes and skin. Though I knew I would never win I tried to run, faster than I ever could but never seemed to get closer as the floor seemed to become treadmill-like. Eventually, my shadow sunk its claws into my arms, holding me back, locking me in place so I had to watch as the claws drew blood, splashing in rivulets on the floor, as it all mixed into one growing pool.

Alec's face was painted with determination as he tried to grab his siblings and Parabatai though his calves and ankles were shredded. Jaces was one of horror as it dawned on him that he couldn't save them. Izzy was in shock as she clambered to hold little Max and lift him away from the horror. Max was pure terror, the pain on his childish features as shadows morphed around his body and ripped his body into ribbons of flesh and muscle. I couldn't move, I was paralysed by the sight and no amount of willpower could make me escape as the shadows screeched taunts of my fauliure.

My jaw ached, my chest convulsing, with the scream of anguish, pain, loss and anger, red hot tears scorching my face like lava.

"Y/N! Y/N please." Izzy's voice called to me through the screams, a fresh wave of pain dousing me and taking my breath. Her shouts seemed to unlock my senses as the stench of blood and suffering filtered through as the fight seemed to leave my siblings' bodies. My knees caved under me, stopping me from getting closer to save them.

"Y/N," Alec's voice was gentle and calm, an awful contrast to the bare bone on his arms and the tortured look on his face. "You're safe, you're okay, just come back." I shook my head as dark rivers of blood oozed from his mouth, lips moving in time with the voice. I couldn't squeeze my eyes shut as their eyes started to dull and they sank to the floor in the huge puddle. "Come on, wake up, we're here." The reassurance echoed in my ears despite the dead eyes of my four siblings staring up at me.

I knew this wasn't real, but it seemed like it was. From the expressions of pain, the way they fought to protect each other and the way their life force seemed to drain before me. But, my siblings were shouting for me, calling me back to them, back to the land of the living.

"Y/N, you're scaring me." I struggled in the direction of Max's voice, towards my baby brother who sounded as if he was on the verge of breaking. Slowly but surely, feeling started to seep back into my body. The bed around me dipped with the weight of the four of them. I could tell by each touch who was where and it warmed my heart. Izzy's fingers were laced with mine, Jace sitting near my legs with a hand on my calf, Alec's Hand brushed my hair from my face and Max was just to my side, his small hands shaking my arm.

"I'm here little guy," my throat burned as I muttered to the child. "Didn't mean to scare you, Maxie, I'm here." He usually protested he was too old for the nicknames but right now he was a scared little boy and couldn't care less. I shakily slid myself up so I could face him and he buried himself in my chest. No matter how big he was, he had his moments where he was an ordinary child who got scared and sometimes just needed reassurance and a cuddle. I could never deny him that.

"It's okay, just a bad dream, I've got you." I lifted his chin, wiping his tears before he shuffled to lay beside me with his face on my chest and little arms wrapped around me. I couldn't tell if this was comfort for him or me but nonetheless, it was more than welcome. We all waited patiently for him to settle down, hiccups fading into long deep breaths and muscles relaxing as he went back to his own dreamland. I wouldn't talk about it in front of him whilst he was awake, id scared him enough for one night.

Once I was certain he was sleeping, I let out a long shaky breath, staring up at the ceiling as tears filled my eyes.

"Hey," Jace cooed, his thumb rubbing my calf to comfort me. "You're okay now." My chest ached as a few tears fell, squeezing my eyes shut for a moment. "Shadows again?" I nodded silently before opening my eyes.

"It seemed so real, it was awful. I knew it wasn't real but it seemed like it was." I shuddered, trying not to jostle Max too much. "Guessing I woke you guys up?" I already knew the answer, and judging by the movement in the hallway they weren't the only ones I had woken up.

"I heard you and woke Jace and Alec, it was worse than usual," Izzy admitted with a small smile. "Max heard us rushing in and followed us. He refused to leave until he knew you were okay." Her words melted my heart a little and I smiled down at his sleeping form.

"Every time, no matter what I try, I can't save any of you. I'm not strong enough, not good enough to fight them off and every time I watch the life drain from you, it's like I lose a piece of myself." My head pounded as I tried to hold in my sobs, comforted by the feeling of them around me. "I'm so sorry I woke you all up." I knew it wouldn't be the last time it happened but I still hated disturbing their sleep.

"You are good enough Y/N, you can't help what you dream about. You'll always be good enough." Alec's voice was tight, as though he was holding back his own emotions and I smiled up at him, taking hold of his hand with a squeeze. "You don't have to apologise for waking us, we're always here for you no matter what time of day it is, just like you always have been for us." I nodded and pressed a kiss to Max's head as the effects of my dream caught up with me, making me slump in exhaustion and stifle a yawn.

"I think we're gonna stay the night. Max isn't for shifting and you might sleep better with us here. Plus, I'm comfy now." I peered down at Izzy as she huddled under my arm and rested on my shoulder. I didn't mind them staying, my bed was sure big enough for a cuddle pile and I wouldn't complain about the company or warmth. We all scooted around getting comfy, my head lay against Alec who curled up on my other side, Max resting against us both and Jace manoeuvred himself to lay against my thigh without being kicked in the head by Izzy.

"I think I could do with the cuddles." I joked, huffing out a small laugh as sleep started to take hold. "Y'know I would do anything for you guys, right? You're my family and I love you all so much."

"We know Y/N," Izzy whispered sleepily. "We love you so much too. "

#shadowhunters #the mortal instruments #the mortal instruments imagines #shadowhunters imagines #lightwood siblings #x reader #reader insert #reader imagine

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justporo · 7 months ago

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Lute notes under the evening sky

A/N: So, my friend Maru dragged me into the discourse around if Rolan plays piano or the lute if he's alone and needs something to relax. Apparently it's the piano but I stand by that the lute is a very cute image! ~~~ High up on a balcony surrounded by lush plants, gauzy curtains softly swayed in the evening breeze, mage lights glimmered as the sun set far below over the Chionthar and made the sky change from blue to warm gold and then fiery red. Seagulls softly laughed from above and the smell on the soft winds brushing past spoke of a refreshing summer rainshower coming soon. Sometimes a firefly or two lost their way and, drawn in by the small magic lights, stayed a while to relax before continuing their journey.

Up here between heaps of plush pillows and the calming aroma of richly blooming lavender, one could forget they were in a city as busy and bustling as Baldur's Gate.

And Rolan surely did when he settled in his little safe haven after a long and busy day.

No one but him and his two siblings Cal and Lia knew of this little spot he had created, just a nice little secret between the three of them.

Today, the spellcrafter’s work had been busy, if not to say frustrating. The weave had proven itself quite resisting to his insisting attempts of persuasions and intellectual charms. Nothing had really flowed or progressed. The tiefling wizard had been left with nothing but feeling unaccomplished.

How he hated that.

But as he had felt himself getting dragged down into a spiral towards a brooding mood, a perpetual pout forming on his lips, as he had sat hunched over his desk full of scrolls and parchments, his eyes had wandered over the lute leaning in the far corner of his study.

The sight had startled him slightly. He hadn't thought of the instrument in a fair while, as was clearly evident by the grey layer of dust dulling the colour of its dark wood. He must’ve forgotten about it in his stress over neverending work projects.

And with that he must’ve also forgotten how soothing it could feel to strum some notes on it.

Starting up slowly until single notes successfully threaded themselves into a song.

A smile tugged on the corners of Rolan's mouth. Maybe he would have to give playing another go. He'd always liked how it felt similar to creating spells. Picking the right threads out of the weave as if plucking single notes, trying them together until they formed a harmonious melody.

The wizard strode over to the instrument, grabbed it, dusted it off quickly and went to sit on his little balcony in the dawning evening. A new wave of eagerness had caught him now.

He sat down on the small bench. The feeling of the lute in his hands was vaguely familiar. But not enough for him to not sit like an overly eager student in class.

Rolan tried playing a few notes - and found the lute horribly out of tune.

With a frustrated groan he tried to get this sorted out first, wondering if maybe this had been a stupid idea.

But he was anything if not committed.

After a while the notes came out much clearer - beautiful!

Sitting up even straighter than before, Rolan began to play slowly. His fingers felt a little rusty wandering over the strings. Like they needed to be reminded of the pleasant sounding tunes they could evoke from this instrument.

The wizard's fingers remembered quickly though, maybe even quicker than his brain. And his ambition and curiosity did the rest. Time flew by as he kept playing.

Soon, he was playing almost fluently. Song after song came back to his mind. And without even noticing himself he quietly hummed along, a smile broadening on his face.

He found his mood had lifted by an incredible amount, previous frustrations over spells not working out forgotten. And so as the sun sank lower and the first stars began to sparkle on the night sky above him, almost as if applauding his rediscovered skill, Rolan began doing something else.

Closing his eyes, he tried to fully concentrate on the sensation of playing. How the strings dug into his fingers and vibrated under his hands as they filled the air with notes, how the tune changed as he only slightly shifted his other hand grabbing an accord. How the whole sensation sent chills through his body.

This was not a song he had learned before. The music slowly forming itself into a melody was fully his own, coming from the heart as much as the mind. It flowed through him, then the instrument and then up to the eagerly waiting stars of the night sky while Rolan forgot almost everything around him. His fingers plucked soft notes, almost like…

His eyes flew open, the tune ebbed off a little abruptly and cacophonously. But a thought had flashed through Rolan's mind. A solution to his spell problem from before, inspired by how he had played the lute and used it to form something out of nothing.

He dashed inside, straight to his desk and the scrolls there, leaving the lute outside with only a sole firefly as company.

But he did so only until he'd worked out his solution. Then the wizard strode back outside, hands propped up on his hips and looking at the lute laying there as someone might do proudly at a successful student.

Rolan grabbed the instrument carefully, almost caressing the wood as he felt grateful for the peace of mind it had given him. He carried it inside and placed it down on his still awfully full desk before he went to bed.

As a reminder to himself, come the next morning, that music worked its magic in its own way.

#bg3 #rolan #bg3 npcs #bg3 rolan #poro writes #poro drabbles

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haikyuufanficwriting · 10 months ago

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Chapter 16: Miya Atsumu Pt. 2

Prompt: Readers screws with Character Character: Miya Atsumu ________________________

Days had passed, and you had started to forget that you and Miya Atsumu had met. Nothing had ever come from his seemingly empty threat, and you went about your life as usual. The bakery remained a sanctuary, a place where the chaos of the world seemed to fade away amid the scent of freshly baked goods and the comforting routine of daily tasks. Dreadful schooling followed by sleepless nights, leading to rejuvenating work at the bakery.

At least until something happened.

You were in the back as always, seeing how it was yet another slow day. The sound of the radio station playing through the beat speakers was soothing you as you whipped a batch of batter to the preferred consistency. Your concentration on the batter was slightly broken however, when you saw Funaba-san walk into the back from the walk-in freezer, phone in hand and a huge smile on his face, eyes sparkling in excitement.

“Never mind the rush! We’re just happy to be recommended! I can assure you this honour will be done to the best of our abilities. Thank you very much!” The phone ended with you smiling, even though you had no idea what was going on. “Good news?” You asked the old man, already knowing the answer. You could practically see his bones jingle in excitement as he told you. “We’ve been asked to cater a charity gala. It’s being held by a huge sports association.” You could feel your jaw drop in shock.

Your local bakery. The one that never gets more than 5 people at a time, was asked to cater this calibre of an event. It almost seemed too good to be true.

Almost.

“Funaba-san! That’s incredible!” You couldn’t hide the shock from your voice, but the owner was much too focused to care. He immediately pulled out a paper and pen, writing furiously on ideas for the theme, the pastries, the flavours. You too soon fell into the excitement, letting it swallow you whole. The next few hours were a whirlwind of brainstorming, planning, and excitement as you and Funaba-san worked out every detail for the grand event. The entire process felt surreal, almost like a dream unfurling before your eyes. You spent countless hours in the coming days at the bakery, opting to create beautiful and delicious sweets instead of studying for whatever classes you had. In two weeks, you and Funaba-san had created three different tiered cakes, countless flavoured macaroons, tarts, cream puffs, and fruit parfaits accentuated with gold leaf and beautiful pastel colours that you coloured yourself.

On the eve of the event, the aromas of freshly baked pastries filled the air as you carefully arranged the delicate creations on elegantly decorated tables. After swirling the last icing dollop on your now extremely tired and cramped hand, you took a step back to admire the dozens of cupcakes at your workstation. Icing colours littered your apron, clothes and hands, but looking at it all now...

It was so, so worth it.

“You did well.” Funaba-san groaned out, stretching his back from being crouched over too long, dusting a cake with flaked gold. His praise made your heart light, and you couldn’t stop the smile from making its way across your face. “Thank you.” You said, truly sincere.

He walked over to you, admiring your work with you. “You are a baker.” You sigh, knowing that he was right, but refuse to say anything.

“So why aren’t you one?” You could feel your chest tighten at the question. You sighed once more, before taking your apron off and hanging it on the wall. “Funaba-san,” You started, wiping your forehead. “My parents are only paying for me to stay here and study. If I gave up on that, I couldn’t stay here. I simply can’t afford it.” You couldn’t look at the man, knowing exactly the expression he’d have. One that you couldn’t stand.

Disappointment.

“Baking… Is a nice hobby. I’m happy with keeping it as that.” You continue and at that, you hear the old man chuckle, causing you to turn around. You watched him walk towards you, a wistful look in his eye. He simply rubbed the icing you didn’t know you had on your forehead off, showing you the beautiful pastel purple, you had mixed in. “This,” He paused, “Is not the look of a hobby. This is the look of a baker.”

You could only swallow, feeling a sudden lump in your throat.

Funaba-san walks back to the pastries, beginning to put them in their boxes, ready for the event. After a few moments you join him, and it’s as if nothing ever happened.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t prefer it.

“Also, you’ll be going to the Gala.” Funaba-san had said it simply, but the whole sentence made your soul leave your body the tiniest bit.

“Pardon me?” You heard your voice crack, but you didn’t care on account of being thrown so out of the loop. The man looked at you, amusement clearly in his eyes. “I don’t trust any of the part-time caterers like I do with you. I know you will do them justice.” You sputtered, so many questions going through your head.

“I—" Was the only word you could get out for a few moments. “Don’t have anything to wear?” You meant it as a statement, but the suddenness of the situation made it sound like a question. Funaba-san laughed, a full-belly one too, right before digging in his pocket and handing you a clump of cash.

Straight from the deposit you know he received.

“Find something nice. You are representing the bakery you know.” All words dry up in your throat. The gesture and the quickness of the situation developing, you could only hold a weary smile, and say a very strained ‘Thank you’.

This was going to be a shitshow.

~~~

You were in a panic. You had never been to a Gala before, let alone represented the bakery at such an event.

Due to Funaba-san’s bomb being dropped on you, the day of the Gala was going to be a whirlwind of nerves, frustration and even more nerves. You had to find something to wear, but more importantly, you had to prepare yourself mentally for the big night ahead. You were never one for parties, and for one that was as serious as this, you were a mess.

You had run to the mall the second it opened, begging any associate within earshot to tell you what a black-tie event meant. Now, as a broke university student, you never had the money to actually buy anything apart from food and a textbook here and there, but with the help of Funaba-san, you managed to find a pretty decent dress. It was a black, knee-length dress that was form-fitting and flared out at the bottom in a cascade of fabric. The neckline was a simple V, but also mirroring in the back, dipping but still remaining conservative. It was very flattering on you and paired with your favourite black wedges, the look was complete.

However, as you stood before the mirror, hair up in an elegant updo you found online and your make-up done to the best of your abilities, the knot of anxiety in your stomach tightened. You felt a little out of place, more accustomed to flour-stained aprons and comfortable shoes than a sophisticated dress and heels. You studied your reflection, tugging slightly at the hem of the dress, attempting to ease the feeling of unease that coiled within you.

"It's just a party," you murmured to your reflection, hoping to quell the rising tide of nervousness. But this wasn't just any party—it was a prestigious event, and you were going to be a complete fish out of water.

But it would make Funaba-san proud, so you would do so proudly and with a smile on your face.

By the time the evening rolled around, you had picked up everything in Funaba-sans car, it taking up the entirety of the trunk, backseats and passenger side, you drove carefully to the event. Apartment complexes stretched into high-rise buildings as you navigated through the city. With each passing minute inched closer to the grand hall where the gala would unfold. The GPS guided you, but your mind was elsewhere, occupied by the thought of representing the bakery at such a prestigious gathering. Your heart pounded against your chest, an unsettling combination of excitement and trepidation coursing through your veins.

The venue loomed ahead, a magnificent building adorned with lights that illuminated the night sky. As you pulled into the parking lot, your hands trembled ever so slightly as you cut the engine. The sight of luxury cars and finely dressed attendees entering the hall sent a shiver down your spine. You took a moment to compose yourself, straightening your dress and adjusting your hair in the rearview mirror.

“You can do this.” You whispered to yourself, not even trying to sound like you believed it. Letting out a large sigh, you got out of the car to find the nearest worker, who just so happened to be the valet. You mentioned you were with catering and they explained how to park at the back of the building and what room to put the food in once inside. Absorbing the information, you follow instructions to park Funaba-sans ratty Sudan amongst the other cars of its calibre. Exiting once more, you realize something crucial.

The unpacking of these desserts was going to be extremely tedious without any kind of help.

If he wasn’t a sweet old man, you’d seriously consider whether or not the bakery owner was tormenting you.

With a huge sigh, you open the trunk to start loading in the desserts, walking carefully to not disturb any of the masterpieces inside. After the third trip, you were already regretting coming at all. At least until something interesting happened.

Very interesting.

“Can I help you with those?” The question was poised very simply and innocent enough. It was a man’s voice, and it filled you with gratitude once it hit your ears. You turned, grateful to the man only to find yourself terrified.

There stood Miya Atsumu. In a jet-black suit, his sharp features were accentuated by the evening light, as he looked confused at the way your face morphed.

“Miya? What are you doing here?” Your eyes jilted around, looking for anyone in the vicinity to help you, but there was no one in sight. “Uh, I’m in charge of the food here. “ You squinted, even more confused, but your confusion was matched.

“How do you know my name?” The question took you aback. The unexpected question caught you off guard, morphing your initial fear into a mix of frustration and disbelief. “We met like two weeks ago? The volleyball player with the hot date?” You had decided not the mention the incident, learning your lesson about adding, fuel to the fire. Immediately, Miya’s eyes light up in recognition. He made a sound of understanding, “You met Atsumu. Miya Atsumu.” As the words left his lips, you paused, taking a more discerning look at the man standing before you.

“I’m Miya Osamu. Atsumu’s twin brother.” All of a sudden, it clicked.

Of course, it wasn’t the Miya you knew.

While the physical similarities between the brothers were evident, there was a marked contrast in their demeanour. Atsumu's playful arrogance was replaced by Osamu's more composed and slightly reserved presence. Physically, the differences between Miya Atsumu and Miya Osamu were subtle yet distinct aside from the hair you just now noticed was different. Atsumu had an air of confidence about him, with features that conveyed a more striking and extroverted personality. His demeanour was lively, brimming with a vibrant energy that commanded attention. With a playful smile and an intense gaze, he exuded a certain charm that left an impression, even from the first encounter. On the other hand, Miya Osamu seemed to carry a more grounded presence. He possessed a quieter confidence that spoke volumes without needing the same spotlight as Atsumu.

There was a calmness to his expression that made him appear less intense and more approachable. His smile was softer, with an ease that seemed to invite conversation rather than demand attention.

You can see it all now; clear as day in the dead of night.

“Miya Osamu,” you echoed, the realization settling in as the tension faded from your shoulders. “I didn’t realize you were his twin. Sorry for the confusion.”

“S’alright. We do get mixed up a lot,” Osamu chuckled, extending a hand to help with the desserts. “Let me give you a hand with those. They look too delicate for one person to handle.”

The offer was much appreciated. You cautiously handed him a box, noticing that he seemed to care for the desserts as much as you did. “So,” You started, unable to keep your questions from being asked. “You’re in charge of the food for this event?” Osamu nodded, setting a box down. “Yeah. I actually run my own Nigiri store,” You saw his eyes light up when he mentioned his store, and you felt your heart ache in slight jealousy.

Watching someone live your dreams, especially if that someone nearby, takes a much bigger person than you to handle maturely.

“But Atsumu asked me to help cater, so I did.” You listened as you placed the last box on your table. You started unpacking them, already having a vision in your head as to how you wanted it. “So, what exactly is this event?” Osamu snorted at the question, clearly finding it amusing that you even asked. “It’s just some party to help raise awareness for Japan’s volleyball association. Atsumu plays on one of the teams.” So he wasn’t lying. You thought to yourself, but in all honesty, out of curiosity you did search his name up and what you found.

It was the real deal.

He was a certified celebrity. Sure not a huge one, but a big enough one to make you feel slightly scared that you fucked with him in such a way.

You hummed, noticing that Osamu didn’t leave. In fact, he watched you work as you talked. “He actually recommended you guys too.” He added, making you pause, putting a cupcake down to turn to the twin. “He did?” You ask, incredulously, to which he raises a brow, confused at your tone. By his reaction, you’re assuming his brother didn’t inform him of your shenanigans, but to react that strongly on the day.

Only to recommend you for such a huge event, that’s going to definitely bring attention to the bakery?

It seemed a little too nice for your liking. A lot too nice.

Osamu however, seemed to brush off your reaction. “I mean, by the looks of it,” He looked at your display so far, letting out a low whistle, clearly impressed. “It’s a pretty good recommendation.” You couldn’t stop the blush forming on your cheeks, feeling almost giddy at the compliment. “Thanks,” You looked back at your work, not stopping the words from your mouth. “Keeping the colours consistent between desserts was the most tricky, but I found—“

“Hold on, you made these?” The question caught you off guard. “Yeah, mostly. It’s just me and the owner so it took quite a bit.” You see Osamu’s eyes widen slightly. “Well, you two have got quite a gift.” You laughed lightly before you heard a phone ring. Osamu pulls out his to be the source of the noise and answers. He listens before he looks back at you. “I got to go. It was nice meeting you. I’ll try to find you a little later.” You felt your heart ease at the thought of knowing someone nice at the party. You nodded, waving him away before going back to your table and finishing up the final pieces.

When you took a step back, it looked stunning.

Three majestic, tiered cakes stood tall, each a masterpiece of taste: a decadent chocolate cake adorned with intricate chocolate curls and raspberry ganache, a classic vanilla bean cake draped in fondant and adorned with delicate sugar flowers, and an exotic blend of coconut sponge and passionfruit curd. Rows of dainty macarons showcased pastel hues of raspberry, pistachio, lemon, and rose, promising a harmonious balance of crispness and chewy delight. Elegant tartlets, some filled with zesty lemon cream and fresh berries, others with rich chocolate ganache and edible gold leaf, enticed with their golden pastry shells. Cream puffs, perfectly piped and dusted with powdered sugar, revealed featherlight choux pastry embracing luscious vanilla bean custard. Glassware held fruit parfaits, a medley of strawberries, blueberries, kiwi, whipped cream, and sponge cake, offering a delightful fusion of textures and fruity sweetness. These desserts were not just confections but visual poetry, a stunning display of taste and artistry that mesmerized the eyes and enticed the senses.

Truly, you had outdone yourself.

“Miss?” You turned to the voice, to find a waiter holding a tray of champagne, very gracefully you might add, and encouraging you to take one. You shake your hand, trying to turn him down politely. “Oh, I can’t. I’m part of the help.” You explained, letting out a laugh that you thought as also being part of the help, he’d reciprocate. He only smiled, confusedly. “Actually, I was told to track you down specifically.” He confirmed your name, to which you looked surprised. He takes a glass from his tray and hands it to you, and being in a sort of shock, you accept it.

“You’ve been invited to dine with the guests.” You laugh again, not knowing how to properly convey your emotions.

“But I’m not—Really, I don’t—“ You stuttered and stumbled before the waiter seemingly took pity on you. “Miya-san is expecting you by the bar.” Is all he said before leaving the dining hall to attend to the other guests at the venue, the glass still in your hand.

You felt your heart sink to your stomach as you realized it probably wasn’t Osamu.

As you traversed the opulent venue, the aura of affluence enveloped you like a cocoon. Every detail exuded luxury—gleaming crystal chandeliers casting prismatic patterns across the expansive hall, silk-draped tables adorned with intricate floral arrangements, and a radiant array of dazzling lights that accentuated the grandeur of the surroundings.

Elegant guests, their attire a symphony of couture and sophistication, mingled effortlessly, their laughter tinkling like crystal. Women in resplendent gowns, shimmering with sequins and delicate embroidery, glided gracefully across the marble floors. Men, impeccably suited in tailored tuxedos, exuded an air of refined confidence as they engaged in spirited conversations.

Amidst this tapestry of opulence, you felt acutely aware of your own presence. The simple, knee-length black dress you wore, though stylish, paled in comparison to the extravagant couture adorning the other attendees. It was a garment that seemed more suited to casual dinners with friends or a modest gathering at the university. A wave of self-consciousness washed over you as you glanced down at your ensemble, the dress that seemed so fitting earlier now feeling starkly inadequate in this sea of glamour and sophistication. The meticulous updo, an attempt to exude a semblance of elegance, felt out of place amidst the perfectly coiffed hairstyles and elaborate upstyles of the other women.

Despite the discomfort, you straightened your shoulders, a silent resolve settling within you. You were here on behalf of the bakery, representing the dedication and artistry poured into every confection. The weight of that responsibility tempered your unease, anchoring you in a sense of purpose amid the unfamiliarity of the grand gala.

Except that discomfort came back full force when you saw Miya Atsumu. And you definitely knew it was him.

Dressed in a tailored jet-black suit, Atsumu seemed to wear the garment with a nonchalant elegance that only accentuated his magnetic presence. The jacket was impeccably fitted, emphasizing his lean, athletic frame, hinting at both strength and agility. His crisp white shirt, devoid of any tie, conveyed a casual refinement that bordered on audacity, a subtle defiance against the formal dress code that surrounded him. And man did he own it.

His demeanor exuded a captivating blend of self-assurance and irreverence, a man comfortable in his own skin and unapologetic about it. A crooked, yet charming half-smirk played on his lips, a testament to his spirited personality and the hint of a mischievous nature that lurked beneath his confident exterior.

As he leaned against the bar with an easy grace, engaging the bartender in a casual conversation, he seemed utterly at home in this world of sophistication and glamour. There was an effortless magnetism about him that drew attention, a pull that made it impossible not to notice him in a room brimming with elegance and refinement. You felt your throat form a lump as he caught a glimpse of you in his peripheral, now turning to face you.

You’d never tell anyone that your heart skipped a beat when you saw him give you a once-over.

“Well, well. I didn’t think ya’d come.” You try your best to seem as carefree and calm as you were when you met him the first time in the bakery. But you were outside your playing field, and it seemed like Atsumu knew it too. You give a light shrug, making sure your voice was even before you spoke. “With the size of that deposit, I’d have been crazy not to.” You go to stand next to him, as to not be in the way of any incoming foot traffic, accidentally catching a whiff of his cologne.

He smelled incredible.

Atsumu kept his smile plastered on, the one you could tell wasn’t very genuine as he continued to survey you. His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his eyes before his grin widened slightly. “A smart move, then. Gotta admit, didn’t expect ta see ya decked out like this.”

You resisted the urge to fidget, aware of his perceptive scrutiny. “Yeah, well, didn’t expect to be here either,” you replied, a hint of dryness seeping into your tone. “Must admit, this isn’t exactly my scene.”

He chuckled, the sound carrying an air of amusement. “A fish outta water, eh?” Atsumu’s voice was light, the teasing lilt dancing through his words. He leaned back against the bar, one hand casually resting on the polished surface, never breaking eye contact. You met his gaze, holding his eyes for a moment before glancing away.

“I wanted to thank you,” You couldn’t get the nerve to look at him as you spoke, knowing you’d start to blush. “For the, uh, recommendation. Really helped us a lot.” You finally gathered the courage to look, to only find him still smiling, only to realize it had morphed a little.

To something more… Nefarious.

“Yeah, well,” You said, swirling his drink while chuckling slightly. “At least one of us is.” The sentence threw you out of any sort of emotions you were feeling. “Excuse me?” You asked, confused. He laughs again, but it’s a little strained. “I mean, I helped you out with your little bakery, and when I asked you for help, you gave me a career-ending lie.” You felt your blood run cold. You knew he was referring to the fabricated alibi you provided for him, and now his expression showed no trace of the charming demeanour he had before.

You take a moment to gather your thoughts, trying to maintain composure despite the sudden turn in the conversation. Atsumu's accusation hangs heavy in the air, and you realize there's no easy way out of this.

“I think career-ending is a bit much.” You say, trying to downplay how serious his words sounded. Truly, at the time when you didn’t think he was someone with a huge following, you didn’t think much of what you were saying. It was stupid, it was funny, and you were bored. But did you ever stop to consider your actions might’ve had consequences?

No. No, you did not.

“You can say that when you don’t have a bunch of reporters breathing down your neck, and your endorsements aren’t on the line.” Atsumu took a sip of his drink, his calmness now slightly terrifying you. You end up taking a sip of your untouched champagne, now needing something to take the edge off.

“What do you want Miya?” You inquire, unable to ignore the mounting tension between the two of you. You figured he wanted something, why else would he invite you at all. But what, you couldn’t fathom.

What was there you could do?

Atsumu takes another sip, finishing his drink before putting it on the bar. He leans closer to you, beginning to feel the warmth from his body. You freeze, unable to move, until you see him point slightly to a crowd of people. “Emiko’s right over there. I want you to explain to her that you lied.” He practically whispered, and you immediately felt your mouth gaped.

Absolutely no fucking way.

You stared at Atsumu, incredulous. The request seemed beyond unreasonable, almost bordering on absurd. “You want me to—right now?” Your voice came out more high-pitched than you intended, betraying the mix of surprise and frustration boiling within you.

Atsumu's gaze didn't waver, his expression holding a firm resolve. "Yeah. It's only fair, ain't it?" His tone was cool, and calculated, a stark contrast to the playful banter you'd witnessed in your previous encounters. The underlying seriousness of the situation pierced through the tension-laden air.

A surge of frustration and helplessness flooded your senses. You hadn’t anticipated this turn of events, hadn’t expected to be faced with such a daunting demand amid an event you were completely ill-prepared for. Your mind raced, contemplating your options in the split seconds that passed.

“Look,” you began, trying to keep your voice steady despite the knot of anxiety tightening in your chest. “I understand your situation, but I can't just go up to someone and—”

Atsumu’s eyes narrowed slightly, his tone dropping a degree lower. “Ya did it for me once. What's stoppin' ya now?” His gaze held an intensity that made it hard to look away. His words struck a chord, reminding you of the ill-conceived favour you'd granted him earlier, never expecting it to come back with such weight. You scoffed, unable to fathom just how ridiculous the comparison was.

Before you could respond, he continued, “Either ya help me out here, or things could get real messy for ya. Just like how I recommended you, I can recommend other places. Heavily recommended other places.” The threat was subtle yet unmistakable, a subtle reminder of the leverage he held in this situation. You felt taken aback. You could understand a threat personal to you, but to threaten the bakery, Funaba-san.

There was something so cruel about it, your stomach churned.

Your mind raced, scrambling for a way out of this predicament. You knew the potential repercussions if this confrontation went wrong—this was a situation you couldn’t afford to mishandle. But facing that woman and revealing the truth seemed like an insurmountable task, especially during this glamorous gala.

Taking a steadying breath, you attempted to negotiate, to find some middle ground. “Can we talk about this—”

Atsumu's expression hardened, his patience wearing thin. “I ain’t got time to negotiate. Either you do this now or deal with the consequences later.” His words carried a finality that left no room for further discussion.

Fighting a rising wave of panic, you glanced in the direction he had pointed earlier, spotting Emiko amidst the crowd. She stood conversing with a small group of people, her graceful demeanour and poised presence seeming even more intimidating now. Your heart raced, and you struggled to find your footing in this unfamiliar and daunting situation.

A sense of desperation washed over you. You knew you had no choice. Your gaze shifted back to Atsumu, and despite the turmoil swirling within, you managed to conjure a facade of composure. “Fine,” you finally relented, your voice tight with resignation.

Atsumu's expression softened imperceptibly, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes. He gestured subtly towards Emiko before leaning back, watching intently as you began to navigate through the maze of elegantly dressed guests.

As you traversed the room, a labyrinth of couture and sophistication, you could feel the weight of Atsumu's gaze on your back, a subtle reminder of the daunting task ahead. The meticulous eyes of the attendees followed your movements, their murmurs a hushed backdrop to the pounding of your heart.

You approached the woman who you still didn’t know, who was engrossed in a conversation with another guest, her expression composed yet guarded. As you drew closer, she glanced up, her gaze meeting yours with a discerning intensity. A brief flicker of acknowledgment passed between you before Emiko excused herself from the conversation, her attention fully turning to you.

“Excuse me,” you began tentatively, not knowing how else to start. She turned towards you, her poised smile faltering slightly as she regarded you with a painted polite curiosity.

“Hi, I'm—”

“Oh my god. You’re that girl from the shitty bakery.” Your eyes twitched at your description, before you feigned a bashful chuckle, trying your best to look graceful. “Yes, I am. I actually wanted to talk to you about—“

“Thanks for letting me know about Atsumu. I seriously dodged a bullet with him. To think of what he did.” You felt your blood pressure rise, noticing a pattern in her speech. You once again, chuckle, albeit more a little more strained. “Yeah, well about that,” You quickly glance over at the bar, seeing Atsumu standing tall burning holes into your person. Immediately you felt your body heat up as a wave of anxiety washed over you.

“I actually, uh,” You rubbed your hands, attempting to self-soothe as you tried to build up the words to the woman looking at you with a growing suspicious gaze. “Made up the whole thing.” You did your best not to wince at your words, but you couldn’t contain the amount of stupidity you felt as Emiko processed your words, looking extremely confused.

“Did his PR team send you?”

Your stomach plummeted at Emiko's words, the way she nonchalantly dismissed your attempt to rectify the situation. Her polite smile and dismissive tone sent a ripple of frustration and anxiety coursing through you. This was not going according to plan. To be honest, you didn’t know what the plan was even supposed to be, but you knew this wasn’t it.

“No, I—uh, listen, that whole thing was a misunderstanding," you stammered, the words tumbling out in a flustered jumble. You tried to explain, to convey the gravity of the situation, but she waved a manicured hand as if swatting away your words.

She continued, her voice carrying a cutting edge of condescension. "I can't believe he would bring you out here to try and do some damage control."

The dismissive tone struck a nerve, igniting a spark of defiance within you. But the mounting pressure to set things right had you grasping at straws. In that pivotal moment, the room seemed to narrow down to just you and Emiko, her cool demeanour contrasting sharply with the brewing chaos inside you. The pressure to rectify the situation collided with the need to evade the consequences, causing a whirlwind of thoughts to race through your mind at lightning speed.

Your chest tightened with the weight of the situation, a sense of desperation clouding your judgment. You could feel the eyes of the other attendees, hidden behind their polished facades, casting glances your way, adding to the heat of the moment.

Struggling to grasp onto anything that might mitigate the looming disaster, your voice quivered as the words spilled out, the lie gaining momentum before you could halt it. “He—Atsumu and I, we had a thing...a sort of a fling,” you stumbled over the words, each syllable tasting more like deceit than you had ever imagined. Your heart hammered in your chest as you watched Emiko's expression, seeking any sign that your words had landed believably. But the silence that followed felt cavernous, pregnant with the weight of your hastily concocted falsehood.

Emiko's perfectly sculpted eyebrow arched higher, her gaze dissecting your face for any flicker of truth beneath the layers of your falsehood. The room felt stifling, the atmosphere charged with tension as the magnitude of your lie hung between you.

“I—I made up that story because I was, um, jealous? Yeah, jealous of you and him,” you continued, the words feeling like bricks tumbling down, building a wall of deceit around you. The strain of maintaining this facade threatened to suffocate you, but there was no turning back now.

As your hastily woven lie hung heavy in the air, Emiko’s expression shifted, her perfectly arched eyebrow raising further in surprise. For a moment, the room seemed suspended in silence, the weight of your words palpable.

"So, you and Atsumu have something going on?" Emiko’s voice cut through the tension, her tone a mix of disbelief and thinly veiled curiosity. Her gaze bore into you, seemingly dissecting every nerve, searching for a trace of truth in your fabricated tale.

You felt the heat rise to your cheeks, your pulse quickening as you tried to maintain a façade of confidence. “I, um, yeah...” Your voice faltered, trailing off as you struggled to find the right words to bolster your unconvincing story.

The lie hung in the air, and a flicker of disbelief crossed Emiko's expression before she composed herself, her features settling into a mask of poise.

"I had a feeling," she said with a hint of something you couldn’t discern. “You were eyeing each other pretty hard.” Her statement confuses you, not understanding how she could’ve possibly gotten that from the one interaction in the bakery, but you weren’t about to correct her.

Unexpectedly, Emiko’s demeanor softened a faint understanding glinting in her eyes. “It’s always something with PR teams. They never respect genuine relationships,” she mused, almost to herself, oblivious to the sheer discomfort gripping you.

You squirmed internally, feeling the weight of her assumptions pressing down on you. How had this spiralled into a tale of fabricated romance? You wanted to clarify, to admit the truth and extricate yourself from this tangled web of deceit, but Emiko’s unwavering belief in your words halted any attempt to set the record straight.

“Honestly, it’s exhausting, isn’t it?” Emiko continued, her voice carrying a hint of frustration. “But if you two are together now, I hope it’s not just another publicity stunt. Atsumu’s been through enough of those.”

You could feel your heart hammering against your ribcage, the intensity of this misunderstanding almost suffocating. You rub the back of your head, not knowing what else to add and wanting to leave as soon as possible, you point back to the other side of the room. “I uh, need to get going. Nice talking to you.” You mumble, to which Emiko doesn’t respond only looking at you and having her eyes flicker to behind you, something glistening in her eye.

As you turned to leave, a nagging sense of unease accompanied you, the weight of the lie heavier than ever. You managed a hasty nod in Emiko’s direction before stepping away, eager to put distance between yourself and the uncomfortable situation.

As you navigated the maze of elegantly dressed attendees, a sense of urgency propelled each step. You dared not look back, not wanting to meet Atsumu's gaze, fearing the inevitable confrontation about the fabricated tale you had just spun. Your mind raced, contemplating your escape from the scene without encountering him.

However, just as you neared the edge of the room, a voice sounded behind you, shattering the fragile facade you’d been trying to maintain. “How’d it go?”

You froze mid-step, the sound of Atsumu’s voice sending a chill down your spine. You turned slowly, forcing a tight-lipped smile as you faced him, a cascade of excuses forming on your tongue. But the intensity in his eyes, a piercing gaze that seemed to dissect your every thought, left you struggling for words.

“It...uh, went fine,” you managed, your voice betraying a hint of unease. You attempted to keep your gaze steady, to convey an air of nonchalance that you certainly didn’t feel.

Atsumu narrowed his eyes, his expression shifting into one of skepticism. “Just fine?” His tone was laced with an insistent curiosity, his gaze almost probing as if trying to read between the lines of your evasion.

“Yeah,” you replied, your words faltering as you tried to mask the unease brewing inside you. “Nothing much to it, really. Just a conversation.”

Atsumu’s stare bore into you, a subtle yet palpable pressure that made it difficult to maintain eye contact. You prayed that your discomfort wasn’t as obvious as it felt, hoping against hope that he’d buy your half-hearted explanation.

Before either of you could say more, a commotion erupted across the room, drawing Atsumu’s attention away. One of his teammates waved him over urgently, breaking the tension between the two of you. You saw the man make quick eye contact with you, and you immediately looked to the ground.

“Gotta go,” he muttered, sparing you one last curious glance before heading off, his brisk strides carrying him toward his teammate.

Relief washed over you as you watched him leave, the weight of the conversation still lingering in the air like a dense fog. Your gaze fell to the ground, seeking solace in the anonymity of the marble floor as you edged your way out of the bustling hall.

You had a feeling this was going to bite you in the ass.

#haikyuu #fanfic #writing prompt #writing #hq x reader #humour #miya atsumu x reader #miya atsumu #atsumu x reader #msby atsumu #hq atsumu #osamu miya #miya twins

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natureplay · 1 year ago

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୨୧Chapter IX • Oh fuck

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Word count: 1k

The night was a blanket of velvet, a soothing caress that enveloped everything in its quiet embrace. The stars glanced down peacefully from the sky and the moon lit up, its brightness unmatched. Its rays sparkle through the darkness, radiating a peaceful and calming atmosphere. It's a serene sight to behold; its pale glow can be seen even from the most remote places on Earth.

His hair moved in the breeze of the night air, creating a seemingly chaotic pattern which still managed to look somewhat good.

You tighten your grip around his waist. In turn, his hand comes up to rest on yours; it’s cold and the skin is rough and calloused. His thumb brushes back and forth on your knuckles. The action is comforting.

You close your eyes, focusing solely on the feeling of his skin on your skin, but something makes you pull away. Leon says nothing and focuses on the road ahead. You remove your hands from him, steading yourself by grabbing the sides of your seat, even if you didn’t feel as safe.

The pounding of your heart reaches your ears; you take deeper breaths to try and calm yourself. You don’t know what came over you so suddenly.

Your hands find Leon’s sides once again when he abruptly stops at a red light.

“Sorry,” he says.

“It’s okay...”

Unlike the ride with Claire, this one is very quiet. Not unusual for you and Leon, it’s almost always quiet when you two are left alone. That quiet feels nice, like a mutual understanding; like you two have a secret code, and don’t feel obligated to say anything. This time is different— it’s almost... awkward?

The motorcycle comes to a stop in front of Claire who is still standing next to Leon’s car. Only, there is somebody talking to her. A woman with a short, jet-black bob, dressed in a beige trenchcoat.

Claire looks tense and not that keen on the other woman’s presence. Do they know each other? If they do, they’re clearly not on good terms.

The woman turns around. She’s stunning. Her face looks to be carved by the Greek Gods themselves; her whole being blessed by Aphrodite personally. Out of worldly beauty. Her night sky coloured eyes scan briefly over to Leon then they set on you. Your breath hitches for a moment.

“Oh?” she says “And who’s your little friend over here?” she smiles with the corner of her mouth. Her voice is soothing, velvety rich, like that of a lover.

Her lips are plump and red, and they look so soft.

You open your mouth to speak, but Leon beats you to it.

“No one you should be concerned with” Leon moves next to you grabbing you by the forearm, “Get in the car, I’ll drive you home”

“Come on, Leon. I’m not going to do anything to her. What’s your name, doll?”

Leon is urging you to get in the car but before he can close the passenger door you shout your name at her. You manage to catch her response: “Such a pretty name” which makes a smile appear on your features. A pretty name; She thinks your name is pretty...

After that, you don’t hear anything else she says, or the others say. From the window, you can see Leon’s and Claire’s tensed shoulders and scrunched-up faces while the woman is calm and confident. She’s so—

You shake your head. You don’t like women, not like that. You’re just appreciating a fellow mate, a comrade. Everyone turns their head at a pretty woman when she walks down the street, grateful to be in the presence of such a masterpiece.

Leon steps into the car, his expression as exasperated as ever, with a clenched jaw and furrowed brow. The tension in the air is palpable. He lets out an irritated sigh before leaning back against the headrest of his seat.

You want to ask about who the woman was, but internally you realize this probably isn't a good moment. You avert your gaze from him, focusing instead on your hands resting on your lap.

The blond revs up the engine. You look out the window, finding that both Claire and the black-haired woman have disappeared. It left you with a strange feeling of unease, as though a mystery was unfolding before your eyes but you could not understand what was going on. Questions raced through your mind about the mystery woman and what she said to get Leon in this mood.

Again, the ride is filled with an eerie silence. Nothing but the gentle hum of the engine and the occasional passing of an outside sound can be heard.

When the vehicle arrives at your destination, Leon brings the engine to a halt. You unfasten your seatbelt and step out of the car, taking a few moments to stretch out your legs. He does the same, emerging from his side of the car.

“I hope you enjoyed yourself tonight,” he says, walking up the steps to the entrance of the apartment complex. You wonder for a moment why he’s doing it, but then you remember his grandmother is your next-door neighbour. He’s probably going to visit her, at this late hour...

“I did. Thank you” You smile at him. His expression remains the same. Stoic and cold. What happened?

Now you really want to know who she is.

Leon steps into the elevator with you, and you're immediately aware of the same tension that exists between the two of you, but this time it's not as strong.

“Good night,” he says while walking away. He smiles.

“Good night, Leon,” you say and unlock the door to your home. Stepping inside, your body is overcome with deep fatigue. You don't even realize how exhausted you are until now.

You trudge wearily across the wooden flooring to your bedroom, feeling the texture beneath your feet. Your mind is heavy as you walk, reflecting on a day that was much too long. Your pyjamas are ready for you, laying on the bed.

You slowly get on the bed, adjusting the pillows and straightening out the covers in preparation for what restful slumber awaits you. But at this moment all you can think about is how exhausted you feel and once again, who the mystery woman is and what’s her connection with Leon.

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lueurjun · 3 years ago

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Fresh cranberry juice invades your senses, and plagues your mind with memories of your very first love.

Your feet dangle over the edge of what you could only assume would be an instant death if things went wrong, your untied laces waft in the wind as you lean back on the heels of your hands. Most people wouldn’t dream of sitting so close to the edge of a building without feeling the slightest bit of fear, but you, you’re not most people—because most people are sane.

The cranberry juice you poured not long ago ripples with the harsh bite of the air, sloshing against the side of the cup and almost spilling over the edge—almost. It curves back over just in time, taming its rage within the confined space. The rouge liquid calms as the wind turns tranquil.

There on top of that roof, the traffic 50 ft below soothes your anxiety like a lullaby, and the fresh air wraps around you, ironically, you feel free. And it’s at that very moment you decide that you do in fact miss your first love.

Sim Jaeyun is simplicity; a daydream and the best kind of person. Sim Jaeyun is the human embodiment of home, a man with a smile so bright that even the sun envies his shine. Sim Jaeyun was the first man you ever loved, and the last.

It’s been four years since you last saw him, but not a single day has gone by where you haven’t regretted letting him walk away. The adults around you were jealous, so jealous of two teenagers in love. They were spiteful and rude. “You’re only fifteen. You don’t know the meaning of love.” “End it now. Focus on your studies, this is adult stuff.” “You like the idea of love, you have no idea what you’re feeling.”

You knew it was love back then, and you know it now. The adults in your life would never understand the way Sim Jaeyun made you feel, and that’s okay. Love isn’t always easy to understand. And a love like the one you had, was one that some wait a lifetime to experience—it wasn’t for them to understand because they simply hadn’t experienced it the way you had.

A breath of air escapes your lungs. Your ass is numb. How long had you been sitting up there? You had no idea. An hour? Perhaps two. You didn’t know but the sky was now a soft combination of colours creating a scene so picturesque that you had to pinch yourself to make sure you weren’t trapped in a dream.

“So I see you still come up here.”

That voice penetrates your body like a knife. The sharpest knife, and it drives straight into your heart where the name Sim Jaeyun has been branded from the moment he entered your life.

You pinch yourself a second time, and then a third and just for good measure, a forth. The sky is still a hue of pretty colours, and that voice speaks up again.

“I guess we both had the same idea.”

Finally, you turn and though you know he is standing there, the sight of him still knocks the breath out of you. Sim Jaeyun looks like a daydream. Not much has changed; other than the brown hair he once supported was now dyed a nice blonde, and he certainly had grown into his features. But he is still Jaeyun, your Jaeyun, and those honey dripping eyes are still as kind as ever.

There’s a familiar carton in his left hand. A carton that holds the same red liquid as the untouched cup sitting to your right.

“It’s been four years-“

“Exactly today,” he finishes.

For the longest time this is all you wanted. To see him again. His legs begin to move, and he takes four long strides towards you before he is directly behind you. His presence pricks your skin and leaves behind a harsh burn.

You swing your legs over the side of the ledge and drop down to your feet, landing right in front of him. Twisting your body, you take the cup into your hand and finally, you face him head on and meet his eyes.

Slowly, you hold up the cup. “Happy four year break up anniversary, Sim Jaeyun.”

He clinks his carton with your cup, but he doesn’t drink from it. Instead, he lets the fresh Cranberry Juice slip from his grip and he replaces it with your hips, tugging you into his body.

Your cup spills, crimson paints the concrete but you don’t care, not when his lips connect with yours for the first time in four years.

First loves are a flame within the heart that will only ever dim over time, but will never go out. And lucky for you, the flame for Sim Jaeyun is still as strong as the moment it first ignited.

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ihopeyoubothstaysafefromharm · 3 years ago

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the soft animal of your body

this is extremely niche but i recently rewatched okja and i wanted to read something about jay, just jay, being by himself. be kind to the soft animal of your body. i realize that this isn't even a thing that has a fandom and that exactly no one except me is actually expecting to see this right now but i just wanted to make something nice for this character because i think he deserves it

Also on A03

Jay only owns two suits. It’s not out of some ascetic self-sacrificing practice - the ALF just requires them to carry around so much gear and so many highly specialized single purpose garments and disguises that it's simply more practical this way. He always gets the suits dry cleaned, by whatever mom-and-pop establishment he can find in whatever city he's in - but the shirts he washes by himself. And so it's Saturday night and Jay is at a laundromat in Evora, Portugal. Self-service, eight Euro for a small load of laundry and he's completely by himself. There's a bright, happy decal with instructions and rules over the wall of washers and dryers. There's a stack of reusable plastic bins by his feet. He briefly considers turning them upside down and resting his feet on them, but even in the quiet empty space, it feels rude, tap tap.

It's not some great mystery like others might think. He's not secretly rich, he doesn't think he's some Bruce Wayne type hero - he finds those films revolting anyway, all that senseless carnage, although he's grateful for the people who make them and hopes all their families are well, tap tap. Jay wears a suit because he’s a delegate of mankind, in his work, and it only feels right to show up looking the part. It’s not that he’s ever found people in suits particularly comforting - his father never wore one, Jay may not have even owned one when he was small, but something about it felt right. Other people trusted men in suits, maybe not in their heart of hearts but in some learned, practiced way, like how people force themselves to like beer or go kayaking. There was a learned component to humanity that had nothing to do with being human, Jay’s always thought, and it’s shocking how much of the world that component governs. So when Jay shows up at Swiss banks and NATO meetings and makes his way through private facilities, no one bats an eye. But when he shows up in small villages, in ravaged cities where the source of suffering can clearly be traced to someone at a very real and solid desk, he sees the people he encounters fight actively against their nature through to the schema in their brain that tells them to trust his tie and his cufflinks and his shiny, polished shoes. It makes him sick, sometimes, not because of their initial disgust, but because of how them fighting against it might be used by someone other than him.

All the buildings in this little town are yellow or white. Jay likes colourful things, he finds them more soothing than neutrals with a pop of something bright. For as long as he could remember, color in an otherwise dull space has seemed like danger - a patch of blood on the arctic snow-bed, the black void of an oil slick on a shining sea. The air in the laundromat smells floral with a hint of mildew. He uncrosses his ankles and stands up, hovers in the narrow space between the plastic chair and the washing machine. Jay doesn’t carry a watch, that always seemed like a nasty habit. The washing machine beeps and its steel door swings open. He transfers the wet shirts to the dryer and retrieves more coins from the little dispenser built into the wall. The drying is his favorite part.

Jay's favorite sensation when he was a child was burying his face in the crook of his mother's arm, nose and eyelids pressed right into the bend of her elbow. It was the only time he remembered he was a mammal. There is something about softness that is intrinsically mammalian, the quickest path back to baseline. So much of the world, it seemed to Jay, was the opposite of soft - its problems, its rules and, most tragically, its solutions. See, after a long and sunny early childhood, something suddenly happened inside Jay, a switch flipped or a valve tightened and out of nowhere, he was constantly upset. He couldn't sleep through the night alone, he couldn't get through a school day without calling home. It felt like some innate sense of safety had been entirely extracted from him. His father would nap peacefully on the couch and Jay would stand there and make sure that he was breathing. He would redraw all possible routes home in his mind. He would double knot his shoe strings and keep food stashed by his bed. For the first few months, he was met with sweet understanding and concern, at least at home. He was allowed to sleep in his parents' bedrooms, in each of their beds whenever he liked, or on in a pinch could ask one of them to sleep on the cot by his bed, pinky fingers linked in the crevasse between them, all monsters be damned. When he slept with his mom she would hold him tight and he would press his face into the soft skin of her arm and somehow that ever present dread would completely dissolve. But in the morning the feeling would return, and it gradually became unbecoming for a nine year old boy to do the things they'd agreed to let him do. They took him to bleak waiting rooms to talk privately with kind but detached strangers, who later prescribed pills to be taken daily. He didn’t like swallowing them, couldn’t do it without throwing his head back like a lion.

Jay doesn’t bring his iPad with him when he’s not on a mission. To avoid being tracked, the ALF don’t carry phones - they just have pre-arranged meeting spots and safe houses and there’s no need to keep tabs on anyone. That’s the beauty of doing something out of love and honor, you don’t have to worry about people slacking on the job. Evora is famous for its university and its slaughterhouses. It’s a warm autumn evening and every so often, a giggling group of students dressed in formal robes runs past, presumably on their way to some odd social function. Earlier outside the city walls, while they were scoping out the entry points into the main meatpacking plant, Jay saw a group of those oddly dressed students shouting at a group of young people in their underwear in a park. One by one, the under-dressed students would drop to the soft, damp ground, face first, while loud, jaunty music played from some tinny cell-phone speaker nearby. It was odd, but no one seemed to be distressed - under their serious facade, there was an energy to both those hazing and those being hazed that seemed like they were enjoying themselves. Thinking back on it now, it seems to Jay that it might be because neither party was really on the opposite side of each other - perhaps the ones in uniform had had that done to them before, perhaps the new ones would have the chance to do it to someone down the line. Power never really was a ladder, it’s almost always a cycle, things always revert to their true form in the end. Jay crosses his ankles neatly and studies the lint collected at the edge of the wall. It probably had microorganisms living in it, fruitful in the warm damp heat. Maybe they’re friends with the mold. Tap tap.

Despite their rounded edges, the pills they’d prescribed him did not feel like a soft solution. At least, no more than a heartfelt conversation that involved only one heart being bared. He was grateful, of course, because the care and kindness of his parents and teachers and doctors led them to want to solve this constant feeling that he had inside, but it didn't seem like anyone was actually hearing him - or worse, that they were, but that there was nothing anyone could do about it. That a feeling could never be un-felt, a seed un-planted without damage. As the years went on, the feeling settled and clarified from a general sense of dread into something specific, something sharp that pierced right through Jay's soft mammalian heart: pain, like a search light sweeping over the world. The whole world was in pain. And Jay, like a radio locked into a frequency, could feel it from all sides rushing right into his chest.

Beep beep. The sound of the dryer coming to a stop doesn’t echo in the small room, it seems to get sucked into the wall. Jay once heard a physicist say that no sound is ever truly gone. He punctuated this statement with a clap that swirled and echoed all around them. The particles that move to produce the sound we hear, the man said, would reverberate for as long as there was space and time, growing more silent but never truly fading. That’s how we know the past happened. It made Jay feel like he was floating. Beep beep. Jay opens the dryer, the warm air and puff of industrial strength detergent rushing out to greet him like a friend. He reaches in, touches the warm bundle of fabric. He has to shake the shirts out soon, to prevent them creasing. Looking put together is part of the facade. The white shirt seems so stark against his hands in the dark drum of the dryer, but there’s color there too, from the little blue shadows in the wrinkles to the warm light bouncing off the window from the street. In a few hours they’re going to load 500 Alentejano pigs onto trucks and sneak them out under the cover of night. He didn’t get to meet them earlier, but he could hear them through the wall of the tunnel they had found leading to the sty. He picks up the soft fabric, glances out the window. The light flickers for a millisecond and it’s either the power or his iron deficiency. His breath hitches, just for a moment, but he's steady on his feet. He can hear cars in the distance, heavy trucks on the highway and people going somewhere far or near or nowhere in particular at all.

Then he lifts up the shirt and buries his face in it. It's soft and for a moment, he doesn't hear anything at all.

#okja #jay okja #paul dano #danonation #jay #joyful fic

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boldlyvoid · 4 years ago

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10 Days

this is for @imagining-in-the-margins father's day fic challenge <3

summary: it's spencer's first father's day and he's extremely emotional about the little love of his life that he's only just met. he spends the day with his baby, Edwin, and his wife, crying and happy about how wonderful new little lives are.

a/n: just a lot of new dad spencer fluff ♥︎ happy father's day everyone

word count: 1.4K

Read on Ao3

10 days.

That’s how long it has been since he became a father. Holding the small gift the love of his life brought into the world, Edwin was so tiny. He slept, swaddled up, resting against Spencer’s knees as he sat up in bed. Y/N asleep on the pillow beside them.

Spencer couldn’t believe how perfect his life had become. Edwin’s small coo’s and grunts as he slept making him smile at the perfect little being they created. All 6lbs, 10oz and 21 inches of pure perfection, joy and love.

He was peaceful, his cute little button nose twitched as he pouted. About to wake up, hungry as the sun rose, like clockwork. He blinked as his eyes adjusted to the light, looking around with his deep brown eyes before he started to wail.

“Shhh,” Spencer soothed him as he brought him to his chest, bouncing him softly as Y/N started to wake up.

She yawned beside him, stretching into a banana shape as she did so. Curling around him slightly before sitting up, keeping her eyes closed as she swallowed a few times and became a person again.

“Good morning,” Spencer spoke over the slight crying.

“Hello,” she replied, opening one eye as she un-clipped her nursing bra, “hand him over.”

Spencer laid him in her arms, watching as she led him towards the nipple. He latched with no problems, she tilted her head back against the headboard and closed her eyes once again. She had become a pro at sleeping while feeding, excited for when he was finally big enough that she could just roll over and feed him while laying down.

Spencer watched as Edwin's little hand found its way out of the swaddle, reaching up to hold the side of her boob. His eyes wide open as he ate, staring up at his mother with amazement.

Spencer always felt a bit emotional when he really looked at them. Seeing all the best qualities of both himself and Y/N in him already, Edwin was the most perfect baby he had ever seen.

He couldn’t believe sometimes that he was his son.

He leaned his head onto Y/N’s shoulder, cuddling into her as he reached out to cup Edwin’s tiny little head. Rubbing his thumb over the soft spot covered in hair. He loved them so much it felt overwhelming.

He kissed her shoulder softly, feeling her smile as her cheek pressed against his head. “Happy Father’s Day,” she whispered.

“Thank you,” he felt the tears well before one slipped out, trailing his cheek before dropping to her shoulder in a small splash.

“Oh Spence,” she started to cry too, laughing into the tears. Making her chest bounce and disturb Edwin’s breakfast.

“I just love you so much, they’re happy tears,” Spencer said softly before he kissed her cheek.

“Seriously, Spence,” she looked at him softly, still all puffy from sleep and the pregnancy. “Making you a dad is the best thing I’ve ever done.”

“Seeing you become a mom was like, everything just connected and the world made sense,” he explained softly. “The way you just powered through and suddenly you’re helping reach down and bringing this life into the world,” he started crying again. “It was magical, the feeling of becoming a father at that moment, seeing the life we made?” He had to stop to catch his breath as he cried, lifting his shirt up to wipe his tears off his face.

“I know,” she cried in agreement, looking down at her beautiful little boy as he ate away, unaware that his sleep-deprived parents were having a moment.

“I love you,” Spencer laughed, leaning in to kiss her on the lips finally.

There was a knock on their bedroom door then, “come in?” Y/N answered as Spencer sat back against the headboard beside her.

“Good morning,” her mother and Diana cheered softly as they walked in, breakfast for the both of them on trays. “Happy father’s day!”

“Oh my god,” Spence got overwhelmed again, covering his face so he wouldn’t cry in front of them too.

“Thank you guys,” he could hear the smile on Y/N’s face as she spoke. “You didn’t have to do all this?”

“Spencer used to make me breakfast on both Father’s and Mother’s day, I thought I’d repay the favour,” Diana recalled the memory with a soft smile.

“Thank you, mom,” Spencer said as Diana placed the tray on his lap, hugging him softly before she moved back.

“We’ll leave you alone now,” Y/N’s mom added as she placed the other tray on Y/N’s side of the bed. “Call me if you need anything else?”

“Sure thing, thanks nanny,” Y/N replied, using her mother’s new nickname.

It was so nice having both of them visit, they were very helpful. Allowing them to have time to shower and use the bathroom, they cleaned the house and made all the meals while Y/N and Spencer bonded with their little miracle.

It was the best father’s day he could have asked for, with the best wife, the best son and the best family in the whole world.

He was overfilled with joy, bursting at the seams and the tears never stopped. Even as he quietly ate his own breakfast, he was sniffling and wiping the occasional tear. It was overwhelming, he was tired, he was so in love, it was just a lot for him.

When Edwin was done eating, Y/N passed him back to Spencer with a smile. Spencer held him in his arms gently before placing a burp rag in his lap and burping the little guy. Patting his back, he let out a deep burp and then sighed, making Spencer laugh. He was so cute, it was insane.

He held him close, resting Edwin’s tiny little head on his shoulder as he cradled him, bounding slightly to help him fall back to sleep, Y/N called him the baby whisperer. He was amazing, he just had to hold Edwin with his arms crossed and tilt him at an angle, and he'd stop crying. It was like Magic seeing Spencer with a baby, he just knew what he was doing.

He changed Edwin like it was nothing, he talked to him like a big kid already as he changed or bathed him. She’d overhear him in the bathroom, his voice echoing off the tiled walls as he goes on and on in Edwin’s ear about how diapers are made and how they looked for the safest ones for his little bum. It was adorable.

Edwin was wonderful, full of excitement and joy and hope. He looked at everything like it was magic, learning about the world through his brand new eyes as Spencer was gifted with witnessing it all. It was magnificent, he loved colours and belly kisses and he smiled when you poke his cheeks. He was the best thing Spencer’s ever helped make, and he was so completely in love with him. His little baby, the reason he’s a father.

His whole life was in Edwin’s hands now; whatever he wanted, Spencer would be it. Whatever he needed, Spencer would get it. He was wrapped around his finger like his life depended on it, and Spencer was fine with that. He would sell his soul for him, step in front of a bullet or a speeding train, the love he had for this little baby was unspeakably large for how small he was.

He’s wide awake in Spencer’s arms, tilting his head and licking his lips as he stares up at his father. Spencer smiles down at him, amazed by everything going on inside his mind. Thinking about the electrons firing, the memories being made and re-written by the second as he learns and explores, colours erupting in his mind like nebulas.

“Did you know you’re named after Edwin Hubble?” Spencer whispers to him, booping his nose gently, “he’s the reason we can see the stars so well, why people were able to complete their dreams and go to the stars. To see the far off worlds and contemplate what’s out there… to see a greater purpose for us all.”

Edwin had no idea what he was talking about, but he was so content listening. Knowing his dad’s voice very well from all the talking he did to Y/N’s belly over the long 9 months of anticipation to meet him.

“You’re my stars, you’re my greater purpose,” he whispers, bring him closer so he can kiss his tiny little forehead. “I love you.”

#fathers day fic challenge #poms fic challenge #spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid self insert #spencer reid request #criminal minds smut #criminal minds imagine #dad spencer #one shot

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oh-for-fic-sake · 4 years ago

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Deliverance Chapter Three

Masterlist

Summary: That time has come to sort through the artefacts that have been sent to earth with you, and Clark finds he is less and less impressed with how krypton was governed.

Warnings: Suggestive themes, Fluff,Angst, A/B/O, Mating mentioned, Heats mentioned, Swearing

Wordcount: 14000+

A/N; so this chapter is mostly information and backstory. I rewrote kryptons history becuase... I wanted to? Yeah any way i hope you all enjoy even it it drags.

Taglist: in reblogs

The days that followed were strange, you had gotten used to earth and its strangeness. You were also spending as much time outside as you could, soaking up the sun rays and laying in the grass, sometimes walking through the fields. Martha even had you helping her with some flowerbeds 'weeding' humans were funny creatures. The white and pink flowers were acceptable but the little fluffy yellow ones and tiny blue ones were not? They were 'weeds' and had to be pulled from the ground. Martha had given you a strange look when you asked to keep them but got you a little trough all the same and helped you plant your weeds. They lived on your windowsill and you watered them every morning. Clark found it cute and even added some to it wanting to help.

You felt much better now and your breathing had settled. It was bliss residing with your alpha. You'd learned that he had a job as a reporter- a news writer. Those things weren't really mentioned at home which surprized you when you realised just how important they were and how much time it took up. And speaking of importance, you got your papers! Your official human documentation. A certificate of birth, because humans rewarded their young with paper on their birth you found it funny but your new family had been adamant you were given this reward for being birthed. You also got a number for social security recognition, a schooling achievement diploma? And a passport? So you could fly? Which didn't make much sense to you when you could do that anyway... Or would be able to once you were completely acclimatised to this planet. It had been Clark's friends- A bat who arranged it all, which was nice... If not odd you thought a bat was a winged mammal but perhaps there was a different bat hybrid you wasn't aware of. You were now unofficially, official in your human life.

When Clark was away you missed him, but didn't? Martha kept you busy, filling in the holes of your earthly education. You found her to be a sweet and funny woman, she was wholesome and kind. Never once shying away from you like you had expected. You lived with her for the moment a spare room in the farm house had been converted for you. For some reason she would not let you stay in the same room as your mate, she said it was a human thing. Not that, it stopped Clark from sneaking in at night and curling up in the bed with you soothing you and kissing you. He would always chuckle with you stating 'he wasn't human so its okay' whilst snuggling you sweetly scenting and murring at you until you fell asleep. You never felt safer then in the arms of your alpha, snuggling tight against him pressing kisses to his chest and rubbing your cheek on the curls that covered it, digging your nose into them and sniffing, breathing him in falling asleep.

Your bond was growing stronger and stronger as the days past, even if you only managed a few hours at night and in the morning with him. Clark had to explain some strange things, for some reason you were both to wear a ring? When humans found their mates they gave each other rings and wore them on the left ring fingers it meant they were mates? Married? Martha had been a little upset over it at first but Clark said it was best to do it this way, you could have your wedding later, for now he will wait. Martha had been persistent but in the end gave up, it was hard for her to face the reality that her son was not human and he was trying his best.

You were happier then you thought you'd be on a alien world, you'd acclimatised for the most part and found your own earthling way. Even if Martha and Clark found it strange you refused to eat anything brown or plain. Or meat.

The concept of eating animals was very disturbing for you. On krypton animals were not eaten, well not animals like on earth. Kryptonian's ate what earthlings would call insects, non sentient beings. But then again the insects here were... Tiny, surprizingly so. But Clark had taken it in his stride, if you didn't want to eat meat he wasn't going to force you... But he made you eat lots of what he called your 'leafy greens'... Which didn't make sense to you because many of the leafy greens should just be called greens because brocca-broccile- baby trees! Didn't have leaves neither did the little green balls! P's? You think he called them p's. Just when you began to loose hope for delicious sustenance he surprized you. Mangoes. You loved mangoes and grapes and apples! Fruit any fruit. Martha and your mate had taken you to a human grocery store and you'd been drawn to the fruit section.

You walked into the store clutching at Clark's arm terrified, it was the first time being out and mingling with other humans. Once inside you looked about seeing a few humans scattered about the isles and relaxed. A wave of smells hit your senses making you cough.

"Breath, breath through it love... That's it good girl, good omega. Now hold on to me or the cart and stay with ma and me" Clark said rubbing your back leading you behind Martha walking past some special buys. After a few short minuets you relaxed and released Clark looking watching as the other humans walked about some with children some teenagers and even a few alone. The children drew your attention. Boys. Real little boys. Flesh and blood male children in little hats and shorts- clothing with cartoon race cars on them. You froze looking in awe. Felt the stutter.

"love?" he asked feeling you halt and tense. He instantly looked up and was on alert every bone in his body itching to protect you. To destroy what had spooked his tiny mate. He looked around for the danger but there was none, just a mother and her sons further down the isle.

"Look... Boys, young boys" you uttered slowly looking to the children holding a brightly coloured packet up to what you presumed was his mother pleading for the packet. The woman smiled and nodded letting them throw the packet into the cart and they continued down the isle.

"Yes love. I forget you've never seen a young boy have you" he hummed wrapping his arms around you from behind kissing the top of your head. You melted into him and shook your head still watching as the humans rounded the corner at the end of the shop.

"what do you think?" Clark whispered sweetly, amused and struck by the way you'd reacted to such a simple sight. A mother and sons, he forgot you'd never seen a boy before. He had been the last one on krypton.

"They... He was beautiful." you uttered slowly blinking still registering the image of a real live breathing male child.

"Ours will be better~ perfectly formed kryptonians a whole swarm" he said making you feel light and carefree, the thought of a litter- a true litter of your own pups made you quiver in anticipation.

"You-you'll give me pups?" you said softly trembling from head to toe. Clark hadn't made any inclination to wanting pups or to take your bond any further then the sweet caresses and cuddles he'd been gifting you. You'd not once spoke of anything beyond getting you settled into human life. Clark grinned awkwardly and nodded, he wasn't used to children being called pups and such, he was still coming to terms with the? Miscommunication between worlds and terminology.

"I will try my hardest, sons and daughters" he chuckled squeezing you tightly and pressed a long kiss to your head nuzzling your hair watching as the family disappeared. His heart swelled. A family, a real family. Children of his own in your little belly, with out fear of them being too much for you to handle. He could relax knowing you could handle their tiny kicks and nudges. You could survive a pregnancy and birth him healthy full term children. He had so many niggling little fears over trying to create himself a family with a human. Humans were weak, fragile, but with you? With you he could be exactly what he was. A kryptonian. A god among men. It was refreshing having someone he could truly relax around.

"Promise?" Came the tiny voice, breathless and pleading, huge doe like eyes blinking at him hopefully glazed in tears. He could feel the tremors through your bond, like someone twanging an elastic band, the vibrations of relief and excitement reaching him, tugging and pulling. It was as if you had feared he wouldn't give you children. And finally he had confirmed it.

"I promise little omega, as soon as I'm able you will be round and heavy~" watching as your eye grew wide and you purred at him rubbing your cheek to his as he craned down to kiss you, then scented him under his jaw. With an adorable flush and melodious gasp you pulled back looking around worried someone would know you'd scented your alpha.

"shh remember humans don't understand, they don't know what you did sweet pea" he uttered trying to sooth you. You had explained that scenting was seen as very private. It was... Like mating- the prequel to meeting, scenting was strengthening your bond and extremely intimate. To be caught doing it out side? It was very frowned upon, on krypton you'd get less disapproval if he fucked you out in the open!

"do not call me a p.. They are wretched things!... Call me... Something yummy" you complained not yet being aware that a sweet pea was a flower... And he wasn't calling you and actual pea.

"I apologise... You can be my little cookie?" he chuckled slowly it wasn't that he was laughing at you but he found it endearing how straight forward you were. If you didn't like something you told him out right. It was a nice change, you didn't seem to understand the whole human political correctness and subtlety. Your reasoning with Clark was that you could both feel the others feelings through the bond, so what was the point in lying. That would just complicate things. And he couldn't argue with your logic.

"what is a cookie?" you asked tipping your head to the side curiously. He did burst out laughing at that and shook his head squeezing you tight. Tighter then any human could handle, but that was part of the beauty in your relationship. You wasn't human, wasn't breakable. He could fully relax and touch you without fear of harming you. You were impenetrable... Well in that sense anyway~

"Something very sweet and delicious I promise~" he said kissing your head once more and ushered you down the isle slowly trying to find his mother, but still let you look around. You were curious and wanted to explore your new home planet and he wont ruin your first venture.

"Clark? Clark come and help me- I cant reach the milk! Its at the back again!" Martha said quietly you smiled. It took a lot of coaxing but you had indeed tried what Clark had explained as 'cow juice' and had developed a taste for it. So Martha had promised you milk every day if you liked. Which you did like. A lot. Clark pressed another kiss to you and walked off towards the milk refrigerators expecting you to follow.

You made to follow but a sweet scent hit you and you stopped mid step. It was wonderful and ripe, sweet and succulent. You pivoted and followed without much thought. Your feet found there way twisting around the display of 'leafy greens' to a bright colourful isle. You salivated at the smells. There were so many intoxicating scents you didn't know what to look at first.

You pressed a hand on a small net package full of strange green fuzzy balls. Kiwi's? You read and scrunched your face up at the peculiar name. Then plucked the bag up and held it to your nose sniffing. They smelled divine, like a type of food from home. Okriin a small sour sweet treat given to children on their birthing date. You sniffed again and almost cried. It was so similar but so different sweeter and fuller in the scent. You cautiously sniffed again and closed your eyes before tentativly prodding it with your tongue wanting to see if it tasted the same.

"y/n? Y/n?!- oh god there you are? What are you doing? You almost gave me a heart attack" Clark said racing towards you his mother behind him with the cart. He slid to a stop and blinked at you. As you scrunched up your nose.

"The texture of these are... Not very nice?" you said naively moving for the fruit again sticking your tongue out once more trying to discern if it was edible like this. Clark moved quickly gasping holding your hands that had the.. Kiwi's in it.

"no, no.. No we- you don't eat them like that... You peel them and eat the inside, and we don't lick things in the shop okay?" he explained with a teasing to his voice. Martha chuckled into her chest she couldn't help it, you were extremely cute.

"But? Then how do you know if you like it if you don't taste?" You frowned as Martha stifled a laugh. But she quickly curbed herself when you looked serious and a little upset. You didn't find it funny food was serious and had always been rationed, you were allowed only the portion you needed to stay healthy back home. Nothing more unless you could grow it.

"You buy it and eat it at home, then we can come and get more" Clark said drawing your attention once more. Your frown deepened. More? You could come back? That didn't sound right... or fair, Martha normally made one trip a week on the same day... wasn't that her alotted time for food shopping? Or was it by choice?

"More? But isn't there rules on how many trips a household makes?" You asked genuinely confused looking from your mate to his mother then back again. They both looked a little shocked by the idea of not being allowed to get food when they needed to. Martha even looked sad, shaking her head looking down.

"No love, there isn't... is there on kry-back home?" Clark asked, he almost sounded offended by the thought of being told when you can and cant go shopping.

"Yes. We have fifteen minuets for every member of your house hold that your shopping for and an alotted time every two weeks to pick up your rations" you said without batting an eyelash. Clark drew a deep breath, he had to admit he didn't like what he was hearing about your shared home planet. He found himself more and more relieved you were here with him and not in that? Authoritarian place.

"Did you lick anything else?" He said trying to move away from the topic, he was trying to get you used to this planet and this was your first time out and about in town. He wanted to move on, to let you be free and explore... preferably with him beside you.

"...If I do can we take it home?" You said tipping your head to him with a cheek grin. He chuckled and rounded you placing an arm around your waist and pokeing under your ribs in a freshly discovered tickle spot making you giggle.

"Silly thing you don't have to lick things for us to buy them, I suppose you liked the smell huh?" He enquired nodding to the Kiwis still clutched protectively in your hands.

"Yes it.. Its like something from home- a treat we had on our birthing day..." you nodded looking down plucking at the bright orange netting that kept four of the fuzzy fruit together.

"Then we shall get two packets love" he said plucking another pack of kiwis and placing them in the cart, he then looked to you as you scanned the isle still indulging in the amazing mix of smells and colours.

"Pick out a few more things to try, the mangoes are nice and juicy I think you'd like them." He said motioning to the colourful sweet smelling displays.

"R-really I can pick some?" You asked nervously twiddling your fingers and pulling onto the sleeves of your top.

"Yes love we don't ration here you can pick a few things to try, just promise me you wont lick any of it... at least not until we get to the car" he said grinning as you nodded enthusiastically looking around suddenly full of childish glee. God help him when you try some candy, he has the feeling you'll have a sweet tooth.

"I promise!" You said happily and ran off to some of the other fruit that smelt divine and quickly picked a few.

Once you got home you watched Clark and Martha make a small platter of fruit for you. And you'd fallen inlove! Mangoes and pears were your favourite, you didn't like grapefruit and should have listened when they told you not to eat a lemon... lemons were for juicing and flavouring other food, not for eating.

You smiled as you mulled over the day, that was the first day you saw the civilisation of your new home. Humans were free and unorganised. Chaotic but at the same time had made their own way to navigate the chaos of their world and one another. They were very similar to your kind. But it was hard, frightening! Suddenly you could do what you wanted when you wanted. Krypton in its desperation had taken many choices away, even the basic ones. Like how much food you could have per household, how many times you could visit the shopping districts or medical bays. You had laws on how much water you used, who could go where and when. and suddenly all that structure- all those rules were gone. You were to do as you pleased?

It was a frightening concept.

You padded across the small space to the barn with tentative steps, quivering knees. Clark was behind you a few feet trying to give you space, yet at the same time he was pressing himself though the bond. Warm and comforting reassuring you. He had learned in the past week that he could send messages through the bond. Almost whispers it was weird you didn't hear anything but you could feel his words, feel his probing. His soul was apart of you and your soul apart of him now. And you could communicate in such a deep way it- you almost felt as if you were one being.

Today you had decided to go through the ships cargo hold and start removing some things up to your room. It had been something you put off but it was time to begin answering more questions, time to give our alpha his heirlooms and books. Your job now was to help him learn all about krypton and its past.

Clark darted forward opening the doors to the barn letting you and Martha in. You'd decided to let Martha help, she deserved it she was your surrogate mother now after all. Last week she'd started asking you to call her Ma too.

You moved towards the tarp covering the ship and pulled at it making the crinkling plastic fall the inched forward pressing a hand to the door to the pod. You froze, flashes of the moment you'd been wrestled into the pod crossed your mind. The fear and agony of knowing you were going to be there end. Kill your parents. But it was to late, it had been too late then and it was too late now.

"Omega? Are you alright?" Clark said standing behind you curling one arm around your frame, the thick forearm resting over your tummy at your waist.

"Yes, its... The last time saw this was when" you trailed softly, you knew he could feel the fear and despair as you replayed those final moments with your family over and over. You hand been strong enough to hold on to your mother or father. You hadn't had enough grip to pull them into the ship with you, and your lack of strength cost them their lives.

Clark murred into your shoulder, his other hand stretching out smoothing his palm over yours pinning it you the surface of the door. He could taste the anxiety, the overwhelming frantic terror that had overcome you as your bond soured your memories haunted you. In the night you'd cry out for them and jolt awake sobbing your heart out. But you'd never spoke about what ha actually happened.

"D-do you want to talk about it?" He said quietly pressing his chest to your back needing to touch his sweet omega, the overwhelming drive to comfort you was almost painful.

"I don't think it would help... I shouldn't feel bad, its what i had been commissioned for. We all new our purpose" Clark paused. What? You had barely spoke about krypton, but from what you had mentioned he had a very... unimpressed view of it. The world sounded totalitarian and harsh everyone leading a hard life of duty. But he had never pushed you, he could tell you still mourned the planet despite its shortcomings.

"C-commissioned? Purpose? What do you mean?" Martha muttered moving closer to you both. She too was curious, her and Clark never thought they would have this chance, that they could learn everything about the planet of his birth or his race. But you were it. Their answers a living breathing kryptonian that had resided on krypton! You knew everything they wanted to know and probably more. They had been trying to hold back their questions it would seem that you may finally be up to answering them.

"Krypton is... Was like... North Korea? The one shut off from the world? But... stranger, its hard to explain without knowing our history we had our reasons and failures" you trailed off, you was unsure where to start, the troubled past of your race was woven into its present, well not present as today but... the final era of krypton. Everything leading up to the day you were shipped off from the planet. There were complications, twists and turns that you might not be able to explain properly.

"Please, I'd like to know" his voice was small and sweet, almost naïve in a sense. You got the feeling of a curious desperation from your bond. It made you grin, he was trying so hard to hold back for your sake, he truly was the perfect mate both considerate and loving, there was a gentleness about him that many alphas are said to have lacked. It must come from being raised on this planet, growing up around being so much weaker then he is that has moulded him to hold such a sweet sense of nurturing. After all your mate was the golden son, a living breathing god on earth.

"I know... come I have books and artefacts in the cargo hold, I will give them to you and you can read" you said with a shy smile, you warm giddy feelings traveling along you bond making him murr once more managing to hit the all important melodious sound that was the unique soul song you'd both began naturally harmonizing. You stood and pulled from Clark and walking a small way down the ship. You pulled a hidden hatch open jerking a lever up and then pulled and twisted before releasing. You were quite impressed at how easily you'd done it. The suns rays had made you immensely strong already. Soon your be flying hopefully!

Clark hovered over you, making sure to stand in between the ship and his mother. A large gust of air and a whirring sound resounded and you stepped back. There were several clunk's and metallic creaks then the whole side of the craft pealed away like a set of curtains a thick corsetina of metal revealed a large cargo hold the three of you could just fit in.

There were shelves and cases piled high inside. All of krypton's most valuable artefacts, your whole history in the small stalagmite keys. Just like the one Clark had been sent to earth with. But these held information, schematics of incredible tech, medicines and encyclopaedia's. Not only about krypton but other planets and races that could cause a threat.

The there were the texts for your pups. The very same you had used to study as a child. You tip toed inside looking around feeling your heart break. This was all that was left of a whole civilization. A case of ceremonial robes, some crown jewels. Seeds for a few important plants- even a small rack with some mature plants that were being grown in a small self sustained pod. It was a true treasure trove.

"Wow this is? Incredible"

"Everything in here is... significant to our kind- here these are the books to start with they will tell you what krypton went through... a child's guide to our history" you said scooping up the books you'd studied and handed them to Clark. He moved slowly taking them from you running his fingers over the image on the book.

You walked off around a small shelf trying to find your chest- the things your parents had been allowed to pack for you. You had to find it and get over those emotional tugging in your chest. You had a lot to explain and had to have a clear head on your shoulders.

Martha stood close by the exit as she watched the two of you potter about the ship. It was both frightening and exhilarating for her. She was glad they had thought about all this, about giving both you and Clark things to remember krypton by. She moved to step behind Clark peeking at the book he was flicking through and was surprized to find she could read it. Everything was in perfect English.

"This is? Are they all in English?" She asked turning to you who was still wandering around becoming upset clearly looking for something in particular.

"Yes, they needed to make sure kal-clark would be able to read it" you said comeing around the other side of the shelves and stood beside them both. Clark turned around eyeing the book seeing what looked like propaganda filling the pages. It was disconcerting he was slowly becoming aware that krypton was not the magical place he had envisioned but a very draconian type of civilization. He didn't want to read pages of scripted drivel. He wanted the truth. He closed the book and eyed you then held to book out to you.

"I'd like to learn from you... if its not to much to ask love? These books will paint a rosey picture, I want to know the reality what people actually thought of our planet" he said still offering you the book. You held your breath debating for a moment, but finally breathed out a sigh and took the book from him. Agreeing.

You moved to the side of the ship and sat down letting your feet rest on the steps. Clark and Martha followed your lead taking seats beside you.

You kept quiet for a moment pondering over what was most important to start with. Your evolution. Then your genealogy, the great mistake and population crisis and the laziness that followed. The selfishness and finally his own story, the story of the golden sons escape and the new age. The final short 31 year age. And your delivery.

You opened the page showing some images of the first ever 'proper kryptonians' and held it open letting both Martha and Clark lean over to see. It was like a family story time.

"Okay... So kryptonians evolved just like humans did millions of years ago. But unlike humans we kept more of our animal like instincts, we retained pack mentality" you said pointing out the different images of the evolution.

"Alpha and omega's?" Clark asked curiously as his eyes scanned the page. There was a list for each. Alpha were bigger and stronger, more dominant and protective, fierce and very potent. They were more economic and able to draw more power from little radiation. Omega petite, defensive, skittish and shy. Nurturing and extremely fertile. Submissive.

"Yes and betas they aren't an extreme like omega and alpha. They are more balanced but much less fertile. We have one mate, one soul bond once its made you cant deny it, but its also a problem." You flipped a few pages to the mate bond section where there were a few images of couples and some more little bullet points. Of which you covertly covered, they didn't need to know about sex or knots or heat yet... you would explain to Clark later... alone.

You flushed unable to stop your mind wandering. Images of you finally bonding with Clark, the undulating hips and breathy moans resounding in your ears. All leading to a great finale of his bite, his canines would prick your skin clamping down not only marking you but to hold you still as his cock swelled and pressed your walls tight trapping you to his huge frame. It was said to be painful and euphoric the feeling of absolute unity. Apparantly omegas can panic when their alpha knots them for the first time, the bite would make you freeze and still for him enough to fully penetrate you. He'd knot you for a long while tying you to him both mind body and soul as he saturated your insides claiming your body for himself. You swallowed, nervously. You couldn't wait to finally be claimed, but you were also nervous. He was large even for an alpha and there was no doubt in your minds he was well proportioned.

Clark noticed you begin to blush and squirm, your scent changing becoming both sweeter and musky he leant over you trying to peek at what you were hiding. He snuck a hand around behind you and tried pulling on your elbow to see what your were trying to hide.

"Oh no come on love what are you hiding there?" He teased and pulled tugging you closer making you whine and pull back.

"No that's nothing just its err our sex education and we don't need to go into that yet!" At the mention of sex Clark stiffened and released your elbow but remained wrapped around you.

"Oh right well then.. we know all about that so there no need to... explore that topic" Clark said flushing brightly but you paused... should you tell him?

"Well err you... you will have to there are.. some difference to having sex with... others then your mate, things are... different when your body knows it can impregnate its partner. So you need to err... I've got books for you to read in private" you flustered flicking your eyes quickly from Martha to your mate trying hard not to imagine him but ass naked stroking his cock readying himself to mount you. Clark didn't seem to realise you were becoming nervous and quickly spoke up slightly confused by the way you'd worded your statement. But then again he found a lot of the things you said strange. You wored things differently, and sometimes used the wrong words altogether! As much as krypton prepared you it sort of hadn't? Your English was good but... Not completely accurate.

"Different when you can impregnate? What's that supposed to mean, I've had sex... It was normal human sex" you whined and lowered your head feeling a little upset. Your mate almost sounded offended, like you'd undermined him or doubted his ability... You felt a little shamed over it, you hadn't intended to insult him. You turned to him your panic of displeasing him washed away your nerves of having the sex talk. You rested a hand on his thigh squeezing it before beginning to explain that you wasn't belittling him it was just genetics.

"You cannot conceive with anyone other then your soul mate... It just doesn't happen. Is impossible, we were taught that its because your genes are only compatible with that of your mate, your other half. Pairings aren't always omega and alpha either, they can be anyone with anyone, but most alphas have an omega" you said trying not to go into detail but Clark merly blinked at you nodding wanting you to continue as he soaked up every word.

"And there are... Things that... Happen during sex with your soul mate, your err... Anatomy changes... And err expands? I suppose? Our bodies do what they must to... To try and... Conceive.." you finally stuttered through the images your mind conjured. Mind drifting to all the uncomfortable classes full of giggling girls and unamused teachers explaining knotting and ejaculation with a huge image of a penis on the board... You flushed word on the school playground used to be the size of a balled fist was the size of your mates knot. You swallowed eyeing Clarks hands, though not balled up he had then curled up loosely. You clenched, for some reason the thought of him being such a large male made you very ,very excited and anxious. The larger a male the more chance there was at having a successful mating because he would be deeper and nothing would escape. Fuck.

You shook your head swallowing dryly. Now was not the time, thoughts like that were dangerous and could trigger a heat, something you didn't want to happen until he was aware of what was to come. You wanted him to be fully aware of heats, ruts knotting the full process before in sighting anything. He was still immensely stringer than you, if he were to have you now and panic whislt knotting he could pull free and tear you. And you didn't want that.

"soo i get a... Super erection or something?" he said with a huge smile both teasing and boasting, sitting up straighter unknowingly posturing, preening like a little peacock as humans would say. You made to reply flushing a deeper red, beginning to feel a tad dizzy with all this blood rushing to your head. But luckily Martha interrupted and waved her hands making a slicing motion trying to literally cut the conversation short.

"Right okay! Enough of all that" she said managing to move your arms that were still covering the very crude generic drawings of an alphas cock, you moved letting the human turn the page which lead to the next stage of your peoples history.

"But Ma?!" Clark complained eyes loosing their amused shimmer only for him to pout at the human clearly upset that he wont be having a full sex talk with you. And you couldn't be more thankfull because you only had books and a school sex education to go by, you'd never actually seen a real one before, so didn't really have any grounds to be teaching anyone anything about them. Least of all your much older, more experiance alpha mate.

"But nothing Clark, she said she has a book so you can read the damn book! There will be no hanky panky anytime soon do you understand me?" she scolded in a final motherly tone making you giggle into your hand. Your alpha was very cute when he pouted, blue eyes wide and a perfect downturned frown on his lips, the pink bottom lip pressed forward in a sweet gesture. How the perfectly masculine sharp angular male could be both stunning and adorable was beyond you. But he was just perfect.

"Yes Ma" he sighed looking more and more disheartened but then nudged your side and sent you a wink before raising his brows suggestively. You squeaked and looked to the book in your lap once more feeling your ears go red under his provocative gaze. He huffed a quiet chuckle and purred low in his chest. You felt it the warm yet prickly sensation of your mate. Is was playfull, like when someone lightly ghosts a finger over your inner arm? A slight tickling sensation that made your skin goose bump and tingle. You knew this feeling well, you had been pleased to know your alpha wasn't all work and no play. He was actually a very fun loving man, he liked teasing you playfully and always managed to make you laugh or blush. He enjoyed you being both happy and flushed they seemed to be his favoured reactions and he would go out of his way to cause them.

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

Martha had said he just seemed happier, younger like a little teenager again. But this time without all the angst. Like you had somehow drawn away the worries he had. Apparantly as he took the mantle of superman he had lost himself along the way. He wasn't cruel or mean but he was stressed. Martha had said he was beginning to question himself, ask if it was worth it, if anything was worth it anymore. He took on more and more responsibility and was working himself into the ground. But now he wasn't?

He had you to come home too, he had something more to fight for. She said Clark saw you as his reward in a sense. You were his future, the life he had always wanted but could never hope for. Martha said you'd saved him. You wasn't sure if you really believed her, how could you save him when all you have done is sleep and refuse to eat anything other then fruit.

"Clark you might be more convincing if you wiped that smirk off your face... I'm serious, let y/n settle before risking any children okay?" the woman deadpanned making him shrug and chuckle at her.

"Aw that's no fun I already promised. Didn't I sweetheart?" he teased still eyeing you managing to ignore his mothers scathing look as he tried to get you to look at him again. And like an idiot you did spare him a quick glance, well you thought it was quick but somehow he managed to wink at you again blowing you an over exaggerated kiss.

"Clark Joseph Kent!" Martha snipped quickly a much firmer warning in place making him sigh and roll his eyes at his mothers use of his full name. He could see her point but he had to admit he was a little put out with her.. His mother had an issue with your age, even though your twenty two in earth terms you still did look the part of a teen all be it a nineteen year old, but teen none the less. She was uncomfortable with the idea of him bedding you and wanted you both to wait. But Clark didn't have an issue with it, you were his omega. He was your alpha and neither you or he were humans. So why live your lives by human rules? Besides the paperwork was all set up. Legally your not a minor here you just look young, many women did.

"Yes, yes fine, no sex yet jeez" he acquiesced giving in for the moment not needing another lecture. As much as he loved his mother; and he truly did. But his sex life was none of her business and he will fuck you when you were ready and willing and there was nothing that will get in the way of that. Not even the woman who raised him.

"Glad to hear it son. Oh don't give me that look you know it makes sense... Now dear why don't you continue, both Clark and i would love to here about your history" Martha scolded then rolled her eyes at her supposed 'adult' son who was pouting. You smiled uneasy but nodded. You learned quickly that Martha ruled the roost, but it was still strange for you to watch. You'd been raised to see Kal as a god- a saviour and your races true hope. Watching the man you'd all but worshipped be scolded by a human was... confusing. But you just let it be, you were realising humans were much more complicated then you were lead to belive.

"yes of course..." you paused clearing your throat quickly looking at the open page then flipped it seeing the next images. The ships, and graph of births declining... the population crisis, the beginning of the mighty kryptonians demise.

"When our people began scouting the galaxy less and less found their soulmates because we were soo scattered and so pairings dropped and so did births which began effecting economy and age gap parings suffered because their mates werent being born. Suddenly things took a nose dive mates weren't being born families were suddenly being cut short and many bloodlines died off... Over sixty percent of noble houses were wiped out in three decades, suicides were on the rise there was no point to life if you couldn't be happy or have a family" you explained flipping another page letting the both of them get their fill. Both pages were full of house crests and a little information on what each one represented, what their houses did for krypton notable mentions and such.

You flipped again this time showing images of the amniotic chambers. Huge glass towers that grew 'artificial' kryptonians. It was a leap forward in science. They had learned to play god, create life without any comprises. Your own eyes scanned the image a small foetus in a sack and a few around it larger and more developed. It was how your own life began.

"We turned our attention to a amniotic chambers, scientists and doctors could suddenly make anyone children! Mates or not. There was a huge baby boom but, it did nothing for the planet or its people" you explained slowly even saying it sounded strange now that you were older, but then again you'd been taught that this had been wrong. This it was the mistake that had started krypton's downfall. You'd been raised in the old ways, with old values.

"Over time it was seen as primitive to actually seek out your mate and birth a child naturally even having sex became pointless. Why go through that pain when you could have one made and delivered to you when its born?"

"So they were farming babies?" Martha asked incredulously unable to fathom such a thing. It was far fetched, the idea to make fake children? To be able to have a child without carrying them or birthing them but they were your own flesh and blood?

"Yes Ma, but more then that... when we turned our back on natural birth and mates we lost a lot of ourselves and had to use a codex to give the new generations traits and keep some semblance of our race instincts... but even that became political all birthed children had to become more beneficial to society. Loyal, strong, intelligent, beautiful, compassionate, nurturing. And at the same time you could choose the look of your child, their sex, their presentation." You explained voice getting smaller as you spoke it was uncomfortable to talk about parents could determine everything about you. Your sex, pigmentation personality, hell your parents could choose specific moles and birthmarks of they wanted a late 'morphing' session a few weeks before you were born.

"Presentation?" Martha frowned not fully understanding. You nodded to her sparing a glance before quickly looking away. It was strange explaining anything that remotely eluded to pairings and mating with her. She was a human and didn't understand. You found it unnerving, everyone just knew these things back home.

She didn't understand it and sometimes it frustrated her making her snip at you and Clark. She didn't mean to but it was just hard for her to fathom a race evolving and still retain some animal primitive instincts. Humans didn't keep much of theirs, the only ones you were aware of was their self preservation- their undeniable need to stay alive for as long as possible apart from that? They had escaped everything else. The bottom line was humans didn't have soul mates and Kryptonians did, and no matter how much the woman wished Clark was a human, he wasn't and he never would be. Martha had been able to ignore it on a day to day basis. To all intents and purposes when Clark wasn't in his suit she could pretend he was normal. Until you came along.

Not that you think she didn't like you, because she loved you, you were sure of it. It was just, sometimes Martha had to look away as you and Clark bonded. She didn't see mates, she saw her adult son fawning over a love struck teen.

"Will they be alpha, beta, omega or a new non-type" you hummed quietly trying not to dwell on the subject not wanting to upset her. Martha drew in a deep breath and nodded to you soaking up the information. You could see she was trying, she wanted to understand it was difficult for her.

"So if I wanted a blue eyed blonde boy I just had to say?" She said veering off topic slightly wanting to move on swiftly but didn't want to out right say 'lets talk about something else'

"Sort off, eyes can only be dark. Blue, green, pink, grey and amber eyes were traits only found in true borns, these traits died out. Everyone had a dark brown or black eyes occasionally you could have a very dark blue or green but bearly noticeable" you brushed over the topic as quickly as you could whislt still giving a few extra details. Clark grinned at you and made a passing comment of 'that's why my eyes fascinated you soo much?' Both he and Martha chuckled as the comment made you flush and nod slightly. It was true, you'd been enamoured with his eyes never having seen blue before... and they were soo blue it was like looking into the purest cleanest pools of water your ever seen! Gorgeous and vibrant. it had been a little ongoing tease of Clarks commenting that you were 'staring again' when ever he caught you gazeing at his azure crystal clear eyes.

"Krypton was quickly overpopulated and began draining our planets resources quicker, then they looked to the core... the beating heart of the planet" you said turning the page adamant you were not going to be caught up eyeing him again for the hundredth time today.

"And they drained it?" Clark said leaning mover your shoulder looking at the diagram of krypton that briefly explained how the core was depleted and what a calamity it was.

"Yes. It took a millennia but we bled our planet dry... It became a dry desolate place but had huge glistening cities! Technology you could only dream of! Krypton was the envy of many other planets, our military might alone ended wars in days..." Clark frowned. Military? So not only did krypton become a harsh dictatorship they had been going to war? Enough that they were a feared adversary?

You winced as Clarks face darkened at the mention of war. He didn't like fighting and killing but krypton? In its hay day was the front runner. Its military protected the planet but also dominated. It you wanted to win a war it was the kryptonians you wanted on your team, your soldiers were bred for war, just like the omegas were bred for breeding. Clark growled, eyes skimming the page that praised and boasted about the great many wars that they had won, the enemies they had crushed. You swallowed and flipped a few pages quickly skipping the small chapter on the military past.

You skimmed the next page quickly, there were no images on the next few pages. You paused remembering when you'd first worked studied this chapter. You'd been around eight years old, sitting in Mrs Nirn's class chewing your pen as you read ahead zoning out.

You had wanted to understand why things were so different from what your parents upbringing had been. You wanted to know why there were no little boys in your class, why were the lights off? Why couldn't you have a little sister like your father? Everytime you asked an adult they always vaguely mentioned 'things aren't how they were before' but no one had ever answered your follow up questions 'before what? What happened?' And this was the chapter that explained everything, that shed light on your peoples recent history.

"Love? Mate are you okay?" Clark asked worriedly watching as you seemed to drift off into your own little world. You jumped and faced him as his warm palm met with your back, slow soothing circles rubbing your tense form slowly. You smiled uneasily and nodded to him before taking a deep breath. He had to know, it was your duty to teach him what happened. It was your place to enlighten him on his own importance, he had a right to know how he got to earth.

"W-We began racing towards calamity there was huge protests, people realised we were not going to last and there would be no escape. But the government decided to call a meeting over it- Jor El decided to plead the council to stop the mining but he was ignored the meeting was just for show a ruse to try and quell the masses... Then Lara began pleading with them to think of the consequences" you said quickly finding your voice again recounting the events that began his own story, the role his parents had played in the prolonged survival of the planet and that ultimately lead you to him.

"My parents?" He said slowly recognising their names once more. You nodded glancing to Martha, you didn't really want to keep bringing up your alphas birth parents in front of the woman you didn't want her to get upset or think she was any less significant. Lara may have birthed your mate. But Martha had raised him, shaped him into the glorious gentle and caring male that he was. Martha seemed to know you were worrying over upsetting her and smiled encouragingly before placing a reassuring hand on your back below Clarks patting you sweetly.

"I'd like to know too dear, I want to know about the people who gave me my son" she cooed slowly making you bite your lip and take a deep breath muttering a meek 'okay if your sure' under your breath.

"They were strong and kind, serious though and realistic. They both avidly protested about the continued abuse of the planet and warned about the imminent destruction of krypton... it wasn't until to coup that anyone new why."

"Why? What was the reason?" Clark said eagerly paying you his full attention. He was both excited and anxious about learning of his actual parents, everything he thought about krypton seemed to be wrong. On a whole he'd convinced himself that his home planet was almost a mythical place that was good and pure perfect! But it was the complete opposite, he didn't want his fantasy of perfect parents to be shattered too. And there was always the fear he'd been abandoned simply because he was an unwanted child or defective in some way.

"She was pregnant with the first natural son of krypton. They didn't want you to be born just to die after a few weeks of life. You were born in your family home. No doctors or machinery, nothing but your mother and father." Clark let out a breath soaking in the information. Zod was right. Jor was telling the truth? He truly was the first natural born kryptonian? It was there in black and white! Not hear say! He didn't have much time to relish in the relief as you continued quickly.

"A few days after your birth Zod made his move to attack the council, his move was partly spurred on by the civil unrest and protests all over the planet." Another few pages were turned as you bypassed all the nitty gritty details of the coup and violence, the protests and downfall of many proud houses dragged out of their homes, the riots and looting as the military began fighting internally and the police force all but abandoned their duty.

"My birthday?" Clark said lightly dragging his fingers over an image of himself. A still taken from the footage of his birth, he was in a small oval crib with a blanket over his waist and lower half. Beside him was Lara and Jor watching over him. And at the top of the page a date. Both in kryptonian and earths calendar.

"May? I was born in May? Ma look!" He said sniffing quietly looking at the page in awe. That was him, his parents! They were there! He gazed at the image excitedly, he never new his real birthdate, his parents had guessed but here it was. The exact date! His actual real birthday. He wasn't an Aries. He was a Taurus. He never believed in star signs but, somehow he felt better knowing.

"I see that son, you were perfect and so tiny~" she said slightly tearful herself. This was bittersweet, she had to listen and watch as her son, the boy she raised found out the truth of how he came to her. She didn't doubt he loved her but she was always frightened of him leaving her behind in a way, the terror of him forgetting her and choosing someone else replacing her was almost too much. But at the same time Martha owed a lot to the couple that had entrusted her with their son, she would be lying if she wasn't curious about them and the reason Clark was here.

"Your father in an effort to protect you entered the amniotic chamber and stole the codex. He was hunted for it but by the time anyone could intervene or arrest him it was to late. He had sealed the codex inside of his son. He was the final kryptonian so should be able to carry all traits." You explained turning the next page seeing the image of the chamber Jor ha infiltrated. The codex sitting proudly in place.

"He.. he risked his life? To save me?" Clark breathed out barely whispering the words as he leant forward clasping his hands together tightly. You faltered and looked to him shocked, he hadn't known? You all new that Kal was sent to earth with a stalagmite key with his fathers conscious, had Clark not managed to activate it? Here were ships all over this planet, kryptonians had tried to settle here but... For some reason they just couldn't seem to survive for long. No one knows why, connection was lost.

"He... Gave his life to save you. Zod was the one who caught onto your fathers plan and... He confronted him and your mother. Tried to kill you, your existence; the proof of a natural born was... it would have destroyed his cause... it would have proved him wrong" you uttered slowly unsure how you could tell him the truth without upsetting him, it was a delicate matter. Clark ushered you closer managing to tuck you under his arm holding you as close as he could to his side, then began murring out at you as he felt the nerves, the tangled feelings of fear , grief regret and sorrow. Each one coiling around the other making for an uncertain overbearing pull.

You didn't mean to but you were tugging the bond, looking for approval. Nervously searching for some inclination that he was alright. Prodding at him tentatively trying to peak at his feelings. But you were still uncertain of how to do it without being pushy? On krypton it was said to be unseemly to pry at your mate, normally things flowed freely to forcefully take a look deeper into your mate was... rude and could be construed as not trusting your mate.

Clark didn't know that though. Was it bad? Cruel of you to omit that little social detail so he wouldn't be annoyed at you for it? Was it manipulating? Clark hummed leaning his head ontop of yours, resting his cheek on your crown and placed a sweet kiss to your hair.

"I know... I- he told me on the ship when I found out about krypton... when he told me of mates" he said calmly. You released a low whine nodding to him purring up at him as your shoulders relaxed, slumping once more in relief. You'd been wound up over that. It wasn't like his father would be alive now anyway, but telling him of his families demise wasn't really something you took pleasure in.

"O-oh.. okay well then...err your father was a warrior and fought him, he gave your mother enough time for her to launch your ship. Zod finally over came your father but it was too late, you were almost out of the atmosphere." You swallowed steeling yourself as you continued your tale, recounting the incredible events that had taken place, changing history and the fate of your race.

"Zod instructed all his units to shoot you down, but your mother had used a incredibly illegal amount of resources to make sure your ship's boosters and armed defences were at peak and you made it out"

"So That's really how I left? During all that? I thought Jor had dramatized it... but he hadn't and.." Clark trailed off in thought. He was telling the truth he had been a little sceptical, he couldn't help it he had over thought it afterwards. Managing to think himself into doubting Jor's story picking at it, almost convincing himself the story was a little too convenient.

"It got worse, zod and his men were sent to the phantom zone and your mother was tried for treason. But everything stopped when the footage came through." Martha who had remained quiet listening to you patiently taking in the new information.

"Of what?"

"Clarks birth, it was the first time in centuries anyone had managed to naturally birth a son, a true born son. It was big news and that when the council began to listen, really listen" you shrugged unsure how to explain the magnitude of what Clarks birth actually meant. Unless you were a krypton native you just didn't get it. You finally closed the book and held it in your lap eyeing both Clark and Martha.

"Then the laws changed krypton accepted its fate, it would die. But not without hope for its race to continue. And that's how we ended up as we were... the draconian backwards planet." You didn't go into detail, over the past few weeks you'd let things slip. Martha and Clark both shared a look. You were almost ashamed of your home. The differences between the totalitarian measures your people resorted to were frowned upon in this country. You felt stupid in a sense. You knew it was only natural to be slightly out of touch on this new home but? You just hadn't realised how much. The freedom and basic human right's you'd been denied! You were taught to belive in Kal. He was effectively used as propaganda, as a reward. If your good and obedient he will accept you. If not? Then you will fail both him and your race.

"The council watched you used as much energy as it could spare to watch you grow. Then you presented! Alpha, just as we'd hoped. Overnight everything changed again, we had hope and direction. Children were commissioned once more females only, and only women that have a recessive omega gene were allowed to have a child..." you reiterated the fact that females were the only gender allowed to be created. It was the most important rule of your people in the end. Only a female omega could replenish a race.

"But couldn't you make them omega? You said you could choose things like that?" Martha asked frowning not following. You cursed and shook your head you knew you'd confuse them somehow by leaving something out. It was difficult trying to remember all the details about the last chaotic years of krypton.

"No, with the codex gone we couldn't control the genes as much, we could force the child to be female but that was about it. They tried but it was hard creating a definite omega no one could really tell until we presented many were betas or the non type there were very few of us. It was just pot luck." And it was pot luck, out of one hundred girls only fifteen to seventeen would be omega. If the percentage were over that in a generation then it was seen as a 'bumper crop'

"We were made and raised to be your omega. Every one of us was taught about earthling ways. Taught about how to birth and raise pups."

"You were raised to be my mate?" Clark said frowning. He found it strange. You bit your lip chewing on it. You debated on how much he really needed to know, because honestly now you were here? And experienced earth first hand, now you'd met and spent time with your alpha. You understood how... creepy it would be? But then again if you lied he could realise you had when he reads more of the books here. You drew another breath releasing your lip from between your teeth and hissed quietly deciding it would be best to tell him.

"Yes. Our whole education was based on you and was meant to prepare us for life on earth. You have to understand, you were worshipped like a god. You had the abilities of our earliest ancestors." You began trying to dull down the in depth education you'd received about his upbringing and family. Yet still make him understand just how ingrained he was in your upbringing.

"You are? The epitome of the perfect kryptonian, proof of how great we once were! Your the perfect male. Being your omega was-is the greatest honour any kryptonian could have. And the only way to survive, only Kal's omega would have the last of the cores power used on her to move her off planet. Her saftey was the most important thing" you explained finally petting him see just how incredibly precious he was. His eyes grew wide as he truly began to understand. This wasn't all talk, and you hadn't been joking when you called him the golden son god among men. That's what you all believed. He was worshipped. It was a sobering thought.

Clark tightened his hold of you hand trembling, palm a little sweaty against your hip. He made to speak but didn't seem to be able to find any words. He couldn't make a sound. It was too surreal for him. Some called him a god here, but he was able to just brush it off, ignore it as an exaggeration. But on krypton? They had meant it. Literally.

"So every girl was raised to... Become Clark's wife? To have children? That's it? No ambitions of your own just... grow up and have babies?" Martha uttered quietly but there was an underlying sadness, she seemed to be offended for you. Which you found peculiar, here the lines of gender were blurred. Krypton raised females to breed, then once they present they were taught other skills to be useful and pay their way.

"Yes. It was... Just how things were, we were taught how to raise children and what to expect with Kal... taught to cook and earthling ways to an extent mainly laws and language but mostly our education was about history and child rearing." You said of handedly trying not to incite anger from the woman. You knew it was hard for her to imagine your homeland. It was harsh and soo different from here. There were regimes like krypton on this planet but they were seen as hostiles and stood against everything this country stood for.

"How did they know? I mean with you? How did they know your were mine" Clark said quickly managing to intercept what he believed to be a long rant from his mother. She had already made up her mind about krypton, she hadn't said it but she didn't need to her face said it all.

"Your mark apparently we share a mark which is unique to our bond and yours had activated. The council called all the omegas that had presented and searched for your mark. I was the one to have it. I was your mate" you said vaguely to be honest you didn't even understand it properly yet, it was one of the things you were hoping to find out looking through these books.

"And then after finding it they sent you here?" Clark uttered quietly. He was soo wrapped up in loving you, understanding these instincts and just basking in your presence. That he hadn't really stopped to think about the actual journey, surely it had been your choice? Especially when the cost was soo great. But there was a foreboding in your demeanour it left a heavy cold feeling in his gut.

"Yes. My parents- they had five minuets to say good bye and load me into the ship. The council didn't want to cause a panic and wait, I was wrestled into the ship by my father" you spoke weakly. You hadn't thought much about it, you had nightmares. But that was it, you tried avoiding it, blanking it out... not unlike the adults as you were growing up. In your head there was here and now on earth with your alpha and then before. Before became the codename for life on krypton. Before meant your parents, the rules, pain and fear! Before meant anxiety and death.

And now? Now was the time to let them know. Sure they understood the logistics. You were sent here to your mate. But they didn't know the actual story- the chain of events that lead to your arrival. And for the first time since getting here you needed to get it off your chest. Let it out and be done with this chapter finally let go of the fear and guilt you'd bottled up.

"I was terrified, and I fought but? Not hard enough I couldn't hold on to them either of them! The told me that they loved me and everything would be okay but it wasn't- I was about to kill them... I just" your bottom lip wobbled and your voice came out strained, you fought to get the next words out. Clark murred and tried to comfort you, feeling the fear and anxiety. The guilt and devastation in your bond was... it sickened him feeling such sorrow. But it did no good, he tugged you up and sat you on his lap curling around you, holding you to his chest desperately wanting to sooth you. Ever ounce of him was trembling the need to cheer you up and tend to you was astounding.

But even through all that need and instinct, he knew he couldn't. You were mourning, not only you parents but your race, way of life, your home, your planet! It would be a heavy blow to anyone least of all his delicate young omega. He didn't speak, he didn't want to interrupt, you needed to get this out. He needed to know what happened so he could help you.

"Then my dad... He was the one to strap me i-in... he was the strongest there... the others couldn't have held me down long enough. The ship closed... locked and that was it I was off to earth." Silence reigned as your new family took in what you'd said. They hadn't realised how you'd come here... Clark thought you came willingly, happily boarded the ship to get here. He hadn't even considered your fear and the weight on your shoulders.

"I felt it. The planet die. All the teachers said that you'd be asleep before it happened but I wasn't. It was the loudest and most frightening thing I'd ever heard. It rocked the ship, then the debris... it was like a monsoon, a deafening rain storm of rocks the earth and foundation of krypton itself." Your took a deep breath leaning against Clark pressing your back into him twisting your head slightly resting on his shoulder trying to tuck your face into his neck. Seeking him as your only comfort. .

Clark was finding it heard to hear. He was ecstatic you were here, he didn't care the cost. Now he felt like a bastard. He couldn't imagine hearing and entire planet die. And entire race. You must have felt so scared and alone. He wasn't sure he could handle that type of trauma. Its one thing to be alone hoping you had a homeland. Knowing for certain? That was another thing entirely. Martha hummed watching as Clark got upset and scooted closer placing her hand on your knee while throwing her arm around Clarks back rubbing slowly.

"I p-panicked and tried to change direction, tried rerouting the ships pre-set destination... But it couldn't find krypton. The planet just? Wasn't there anymore, it was so surreal. Instead it continued on to earth, and the onboard computer said I was too panicked to travel at hyper speed so it put me to sleep... the next thing I remember is waking up here... it felt like minuets but had been six months." You ended. It didn't seem right, such a long historic tale ending with you walking up on an alien planet.

All those failures and mistakes rolling one after the other after the other. All the power hungry fools and scientific breakthroughs for nothing. In the end your race had come full circle. An alpha and his omega. Two intertwined souls. The very last paired kryptonians. It was almost ironic, for all the advances and medical wonders in the end nature triumphed.

"I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry that you had to face that alone... if I'd known I would have come and got you, I would have never let krypton die-" Clark started apologising holding you tighter dipping his head to yours resting his nose on your hair breathing you in swaying you sweetly.

"No. Krypton had to. We couldn't risk another Zod on your new planet. Your abilities in an evil power hungry kryptonian? It would have been chaos. We knew that we had to start fresh but cohabit a planet. Not rule it. That's why we needed kryptonians to be birthed here." You cut him off quickly. He didn't have to feel responsible, krypton made their bed and they could lie in it. They strayed too far and had failed, destroyed themselves.

"Zod came. He tried to take over but I... I killed him, id found a ship and my father explained a few things to me, told me about my mate that would be sent to me I looked for you in zods men. But he laughed saying id never find you- the final straw that made me kill him was when he laughed saying you were dead." Clark hissed voice becoming dark as he remembered Zod. The cruelty the man had, the utter madness was something that ha7nted him. He feared that was the true nature of kryptonians, that one day he would become another Zod.

"You did the right thing. Zod was corrupt. The codex can sometimes corrupt a child and feed them too much. His loyalty and strength were... maddening. He was meant to be a soldier he wanted to be a dictator, even on krypton. That's what the coup was about. He was trying to overthrow a high ruling government" you said before slowly untangling yourself from your mate. He released you, hands still hovering as you stood and brushed yourself off. You sniffled and wiped your eyes before excusing yourself scaling the small steps of the ship. Clark made to follow you as you disappeared into the ship needing a few moments alone. Martha held him shaking her head understanding you needed a little breathing room.

You couldn't help it, the feelings came back, the terror and anxiety panic and self loathing. It was nauseating, you'd not really managed to come to terms with the deaths of your family, deaths that you caused. You'd managed to ignore it? Being in a completely new environment you'd almost convinced yourself you were on a trip, a holiday and that your parents were at home safe and sound. It probably wasn't healthy but its what had managed to get you through all this. But saying it outloud? Recounting it had brought everything to life.

You huffed rubbing your eyes as they teared up, seeing all this in here was hitting home. The priceless artefacts and wealth of knowledge surrounding you only solidifying the fact krypton was gone. That it was your duty to keep all this heritage alive. Your job to birth a race and find a way to integrate into this alien world. It was a terrifying prospect, soo much responsibility for a single young female. And you had to bare it alone along side the guilt of being your planets demise.

You quickly wiped at your face sniffling as you felt Clarks approach. Ducking down you looked into the satchel that you recognised as your fathers old pack. You jumped as Clark crouched behind you pressing two heavy hands on your shoulders massaging them before dragging you back to him. You sighed hanging your head as he plastered you to his front, strong arms slowly winding around your waist.

"Its not your fault, you couldn't have saved them." He said softly pressing a chaste kiss to your neck breathing you in, scenting you. It was something else that was strange at first but Clark had mastered quickly. He noticed that if he gave in to some of these... instincts he could calm you down. Scenting you, coupled with touching you coddling and holding you close seemed to be the most effective way to sooth you when things began to get too much. When you got overwhelmed, but he held back in front of his mother. She was still uneasy about the age difference.

"I could have fought harder-" you whined feeling yourself tremble, the severity of what happened the reality of it crushing you. You began huffing, taking deeper breaths holding them trying to fight the fear and sobs. You couldn't afford this self pity you had a job. A duty to your people and you cant fail! You wont because then it was for nothing-

"Omega." Clarks voice grunted, snapping you out of your thoughts. It was strange, he sounded firm and stern. A real alpha reprimanding, commanding you. You shivered. It was both frightening and sexy. Perfect. You peered back at him, a few tears escaping followed by a single mewl as you tried to stop yourself from crying.

"Nothing you said would have stopped them. Nothing. From everything you've told me, the one thing that stands out is krypton did as it pleased. A tiny thing like you never would have stood a chance" he cooed down at you somehow maintaining his authority but in a gentler way. The light growl almost soothed you, it sounded like his murr but deeper and had more conviction.

"I... I know but it... It wasn't meant to be me. Wasn't meant to happen, they always said it was the end but?" You tried to get out the feelings but for some reason you couldn't put words to them. It came in waves, as ecstatic as you were to be here with your mate, relish in the presence of your incredible alpha. You also wanted your parents, your home and all the things you'd been brought up with. You were selfish, you'd wanted it all.

"No one ever really believes a world can end love" he breathed out slowly. Still pressing close to you sniffing and kissing at you, tucking his hands below your tshirt rubbing the warm palms on your flat tummy making you relax.

"So what's this then?" Clark said motioning to the satchel you were fiddling with. You cast a glance to him and smiled sadly.

"My dads... they were allowed to pack things before we got tested... just incase and...They didn't have long to gather things- god I hope there's a photo! And my-" you were cut off as he chuckled and moved closer hooking a finger around the opening tugging it lightly.

"Jurashnir stuffie?" He said making you flush and gape. You were surprised he even remembered. But it warmed your heart that he did remember such a small detail, a passing comment really. It showed he really did listen and take in what you said, even if it was silly anxious prattle.

"Yes that" you hummed face glowing in a sweet blush. And began pulling the bag open fully digging you hand inside.

"I hope she packed it too" Clark chuckled holding the bag open wider so you could see more of the things inside. You already recognized some things, your mothers perfume she used on the rarest of occasions. Your fathers military id pin some clothing and jewellery that they treasured the hair ornaments your mother wore on their ceremonial binding. Then there was the all important photo, you closed your eyes glimpsing the image. No, it was too soon for that, you couldn't look at their smiling faces yet, not after killing them.

Then you felt it. Your stuffie the one that had been with you since you were brought home as a new babe. You yanked it out eyes watering as you pulled out the toy. Clark eyed it with a smile, it was like a chinchilla small round and cute, huge eyes and adorable. You held it close overwhelmed by it, which was stupid, it was a bloody toy, but brought so much comfort. You nuzzled it, rubbing the tiny ear between your fingers like you had thousands of times before.

"I- sorry it..." you breathed out quickly pulling the toy to your lap twiddling the fur on it humming. Your cheeks glowed feeling embarrassed from being so childish, getting so caught up in having your treasured toy with you.

"No. Don't apologise" your alpha was quick to argue with a wide grin eyeing the toy himself with a relieved expression.

"I'm glad you have something from home to comfort you" and he did. He wanted to help make you more at home here, and if a little stuffie did that he wont complain. It will have pride of place on the bed both here and when you finally return to Metropolis with him.

You smiled slowly bringing to toy to your chest clutching it close with one hand almost afraid of releasing it now you'd been reunited. You handt realised just how much it meant to you until you face not having him. Your other hand felt around inside the bag and come across a small book. You frowned and pulled it out then flushed seeing what it was. Who had popped that in your bag?! Surely not your parents, there must be a mistake.

You flipped it open and froze seeing your fathers broken English scribbled on the inner cover. A note to Kal.

'This help read. Kal be happy with mate, love her make family' you drew a deep breath and smiled nodding understanding what he meant. Be happy with each other, become a family.

"Ah and Clark... here this is our erm... my dad left this to you mating book... it has everything you need to know about... that" you uttered handing him the book. He froze not expecting to have anything from your parents. He looked over the words and smiled. It was your fathers blessing something he thought he'd go without. Before you could stop him he was flicking through the book scanning the pages and flushing slightly before laughing boisterously drawing his mother into the ship finally giving into her curiosity.

"Well I'll be damned you actually gave me a guide book for sex! Does it have pictures?~" he smirked closing the book and levelling you with a playful stare. You shrunk back squeezing the stuffie in your arms feeling embarrassed pursing your lips cutely.

"Oh god I don't err? Look just read it okay! Alone!" You growled at him as he still laughed finding it amusing just how flustered you got. He winked at you before quirking a brow at you then peered at the book once more.

"Oh so it does have pictures! Hmm? Must be my lucky day being given free porn" he exclaimed teasing you happy that you'd seemed to cheer up, even if you were now a little sheepish.

"I-its not porn! Its realistic sex education!" You said flapping at him well aware of the critical look Martha was casting you both.

"Well sweet heart trust me when I say I don't need much tutoring... actually I do... I need lots! But I'm better at practical~ perhaps you could squeeze in a little one on one session?" He purred leaning closer pushing his chest against you humming biting his lip nuzzling you. You shuddered and stuttered tripping over your words. It was at that moment Martha jumped into action.

"OKAY! Right that's enough lessons for one day Casanova, we can leave that conversation there" she huffed standing behind him placing her hands on her hips taking a stern stance.

"What? But ma i was just about-"

"Oh i know very well what you were just about to do son! Behave. And be glad she gave you a raunchy book." The human countered none to impressed with the way Clark seemed to be turning into a cheeky horndog.

"Its just sex education... not raunchy" you muttered quietly hanging your head with a sigh still glowing brightly at the fact everyone seemed to think you'd given him porn.

"I believe you sweety... Come on Clark lets get a move on, we will sort one shelf today then we can relax in the garden" she assured you before ordering Clark nudging him with a foot making him pout.

"But ma?" He whined suddenly transforming from eager alpha to leading child that made you giggle. He really was cute, cuter then you'd thought he'd be.

"No buts. You want to take this stuff to your little club house today don't you?" She snipped prodding him harder with her foot with a smirk.

"Fortress Ma. Its a fortress" Clark huffed rolling his eyes sending you a wink only to yip as Martha toe punched him a little harder in warning.

"Mm hmm call it what you want, when a son builds himself a hidden little mancave and only lets certain friends in, its a clubhouse. No matter how big or high-tech it is" she drolled making you chuckled at the two. It was nice having the motherly woman around even if she was struggling with the new situation you and her son were in.

"Its not a... whatever, come on you lets sort through this shelf first" Clark finally caved and stood helping you up deciding to pick his battles... he had to keep his mother sweet if he was going to convince her that you could move in with him, be it his room here or his appartment in Metropolis.

#henry cavill #clark kent imagine #clark kent x reader #alpha clark kent #clark kent x you #superman x reader #superman imagine #alpha superman #superman x you #fic: Deliverance

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llamagoddessofficial · 3 years ago

Text

Thank you @eldritch-and-tired for commissioning this lil’ /Reader piece of @megalommi‘s Sans, Baggs. I will ALWAYS be a simp for this sexyman. Enjoy!!

Tw: injections, unwilling hypnosis/mind control

...

You giggled.

The light was so pretty. Swirling, undulating, cyan and magenta warping and shifting in and out of one another in an endless hypnotising rhythm. It made you think of a funfair... spirals everywhere, from the tops of the stalls to the decorations on the rides, to the signs leading you around to those huge lollipops that tasted tooth-meltingly sweet. Happy memories, carefree, far away and non-solid but still wonderful. What were you doing? You couldn’t remember anything. You liked blue and purple, they were everywhere, all around you, such pretty colours.

Pretty, pretty...

“... there we go. easy now.”

... You didn’t realise he was even there until he (somewhat cautiously?) spoke. Your senses were just colours. The voice was odd and a bit disembodied at first but slowly, slowly, you became aware of its source- a face hovering just over you. The awareness spread to your body, too... you were bent at an odd angle with your feet just barely lifted off the floor, your back flat on a rather uncomfortable table, gravity pulling your hair and cheeks. And he... he was just a few inches over you, pinning you by one of your wrists.

...

A tight and tense, cutting smile, clear signs of stress around his face and shoulders making it obvious that this was the smile of a man on the edge and not one of any particular joy. Deep sockets, so wide they looked borderline painful, glaring down at you with so much intensity...

... You could feel his body heat. And his breath against your face. Your heartbeat, your slightly itchy nose, how tight he was holding your wrist.

“... Mh... Huh?” You said, ever-so articulately, vision spinning in the same direction as the swirls emanating from his left socket. A similar way to how the world rocked when you were dizzy... except for you, it never righted itself. It just kept spinning and spinning and spinning. Everything was so bright, as you fell under a pleasant fuzzy sensation burrowed into your chest and mind, blanketing your thoughts as if you were just in the middle of a nice dream where nothing much mattered.

“shh...”

When he gently closed his gloved fingers around something you had gripped in your pinned hand, you put up no fuss, loosening your hold and allowing him to take it... when did you pick up a scalpel? What an odd thing to have. The back of your head hurt and your knuckles felt the telltale aches of having been tense a few moments ago, even though they were now just an unwound coil like the rest of you.

... Dr. Baggs let out a long slow, breath. You could feel it against your nose and neck, he was that close... his mouth open barely a crack, the magenta hue of his tongue glinting against his fangs.

“... alright.” He said, voice silky, gentle on your thrumming ears and head, sockets easing around the edges as he calmed down. The bluish shadows of sleep deprivation under them became more apparent as the tension in the room, face and posture waned. “that’s better.”

... Yeah. You thought, relaxed and calm. It is.

... He gave you the bare minimum of personal space, leaning back and helping you to sit, lifting you with the perfect combination of gentle but firm as if he knew you’d immediately feel so dizzy when you became upright. Your hands moved up and held onto his shoulders to steady yourself- the fabric of his lab coat was surprisingly soft, it was very nice to touch.

... He was so close. Supportive but strict hands on your elbows, your knees on either side of him, he smelled like... the artificial flavouring they added candy that just wasn’t quite natural. And a specific, scented brand of antiseptic; clean and sterile and prepared.

“... well.” He hummed, reaching out of sight for something with one hand. Your forehead would bump his collarbone if you leant forward any more. His voice was so soothing and calming, especially since you were only a few inches from his clavicle... you were getting pretty close to shutting your eyes at this point, but a prick in your arm kept you from completely nodding off- you barely noticed it, too busy studying the aesthetically pleasing purple trim to his coat and enjoying the funny fuzzy sensation in your chest and temples. Oh, he suddenly had a full syringe in his hand that he was putting a cap on... where did he get that?

“i knew from the start you’d be uncooperative, but... not that kind of uncooperative.”

He held something up to your face. You opened your mouth, (wait, why am I opening my mouth...) and he quickly placed it on your tongue. You swallowed, again, without knowing why... it was like your body was following a list of instructions that you couldn’t see or hear. Someone else had taken the wheel; tugging the right strings to make the right parts of you move when they were needed.

... You didn’t think about it much. No panic, no confusion, no considering the implications. The thoughts were disconnected... just ships in the night, sailing by your muffled brain. All you could really think about was how whatever he’d given you was very strange and bitter and ew, you cringed, an odd acrid taste lingering in the back of your throat.

... Another prick in your arm. That’s weird, he keeps pricking me. Oh well. This time, you looked just in time to see him removing a now-empty syringe; he wiped where he’d poked your forearm with something very cold, then placed a little circular red band-aid over it.

...

There were six other band-aids on that forearm. Two green, three navy, one black... and now the red one.

Hm... I feel like I should be alarmed by that...

Again, all you could think about was how nice you felt right now. Dizzy, warm, safe. Like you’d had a little too much to drink, but now you were laying out in the sun with your friends... I miss the sun...

“most of my ‘patients’ are at least... consistent.” Baggs hummed, continuining to hold you carefully by the elbows, predicting your post-jab swaying. He didn’t seem to realise he was talking aloud, just a scientist observing his experiment, and you weren’t really paying enough attention to what he was actually saying- too many words to process, boooring. “uncooperative awake, uncooperative under. you’re always displaying aggression toward me... and yet as soon as you have no control, there’s an obediency so immediate it’s borderline subconscious. rather fascinating.”

Instead, you...

“... Sexy voice.”

...

“... what?”

Apparently, that was enough to finally break him out of his thoughts. You glanced up at Baggs’ face, still only a few inches away, you kept forgetting where things were around you... the cushion around your soul never wavered but for a moment there was a little blip in the swirls. A slight interruption.

“Mmmhm.”

...

... His expression sort of... well, ‘melted’ was the wrong word. It was more akin to the sun peeking out from between two clouds. The detached, observational, scientific air to him thinned and began to evaporate... revealing something a little more warm.

The razor and unfriendly edges of his smile were rounding into something organic. Perhaps even, daresay, resembling forward.

“my.” He purred. “how forward of you.”

“S’very nice. Very smooth...” Your tongue felt... eh. And your arm, where he’d poked you, was starting to itch. “And you have a nice face too... handsome man. I think so.”

...

His smile started growing even more, and he leaned back an inch or two as if to look at all of you and make sure you were really the same person he’d brought into this examination room less than an hour ago. “... oh really?”

“Yeah...” ... Your hands had been just holding onto his coat... but, spurred on by your sudden drunken confidence, you properly looped them around his neck.

... He blinked, but he only let himself appear taken aback for a moment or two. Despite how ominously his magenta eyelights glowed in his dark, shadowed sockets... you could tell he was enjoying himself, and this sudden turn of events. “i’m flattered.”

You laid your head on his chest. It was getting kinda hard to stay upright.

... Your nose scrunched.

“Funky smell, though.”

That was enough to get an actual laugh out of him- albeit shortlived, his skull cocking like a curious mirthful bird. “are you... genuinely telling me that i smell, darling?”

“Yeah. Because it’s true. You’re gremlin.”

“i’m... gremlin?”

“Mhm.”

“stars. i wish i could tell pap about this.”

Your body shifted, enough to make you lightly squeak- things were spinning so much that it took you a minute to realise Baggs had picked you up, an arm hooked under your legs and another around your back.

“you’re all done for the day, pet.” His eyelights had become a thrumming, almost amethyst colour as he looked at you, a far gentler shade of purple than his previous headache-inducing magenta. You weren’t sure what’d caused that but you weren’t complaining. You weren’t sure what’d caused him to carry you either, considering he usually just brought someone to collect his ‘patients’ for him... but, again, not complaining. “it’s time to get back to your room.”

“I feel funny.” You mumbled.

“that’s normal.”

He started walking. The halls all looked the same, as he moved through them, blending into one another... white and sterile, a few doors dotted inbetween if you were lucky but mostly just the exact same tiles and patterns and lack of anything that would clue you into the fact that people had actually (at some point) existed in this area.

“Hm... is this where you work...?”

A little chuckle. He was sounding further and further away. “yes. this is my job, dear.”

“It’s so g... ug-ly.”

“oh? you think so?” Baggs’ tone had become... light? Perhaps a little teasing.

“Jus... put up some nice posters, or something.” Your head was so heavy. Since when was it this heavy? You had to rest it against his chest, feeling that nice fabric against your cheek, hearing an equally nice humming sound from inside his ribcage. “Paint the walls. It’s so... white. Clini... ...clinicic... Calic...”

“clinical?”

“... Yeah.Tthat.”

A gloved phalange touched your arm. It was probably an attempt at a comforting gesture- stroking the skin. “good to know. i’ll make sure to pass that eloquent advice along to the decorating team.”

“Good.”

He brought you to a cell-like room. It was... vaguely familiar? A bed with one pillow, thin white sheets... some strange posters and a window with bars over it. You felt like you’d spent a long time in there, but it was impossible to think straight enough to actually muster up any memories.

Baggs laid you down on the bed, slowly, handling you like you’d fall apart at any moment. You made a little noise- it wasn’t a very soft bed... but it was good enough. And your body felt so strange and tired that any soft surface honestly was nice enough to lay down on forever.

“comfy?” He asked. Since when did he inquire if you were comfy?

“M... no. S’whatever.”

...

You peeked at him, crouched by your bed... and you reached out, pressing your inexplicably heavy finger against the top of his nasal cavity in a booping motion. You mumbled a little victorious “Silly skeleton.”

...

He took your hand in his gloved one, gently, before it could go limp and flop down. You couldn’t really make out his expression at this point.

“don’t tell the other subjects...” He murmured... he sounded amused, at least. “but i think you’ve become my favourite.”

“Course.” You shut your eyes. “I’m... m’amazing.”

“... yes. course.”

A feeling, like a kiss on your hand, before he placed it by your side.

“... go to sleep.”

...

And just like that, your body obeyed him before your head could even process what he’d said, and you were asleep.

#commissions #megalosomnia #baggs sans #not my sans #but damn #i wish i was his [pensive emoji]#i fuckin LOVE writing hypnosis if you couldnt tell hfsdkjf

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jayaury · 4 years ago

Text

The Help

“You certainly do seem highly skilled, Miss um… I know I’m going to mispronounce this…”

“Gabina. Don’t worry! Everyone gets it wrong the first time. Goblin names are always super hard, huh?”

Chris Locken glanced over the paper at the green woman sitting across from his desk. She was small, but what she lacked in height, she made up with in curves. A fact that Chris had been uncomfortably aware of since her arrival at his door. Her green breasts swelled against the dress that seemed modest, and she surely must have thought it was with its drab grey colour. But what she seemed ignorant of was the fact the thing was about a size too small, negating the boring tone with the way it stretched across emerald tits and hips. Her long black hair hung to her shoulders and her eyes were bright with long, fluttering lashes.

She was, in essence, far too lovely to be a maid.

Chris cleared his throat. “Right, ah. Gabina. So, why is it that you want to work as a maid in my home?”

“I want a career,” she said.

Chris lowered the resume an inch more. “A… career?”

“Oh yes,” Gabina said, nodding quickly, which, he couldn’t fail to notice, made her tits jiggle in her ever so tight dress. “I mean, most goblin girls set out just looking to land a sexy, dumb husband. But I’m not like that at all! I want to move up in the world. I want to be a self-sufficient girl. Someone who can take care of herself. Who’s more than just a pair of glorious green tits for boys to stare at.”

Chris forced his eyes from said breasts and back to her smiling face. “And a… maid is your choice?”

Gabina sighed, resting a cheek in her palm. “Honestly? I don’t really have much of a choice. My mother was very old fashioned. She showed me how to be the perfect housewife for my future husband. So all my skills are about cooking, cleaning, and… ahem. Other services.”

Chris had a feeling he knew what said services were. Goblins did have a reputation, after all. Little green nymphos and eager bimbos, all out to snare a husband by means fair or foul. But looking across at the goblin trying her very hardest to break that mold was something to see, he had to admit.

He cleared his throat. “Well, Gabina. I…” He paused, then put the document aside. “Listen. I can sympathize. I don’t really need a maid, but every noble needs to have some servants.”

“Oh absolutely! And I promise I’ll serve you as well as anyone could ask.”

Chris hesitated still. He really didn’t want any servants. But what he’d said was true. He’d look poor before the other nobility if he had no one to answer the door. And he could sympathise with her plight. Aaaaand the house had been getting dusty…

He’d like to say it wasn’t the sight of her breasts stretching that drab grey that made the decision, but he’d also be lying. And he hated lies. “Alright,” he said, standing. “We’ll give it a few months trial, how about that?”

Gabina beamed, fairly bouncing from her seat in delight and taking his hand, shaking it frantically. “Oh you won’t regret this, master! I’ll be the picture of a good maid! You just wait and see!”

Chris cleared his throat. “Ah, yes. Right. Well, I suppose I’d best show you around the place. I’m sure you’ll get used to it soon.”

“Absolutely, sir,” Gabina said, giggling. “I’m sure I’ll feel right at home…”

---

Chris found Gabina a hard worker, dedicated, and willing to take initiative.

He also found her increasingly distracting.

It wasn’t anything she did, so much as what she was. For even with a maid uniform she’d bought herself, there was no denying her almost carnal charms. She just filled out anything she wore. Every movement seemed designed to entice and tease, her skirt riding up her ass whenever she bent down. Her blouse threatening to burst around her breasts with every act.

Chris found it increasingly difficult to do anything but watch her, which was absolutely improper, and also, absolutely impossible to avoid doing. Especially since there always seemed to be something to be cleaned wherever he was.

He was in the library at the moment, working through some documents about recent seasonal weather variances and what it might mean for his lands, when he noticed that Gabina had joined him. She was busy wiping down one of the side tables, but due to its height, she was forced to lean forward to properly clean it, hiking up her skirt and baring the shapely globes of her rear, her panties a thin strand between those firm, green orbs.

Chris swallowed thickly and wrenched his eyes back to the book before him.

“Master?”

He jumped at that word and glanced up quickly to find the goblin before his desk. “Ah, yes, Gabina? What is it?”

“You look tired, master. Are you alright?”

“Oh, yes. Yes. Fine. Just… a bit stiff.”

Her eyes brightened. “Oh!” she said, beaming happily. “I know something for that.”

“You do?” he said.

“Yes! My mother taught me it. It’s a way to massage away that stiffness in the back. Makes you nice and… loose.”

Chris blinked, wondering at the emphasis she’d put on that last word. “Well, ah…”

“Please, master,” she said, leaning forward on the desk, pushing her pretty face with its small nose and large, soulful eyes almost into his. “I hate to see you uncomfortable.”

Chris leaned back, but somehow couldn’t avoid those eyes. He tried to look anywhere else, but the immediate alternative was the pair of emerald breasts absolutely straining to be free of her top, framed by lacy white like two green candies waiting to be unwrapped.

That image did not help him relax. In fact, nothing about the situation was, but as his eyes found hers again, he could only stammer out, “Ah, well, if that… if you think so then… well, alright…”

The joy on her face when he said those words made his breath catch at her beauty. “Oh, thank you master! You won’t regret it. Now, let me just come around there and lend you a hand.”

“Well, I suppose…” he said, trailing off as she bounced about the desk. He heard the scrape of a stool as she dragged it up behind his chair, and suddenly wondered why she hadn’t been using it while cleaning earlier. Then he felt her climb up behind him, her warm breath grazing the hairs on the back of his neck, her tender hands resting on his shoulders.

“Just relax, my lord. Let me help you.”

Chris tried to relax, not easy with the giggly beauty behind him. But then he felt her hands on his shoulders. Felt them dig in, knead, and suddenly relaxing seemed much, much easier.

Chris sighed, sinking into the chair as Gabina worked his shoulders.

“Does master like that?”

“Mmm. Very much,” Chris said.

“I can’t tell you how happy that makes me, master. A goblin girl just loves to please. And I do so want to make a very good impression on you.”

“You’re doing wonderfully right now,” Chris said, smiling dimly, finding it easier to be candid with the green beauty when in her hands. Like some barrier between them had been pushed aside as soon as she touched him.

And not just with her hands.

“I’m so glad, master,” Gabina cooed, and Chris felt her lean forward, her firm breasts pressing against the back of his head, her scent, something lemony and sweet, tickling his nose with suggestions of delights untasted. “I so want you to approve of hiring me. Want to have me around, helping out about the house.”

“Mmmm. Yessss,” Chris hummed softly.

“You’re doing so well, master,” Gabina’s voice said as if from very far away. “You’re getting so wonderfully relaxed and… easy…”

“I… am,” Chris said slowly, almost moaning it.

“I know you are. You do so love being relaxed. Being massaged. Letting all your silly worries and thoughts just… slip away…”

“Yessss,” he moaned, melting further. As soft and gooey as dough in the hands of a master baker.

“Good boy, my lord…”

Chris shivered, tingling at that word. But not alarmed. Oh no. He was far too relaxed for that. Far too relaxed and happy and easy…

“Master?”

“Hm?”

“Do you like it when I massage you?”

“Oh yes….”

“Then, maybe I should do it more often? Maybe I should do it every night?”

“Every…”

“Night, yes. Maybe master would like it very much. I think you’ll be far more productive… far more… relaxed… if I get to massage you every night…”

“Oh,” Chris said, the word leaving him like a gasp as he felt her hands move down his shoulders, across his chest, his robe seemingly such little protection against those dexterous touches. “Um… I…”

“Don’t worry,” Gabina giggled. “Don’t fret, master. Master doesn’t have to worry at all, as long as his obedient goblin maid is around.”

Chris nodded softly as her words whispered like a song into his ears. Yes. Yes, no need to worry. No need to… to fret. Just had to… had to listen to Gabina’s words. Her soft tones. So soothing. So relaxing. Her breasts so soft pressed against his back as her hands moved lower. Lower. Lower.

“Oh my, Master, you are so tense here,” Gabina giggled as her fingers stroked the bulge in his pants.

Chris felt his cheeks warm. “Um… Oh. I um…”

“Shhh. Don’t worry, master. Just relax. Let me help ease all that tension from you with my magic hands.”

Magic?

That word stirred some worry in Chris. “Um, Gabina. You… are you… mnnnn!”

His words died in a moan as her delicate fingers undid his pants, his cock fairly springing into the open, and into the waiting grasp of the goblin’s green hands. He groaned as those slender fingers began to stroke him, teasing up and down, tingling against his cock.

“Goodness, master. You were tense! We have to make sure this doesn’t bother you anymore. We’ve just got to get you nice and soft and comfortable…”

“Ah… Ah…” Chris panted, his thoughts tumbling in his head, overwhelmed by the sensation racing through his cock. His loins aching wonderfully. His head swimming in a flood of pleasure as his parted lips panted hotly and his cock throbbed eagerly for more of her tender touches.

“Well, master? Should we have such relaxing sessions every night?”

“Ah… Gabina… I… Mnnnn…”

“Just relax, master. You can’t think when you’re tense. When boys are tense, they get so very dumb. Good boys need to be relaxed. Need to think clearly, or they might make the wrong decision…”

Chris panted, his hips working, thrusting up into her hand. “Gabina. I… ah… mnnnn! Oh, Gabina. I… I… Mmmmm!”

Chris threw back his head, his hips lifting as he moaned, his cock throbbing in her hands as he came, pumping his cum out and onto his lap in great bursts of pleasure. Groaning, Chris sagged into his seat, head cushioned by her tits as empty as his balls, milked by the green fingers of his goblin maid.

Gabina giggled, lifting her hand and delicately licking his cum from her fingers. “My! You were so pent up, master. That’s not good. It’s unhealthy. A good master needs to be nice and relaxed. And you look just exhausted. Maybe you should take a nap…”

“S-sleep? Yes. Sleep… sleep sounds… g-good…”

“Of course it does,” Gabina said, her voice as soft and smooth as velvet. “And I know master is so very easy right now. So sleepy. So… suggestible. In fact, every time I ask if you’re tired, I bet you’re going to feel so very sleepy. So very easy. You just can’t help yourself, can you?”

“Nooooo…” Chris sighed, already feeling the weight of pleasant dreams on him.

“What word will make you relaxed?”

“…tired…”

“So very tired.”

Chris could already feel the word work. Like it awoke something in him. Or, rather, softened everything else. Like the whole world dissolved to that wonderful word.

“Relax.”

“Relax…”

“Sleepy…”

“Sl… ee… p…”

“Good boy,” Gabina whispered, kissing the back of his neck, a blossom of crimson sensation even as the darkness of the void rushed in. “I’m sure you’ll have wonderful dreams…”

---

It was odd. Chris had never felt very tense during work. And yet, since hiring Gabina, it seemed like the day was just a thing to be suffered through so he could go home and relax. Gabina explained that sometimes, men don’t realize how tense they are until they relax, and he had to agree. Ever since he allowed her to massage him every night, he was feeling so much more relaxed! The days seemed to just sail by in a haze.

But not so much that he didn’t notice when he gained a second maid.

He had just gotten home from a meeting with the village council, opening the door only to draw up with surprise. At first, he thought it was Gabina. She had the same green skin, the same short stature, and the same more than ample curves in her tight maid uniform. But when she turned around it was a pair of rich violet eyes in an unfamiliar but no less beautiful face. It was then Chris noted other differences, such as the violet streaks in her dark hair and a small diamond piercing in one nose.

“Hello, master!” the strange goblin said, dipping in a somewhat mocking curtsy,

“...Hello,” Chris said slowly, putting his hat onto a waiting hook without looking away from her. “And… you are?”

“Maggria,” the goblin said, drawing out the A. “Your new maid!”

“I have a maid,” he said.

“Yup! Your head maid, Gabina, was soooo kind to hire me to help out around the place.”

“She… hired you?” Chris said slowly.

“Yup!”

“I see,” Chris said. “And, where is Gabina? I think I’d like to speak to her.”

“Why, in the bedroom, master. And I’m sure she’ll love to speak to you too!”

Chris didn’t like that knowing smile on the goblin maid’s face, but he pushed it aside in favour of getting to the bottom of this. His coat tossed back onto another hook, he walked swiftly down the halls of his manor, his temper flaring. Where did Gabina get off, thinking to hire employees for him? She was just his maid! He was going to have to show her he wasn’t to be trifled with. He was the master of this house, damn it! He might fire her!

The thought that sent an unexpected pang through him, but he pushed it aside as he opened the doors to his private bedroom.

“Gabina!”

The goblin turned from fluffing his pillows and smiled. “Hello, master. You’re home early!”

“Nevermind that! Who is that in the hall?”

“Oh! You must mean Maggria. Isn’t she charming? I hired her on at your behest.”

“What are you talking about, Gabina? I never asked for…”

“Oh no,” Gabina said, her face falling. “Master? Don’t you remember what we talked about last night?”

“Talked about…”

Chris tried to think back to the night prior, but he was having some trouble. All he seemed to remember was Gabina easing him down for another session of relaxation, followed by pink clouds of warm pleasure.

“I… I don’t…”

“You don’t remember me talking about how such a big place is so awfully hard to clean all by my lonesome? About how I could really use some help? Especially now that my tasks have grown? It takes some doing to get my master nice and relaxed every night.”

“But…”

“And I mentioned that I knew the sweetest goblin girl who would make just a wonderful maid! And you were so happy to agree and let me hire her on.”

“I…” Chris trailed off. Had he? He couldn’t remember. But he remembered Gabina talking. A soft, soothing voice ferrying him along clouds of pink bliss. They could have talked about anything. He might have agreed to anything.

“But… I…”

“Oh dear. Master? Are you alright? You look a little… tired…”

Chris blinked, his shoulders relaxing. His body easing and mind growing dim. “I… I’m not that…”

“Oh but you must be! Working so hard. And I know your life is so stressful, master. That’s why I want to make your home so welcoming. So my wonderful, tired master can just… relax…”

Chris swayed a little on his feet. It was like a giant hand was gently pressing him down. His strength and anger bleeding from him in a steady torrent, replaced by teasing clouds of pink bliss. “I… I suppose I am feeling a… a little…”

“Then we simply must get you to bed!” Gabina giggled, taking his hand and drawing him towards his bed. His bed? Had his bed always been so… so big? Not to mention ostentatious. He looked at the curtains and the four posters dimly.

“My bed…”

“Is so soft, master,” Gabina said, her hands very busy. So quick he almost didn’t register when his pants and shirt were gone. “Here. See for yourself.”

She pushed him, and Chris fell into the bed with a gasp. He sank into a mattress as soft as downy feathers with a sound like a sigh.

He tried again to think, but it was getting quite hard to do that. Especially after Gabina climbed onto the bed with him, resting his head on the pillow of her lap. He looked up, but could barely see his maid’s smiling face owing to the great globes of her breasts eclipsing it from his view.

But he could see her smile. So warm. So happy. So… so…

Wonderful.

Chris sighed, sinking into her lap as her hands began to work on his shoulders. Her breasts so close. So wonderful. Her sweet scent surrounded him, soothed him as she always did when she got her nimble hands on him.

“Are you feeling better, master? A bit more… relaxed?”

“Mmm. Getting… there…”

Gabina giggled. “I’m so glad to hear that. A relaxed master is a happy master. It’s so hard to be tired and stressed all the time. It makes you so forgetful! And we can’t have that. We can’t have you being dumb. Far better to be relaxed. Be at ease.”

“Yessss,” he sighed softly as Gabina leaned forward a bit more. Her breasts a bit closer.

“And besides, master. Taking care of the house should be a maid’s job. We can’t have the master cluttering up his head with domestic things. Not when he needs all his brains for work. Better to let me think about the house. Take care of it. Make it a wonderful, relaxing place for my master.”

That… did sound nice. Chris smiled. He was starting to forget why he would even have a problem with Gabina taking over running the house. After all, the master of the house had so much more important things to do.

“And master?”

“Mmm?”

“There’s another reason I hired Maggria.”

“Hm?”

“It’s because she knows an absolutely amazing way to help master relax.”

“I sure do.”

Chris cracked open his eyes. His vision was almost obscured by the green breasts and coal-black nipples above his head (was Gabina always naked?), but he could see that Maggria was suddenly in the room with them, and currently leaning on the bed between his legs, chin in her palm, smirking at him.

Chris knew this was somehow improper. That she shouldn’t be in his room while he was being… relaxed. But when he opened his mouth to say something, Maggria took the opportunity to reach out, and stroke the bulge in his underpants.

“Oooooh,” Chris groaned, words drowned in the hot pleasure of that touch.

“I know all sorts of ways to help master relax,” Maggria giggled, her finger stroking the tip of his cock through the fabric, drawing playful little swirls that made his balls ache. “Lots and lots of ways…”

Chris panted, his head swimming, his eyes glassy with pleasure and bliss and the deep haze of his triggers. He watched, his breath hitching as Maggria tugged down his pants, freeing his cock from their confines. The goblin’s teasing eyes sparked in delight and she grinned wider.

“Mmm. I knew getting a job was the right move.”

“Isn’t it?” Gabina giggled. “Now you can help him relax all you want. Master so loves to relax.”

“Good to know,” the other goblin purred, leaned in, and took the whole of his cock between her lips.

Chris’s head fell back, eyes shooting wide open at the sensation of those heavenly lips going up and down his twitching cock. “Oooooooh,” he groaned as Maggria sucked dutifully, her tongue swirling around his length, her hand resting beneath him, cradling his aching balls and gently massaging and squeezing them, never so much to be painful, but always to a strange sensation so close to pleasure that he couldn’t be sure what it was.

The confusion of sensation spread through the rest of him, but all the while his body was helpless to it. Only able to ache wonderfully as the two goblins adored him, stroking cock with soft lips and shoulders with eager touches, easing all the tension from his frame.

“Master is so very tired,” Gabina crooned. “So tired.”

“Mmmm…” Chris moaned as deeper lethargy paralyzed his limbs. Held him captive to the twin pleasures of his maids.

“In fact, master is so tired, I’m sure he wouldn’t mind his two lovely maids coming by every night to make sure he’s relaxed. He’s always so… tense after work, it must happen in the night too. So tense and aching for his maids…”

“Yes,” Chris panted. “Yesssss…”

“Of course,” Gabina giggled. “Then, the only solution is for his lovely maids to spend all night with him. Make sure he’s nice and relaxed. Nice and easy. Nice… and… dumb…”

“D-dumb?” Chris moaned, a spark of unease working through his mind.

“Not stupid, master,” Gabina was quick to add. “Oh no no no. Master is so smart. But when he’s tired, he’s not thinking right. He’s feeling so very dumb. And that’s why he needs his pretty maids to make sure he’s relaxed. So he’s not so dumb every morning. Because he gets so much dumber when he’s tired. So much sillier.”

“Ah…” Chris whimpered as Maggria’s lips went down to his root and up again, her fingers giving his balls another wonderful squeeze. “Yesss. F-feel d-dumb… Want… wanna be… ah… relaxed…”

“Good master,” Gabina cooed. “And cumming makes you so relaxed. So sleepy. You just have to cum for your wonderful goblin maids. Why, every time you see them, you just feel so happy and relaxed. You never have to worry about being dumb. Your maids are here to serve. All you have to do is.

“Cum.”

The word struck his core like a gong. He shuddered, a rush of sensation shooting through him to every limb. His body quaked as he felt it gather in his balls, teased by Maggria’s hand. Swell up his cock.

“C-cuuuuuum!” Chris moaned.

He came with a shuddering moan. Every pump of his cock into the goblin’s hungry mouth seeming to drain more of his strength. More of his resistance. More of him as he sank deeper into the bed, his head spinning, lids lowering.

“Good master,” Gabina crooned. “Such a good boy. Sleep for us, master. Tomorrow, we’ll make sure we keep you nice… and relaxed…”

“Yes…” Chris said, sighing happily. “Sleep…”

His eyes slid shut, just catching a glimpse of the two goblin maids exchanging smiles. His ears ringing with their laughter as darkness swallowed him in slumber.

---

The weeks began taking on a familiar pattern for Chris. As the day wore on he began to feel more and more tired. More needing the relaxing attentions of his maids. And they were so right. The longer he spent away from his beloved maids, the dumber he began to feel. The more stumbling and fumbling and uncertain he grew until he fell into the arms of his beloved servants and they made everything right again.

Why, soon enough he didn’t even wonder why he had more servants about than before. It seemed like every day he got home and found a new goblin in her tight little uniform hard at work cleaning his manor. Cooking in his kitchens. Smiling at his presence. He didn’t need to worry. Gabina knew what she was doing. And she was happy to introduce him to each of his new servants in his new big bed, where they could help him relax even more.

“Master,” Gabina crooned one evening as he lay in bed, being relaxed like a good boy. The goblin was sitting atop his chest, teasingly bouncing her breasts in her arms while two other goblins cradled his head on their laps, stroking his head and kissing his cheeks.

“Mmmm,” Chris hummed, watching his maid’s big breasts bounce so delightfully. Bounce, bounce, bouncing away all his tension and thoughts and silly worries.

“The other maids and I were talking, and we’re worried.”

Chris stirred. His maids… worried? Oh no. He couldn’t have that. “Wh-what about…” he breathed. It was hard to think at the moment. His cock was tragically being untended, left alone to twitch and throb while Gabina spoke to him.

“Well,” the goblin maid giggled, cupping her big breasts, thumbs gliding over dark nipples. “We’re worried that you’ve been getting a bit… too stressed. A little… too dumb.”

“O-oh?” Chris breathed. He tried to think if she was right, but somehow, couldn’t order his thoughts. He relaxed, though. After all, if Gabina said it was so, she must be right. “Um… okay…”

She giggled, as did the two cradling his head in their laps. “Oh yes master,” Gabina crooned, leaning in closer, letting him admire the big, perfect roundness of her big tits. Dangling them so near his face he could almost kiss them. Almost, if only the touches of the two goblins at his shoulders didn’t make him feel so heavy… “Me and the other servants are worried someone would take advantage of you. And we simply can’t have that…”

“Oh noooo. Not our precious master,” the two goblins at his head cooed.

Chris felt his body warm even further. He looked up at the pair. Maggria and… um… was it Ladina? He couldn’t remember. There were so many goblins about the place these days. So hard to keep track. He felt his cheeks burn. Oh, he must be really dumb if he couldn’t even remember the names of his servants.

“Um… I… Um…”

“But it’s okay,” Gabina said, leaning forward, her breasts so close he could smell the sweet lemony perfume Gabina put on them. “It’s all okay, master. We have a solution.”

Chris smiled, letting his thoughts subside beneath the wonderful haze of his pleasure again. “Oh. G-good. Solutions… good…”

Gabina giggled. “Oh yes, master. Why, it’s so simple! Our delightful master just never has to leave the house again! That way, no mean people can ever take advantage of him…”

Never… never leave the house?

Chris opened his mouth, closed it. Something… something about that felt wrong. So wrong it managed to stir him from his pleasured slumber. “Um… But… My… my lands are…”

“Oh master! Master, please don’t worry. Your lands will be fine. Your lovely maids will be sure to make sure they’re taken care of. They’ll be happy to go out and ensure your lands are so very well ordered. Why, if you need anything done, just tell us, and we’ll make sure your properties are so very well managed. After all, why have so many lovely servants if not to serve?”

“Y-yes,” Chris said, breathing soft and deep. “But… um, that… I can’t… um…”

He was trying so hard to answer. To focus. But his thoughts just wouldn’t line up. Not when his eyes couldn’t stop watching Gabina stroke her big breasts. Bounce them in her arms.

Bounce.

“Of course,” Gabina crooned, plucked a bottle from the bedside table, upending it, pouring glistening oil onto her green breasts. Chris’s mouth fell open as she began to spread that oil over her big, vermillion tits. Making them shine like emeralds and glisten, as slippery as his thoughts. “You don’t need all your lovely servants around the house. Just enough to make sure you’re nice and happy. Nice and relaxed. Nice… and… pleasured…”

Chris’s thoughts fixed on that point. “P-pleasured?” he breathed.

“Yes,” Gabina giggled, sliding down his waist, to his lap, halting there where her big, green tits hovered above his poor, neglected, throbbing cock. “Pleasured.”

She leaned in, and wrapped her oiled tits around his shaft.

“Mnnnnnn!” Chris moaned, head falling back onto the laps of his two other maids, his breath steaming with lust as Gabina began to rub her oiled tits around his twitching manhood. His tentative grip on his thoughts was shattered. He moaned with helpless lust as his maid began to pump his cock between her oiled tits.

“After all, master, you’re not dumb,” Gabina crooned.

“Noooo?” Chris moaned as he panted and bucked, pumping his cock between those wonderful tits. His shaft glistening with oil.

“Oh no, master. Not dumb. Just a bit of a bimbo. Just a silly bimbo.”

“Mmm,” Chris moaned, smiling dimly. Oh. A bimbo. He could do that. He could be a bimbo. He certainly felt like it. Just a moaning, mindless mess in the hands of his wonderful maids.

“Oh yes, master. A bimbo isn’t dumb. He’s just a bit ditzy. A little silly. Well, a little dumb, maybe, but that’s why he has such clever maids around. To make sure he’s nice and taken care of. Nice and safe. Nice and happy and silly and easy.”

“Oooooh,” Chris moaned. He liked the sound of that. He liked the thought of being a happy bimbo. He bucked and thrust ever more eagerly between her big tits. “Yesssss!”

“Silly bimbo,” the goblins at his head crooned, leaning down, kissing his helpless face with big, wet smacks of lipstick. “Poor silly bimbo.”

“That’s okay, though,” Maggria crooned. “We like silly bimbos.”

“Oh gosh yes,” the other goblin giggled. “They’re just the best!”

“Bimbo master. Bimbo lord. Bimbo master,” the two goblins chimed, leaning down, peppering his face with kisses that tingled and sparked across his sensitive skin.

“And good bimbos cum for their pretty maids,” Gabina giggled, his cock cresting the globes of her tits like the mast of a ship, lost a second later as the waves of her oiled breasts rose again. “They cum all their silly brains out for their wonderful goblin maids. They just relax so much they lose all their silly thoughts. Can you do that for us, master? Can you cum out your silly thoughts? We really need you to say yes. A good bimbo always says yes.”

“Y-yessssss!” Chris cried out. He wanted to be a good bimbo so bad! And it was so easy. So easy to just relax. Just let it go.

And be washed away by the sweet waves of pleasure as he came.

His cock pumped; every burst of his seed accompanied by a hot gasp escaping his lips. He pumped his cum with surrender. He pumped his cock with joy. He pumped and came while his eyes spun, swimming with heady pleasure as he sank into the mindless bliss of orgasmic joy, his cock glistening with oil.

As he came down from that height, Gabina giggled and lifted her green breasts, licking the cum from those plump orbs. “Mmm. What a generous master. He deserves a reward.”

“Yes he does,” Maggria crooned, stroking his cheek playfully.

“He so does,” Ladina agreed.

“D-does…?” Chris sighed.

“Absolutely,” Gabina said, rising, crouching above his cock, her velvety pussy dangling over him. The sight of the beautiful goblin above him stirred Chris anew, and his cock rose once more as if magnetically drawn to that silken cunny. Gabina smiled. Or was it smirked? “Good bimbo masters deserve all the pleasures in the world.”

Chris didn’t argue, even if he could find the words. And when she descended, her pussy swallowing every inch of his sensitive cock, words were the furthest thing from his admittedly simple mind.

Chris threw back his head, a trebling moan escaping his lips as Gabina began to bounce atop him. His cock throbbed within her tight depths, the short goblin moaning eagerly as she fucked herself atop him. Took him to the root again and again. Her eyes were warm and eager with pleasure. Her lips parted and panting, her breasts bouncing.

Chris saw no more, because Maggria took that opportunity to plant her own slick cunny on his face, and at once the master of the house was eagerly licking out his maid, tasting her sweet juices as she giggled and moaned, rocking her hips, riding his face.

“What a gooood master. What a wonderful bimbo… Oh yes… yesssss! Oh master, you were absolutely… mnnnn… perfect. Perfect ah… hah… master for a goblin maid,” Gabina moaned.

“Mnmm,” Chris could only moan, his mouth busy pleasuring Maggria.

“And we’re… ah… we’re all gonna be so happy together! Just a big manor filled with your goblins servants. So many… nnnn… so many giggling girls all so happy to s-serve you… To serve our wonderful bi-ah! Bimbo boy. Oh gods yessss! Yesss! Oh baby yes. Give me your cock. Oh yes. Master. Master! Yes! Masterrrrrrr!”

She came, her orgasm almost as thunderous as his. Chris cried out, the last of his resistance, the last of his thoughts, slipping away as he pumped his cum again into his wonderful, beautiful, perfect goblin maid. He almost didn’t notice when Maggria shuddered, cumming as well, drenching his face in goblin juices.

Breathing hard, Maggria got off his face, and Gabina his cock. Chris whimpered at the sense of loss, but Gabina was instantly at his side, giving him a loving kiss. “Don’t worry, master,” the goblin giggled, her eyes shining with delight. “I’ll be back soon. Just have to see the village council and your friends to tell them about the new… arrangement.”

“Ah… I… ah…” Chris panted.

“But don’t worry!” Gabina giggled, patting his cheek. “You’ve got plenty of goblin maids to keep you happy. And I promise to hire plenty more.”

Chris’s worries eased. He relaxed atop the bed, moments before Ladina moved over him, and buried him once more beneath a green muff. As he began to lick, he reflected on how much easier life had gotten since he hired his new maids.

And as he felt Maggria once more put her talented lips to work on his cock, he knew he was going to be very happy with his new servants after all…

#femd0m #bimbowned #brainwashing #bimboization #goblin #corruption #jay aury #goblin maid #fdom #msub

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