#making myself depressed knowing how this family turns out

[enemiestolovershoe]

hey :) .. i‘m in desperate need for a very fluffy fic with chris and bsf!reader where reader went to the triplets house earlier that day and ever since she was off. she crashed on the couch and as chris went to the kitchen to get some pepsi he saw that the lights are still one and reader is still up. crying. he askes whats wrong (you make something up) and chris is comforting her in the end and they end up cuddling falling asleep on the couch. :) thank you so much

Shattered Trust

Christ Sturniolo x bsf!reader

Summary: After Y/N’s world shatters from betrayal, Chris offers her comfort and support, helping her navigate the painful path of healing and rediscovery.

Words: 5k

Warnings: Angst, Cheating, Emotional Hurt, Mild swearing, Crying, Emotional Distress, Betrayal

The glowing screen of your phone illuminated your tear-streaked face as you typed out a message. Your hands trembled, but you forced yourself to hit send:

Hey, Chris, are you busy?

It only took a few seconds for the reply to pop up.

Not at all. What’s up?

You hesitated, debating whether to tell him the truth or to brush it off as nothing. The thought of sitting in your room, replaying the betrayal over and over, was unbearable. You needed a distraction, somewhere to go, people to be with—people who felt safe.

Can I come over? you finally typed.

Chris’s reply came faster this time.

Of course. We were just about to pick a movie. You coming over for our movie night?

You blinked at the screen. You’d completely forgotten tonight was one of your monthly traditions with the triplets. Normally, the thought would’ve excited you, but now it just felt like a lifeline.

Yeah, movie night sounds good. Be there in 15.

Chris stood in the living room, holding his phone with a faint smile. "Y/N's coming over," he announced to Nick and Matt, who were sprawled across the couch, arguing about which movie to watch.

"Finally," Nick grinned, tossing a piece of popcorn at Matt. "I was about to call her myself. It’s her turn to pick the snacks anyway."

Matt raised an eyebrow. "You sure she doesn’t just want to escape from her crazy family? Remember that time she showed up because her mom and sister were having a screaming match over hair dye?"

Chris shrugged. "I don’t care why she’s coming. She asked, so she’s welcome."

As you drove through the quiet streets, your mind drifted back to the moment everything shattered.

Your boyfriend—ex-boyfriend, you corrected yourself—had always been charming, maybe too charming. You’d never questioned his late nights or the way he sometimes avoided your gaze when your sister was around. You’d trusted him completely.

But a week ago, you’d come home early from a canceled lunch with friends, only to find the two of them tangled up on the couch. The image was burned into your memory, along with the sound of their voices stumbling over excuses.

"Y/N, it’s not what it looks like," he’d said, his voice dripping with guilt.

"Seriously?" you’d spat, unable to even look at your sister. "How long has this been going on?"

Your sister had said nothing, just stood there, avoiding your eyes. That silence had hurt more than anything he could’ve said.

Pulling into the Sturniolos’ driveway, you wiped your eyes and practiced a smile in the mirror. The triplets didn’t know what had happened, and you weren’t ready to tell them. Tonight needed to be about something else, anything else.

Chris opened the door before you could even knock. "Hey, you made it!" he greeted, pulling you into a quick hug. "You okay?"

You nodded, forcing your practiced smile. "Yeah, just needed some company."

"Well, you’re in luck," Nick called from the couch, waving the remote. "We were about to watch something, but Matt refuses to watch anything fun. Save us."

"Hey!" Matt protested. "At least I pick movies with actual plots."

"Sure, if by 'plot,' you mean boring dialogue and depressing endings," Nick shot back.

Chris rolled his eyes. "Ignore them. You want something to drink? Snacks? Or just want to settle in and pick the movie?"

You hesitated, but the warmth of their familiar banter started to thaw the icy weight in your chest. "I’ll take snacks and the remote," you said with a weak laugh.

"Now that’s the Y/N we know," Chris said, his smile softening as he led you into the living room.

You flopped onto the couch with a sigh, curling into the corner as Nick and Matt argued over yet another movie choice.

"Okay, but why would we watch Inception right now? It’s like three hours long, and my brain’s not ready for all that," Nick said, waving his hands in exasperation.

"Because it’s a good movie," Matt shot back, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Yeah, but good doesn’t mean fun, and I’m in the mood for fun," Nick retorted.

You couldn’t help but chuckle, your first real laugh in what felt like days. "How about The Hangover?" you suggested, cutting through their debate.

Three pairs of eyes turned to you.

"Classic choice," Chris said with an approving nod.

"Finally, someone with taste," Nick said, glaring at Matt.

Matt rolled his eyes. "Fine. At least it’s better than whatever Nick would’ve picked."

"Excuse me, my taste is immaculate," Nick replied, throwing a handful of popcorn in Matt’s direction.

Chris handed you the remote and stood. "I’ll grab some snacks. Pepsi okay?"

"Perfect," you said, your voice soft but grateful.

A few minutes later, Chris returned with a can of Pepsi and a small bowl of your favorite chocolate. He placed them on the table in front of you, giving you a brief, searching look.

"You good?" he asked quietly, his voice low enough that Nick and Matt wouldn’t hear.

You nodded quickly, not trusting your voice. "Thanks, Chris."

He didn’t push further, just gave you a small smile before sitting down next to you.

As the opening credits of The Hangover rolled, you settled into your corner of the couch. Nick had sprawled out on the floor with a blanket, Matt took the recliner, and Chris sat beside you, his shoulder brushing against yours.

The room quickly filled with laughter as the movie’s chaotic antics unfolded. For the first time in a week, you felt a little lighter, the ache in your chest dulled by the comfort of their company.

"Okay, but how does no one realize there’s a tiger in the bathroom until it’s too late?" Nick asked between bouts of laughter.

"Because they were all blacked out, genius," Matt replied, tossing a kernel of popcorn at him.

"Still. I would’ve noticed a tiger," Nick said with mock seriousness.

You smiled, shaking your head. "No, you wouldn’t. You’d be too busy freaking out over a missing tooth."

Chris chuckled beside you, his gaze lingering on your face. When you glanced over, he quickly looked away, pretending to focus on the screen.

It happened again a few minutes later during one of the movie’s funniest scenes. You caught Chris watching you out of the corner of your eye, his expression soft, almost worried.

"Chris," you whispered, leaning toward him slightly.

"Yeah?" He looked at you, his face unreadable.

"You don’t have to keep staring. I’m okay," you said, forcing a small smile.

He blinked, clearly caught off guard. "I wasn’t staring."

You raised an eyebrow.

"Okay, maybe a little," he admitted, his voice lowering. "I just… You seem different tonight."

Your stomach twisted at his words, but you quickly shook your head. "Just tired, that’s all."

Chris hesitated but nodded, letting it drop. "Well, if you need anything, just let me know," he said softly.

"Thanks, Chris," you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

As the movie continued, you tried to focus on the humor, on the familiar warmth of being with the triplets. But Chris’s quiet concern lingered in the back of your mind, making you wonder if maybe—just maybe—he saw through the smile you were trying so hard to keep.

As the credits of The Hangover Part III rolled, Matt stretched with a dramatic yawn and stood up.

"Alright, I’m done," he announced, rubbing his eyes. "If I watch one more scene of Alan’s nonsense, I might lose my mind."

"You lost it a long time ago," Nick quipped, earning a glare from Matt.

"Whatever. I’m going to bed. Night, Y/N," Matt said with a small wave before disappearing down the hall.

Nick was quick to follow, gathering his blanket and pillow. "Yeah, I’m out too. Y/N, make sure Chris doesn’t make you watch some artsy indie movie if you guys stay up," he said with a wink.

"Goodnight, Nick," you replied with a soft laugh.

As their doors closed, Chris turned to you. "It’s pretty late," he said, glancing at the clock. "You sure you’re okay to drive? You could crash here if you want."

You hesitated, but the idea of going back home, back to the empty room where every corner reminded you of betrayal, was unbearable. "Are you sure? I don’t want to bother you guys."

"Y/N," Chris said firmly, his eyes meeting yours. "You could never bother us. Stay."

You nodded. "Okay. I’ll take the couch, then."

Chris got up and grabbed a blanket from the hallway closet. He draped it over you carefully, his hand lingering on the back of the couch for a moment. "If you need anything, just knock on my door, alright?"

"I will. Thanks, Chris," you said quietly.

"Goodnight," he murmured, his voice softer than usual.

"Goodnight."

As soon as he was gone, the silence of the room felt overwhelming. You curled up under the blanket, the warm fabric doing little to shield you from the cold ache in your chest.

You pulled out your phone, hoping for a distraction, but the sight of an unread message made your heart sink. It was from your sister.

Why are you ghosting me? We need to talk.

Your breath hitched as the words blurred on the screen. She had the nerve to text you, to act as though everything could be fixed with a conversation. Fresh tears welled up, and before you could stop them, they spilled over.

You pressed your hand to your mouth, trying to muffle the sound of your sobs. The last thing you wanted was for the triplets to hear. They didn’t know, and you weren’t sure you could bring yourself to tell them.

In his room, Chris lay awake, staring at the ceiling. Something about tonight wasn’t sitting right with him. You’d been quiet, more than usual. The message you sent earlier had been short, almost hesitant, and now that he thought about it, he hadn’t seen or heard from you all week.

Chris frowned, running a hand through his hair. He hated seeing you like this—guarded, distant. It wasn’t like you to pull away, not from them.

He turned onto his side, closing his eyes and willing himself to sleep. But it was no use. His mind kept replaying little moments from the night—the way your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes, the way you flinched when he asked if you were okay, the way you seemed to deflate the second Matt and Nick left the room.

Something was wrong. He didn’t know what, but he was sure of it.

Back in the living room, you wiped your face with the sleeve of your hoodie, but the tears kept coming. The betrayal, the pain, the gnawing guilt of not telling the triplets—it all felt like too much.

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to block it all out, but sleep wouldn’t come. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw your sister’s name on your screen, her message taunting you, demanding an answer you couldn’t give.

You wanted to tell Chris, Nick, and Matt everything. You wanted to spill it all, to let them comfort you like they always did. But the words felt trapped in your throat, too heavy to say out loud.

And besides, they were probably asleep by now.

What you didn’t know was that Chris wasn’t asleep. He was lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, still thinking about you. And something told him he wasn’t the only one who couldn’t sleep tonight.

Chris tossed and turned in his bed, staring at the ceiling for what felt like the hundredth time that night. Sleep just wouldn’t come. His thoughts kept drifting back to you—your forced smiles, the way you’d seemed a little too quiet all night. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

With a sigh, he gave up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He grabbed his phone from the nightstand, noting the time: 2:37 a.m.

"Great," he muttered, running a hand through his hair.

He decided a Pepsi might help, so he padded quietly out of his room and into the kitchen, careful not to make too much noise. The kitchen and living room were joined, and he didn’t want to accidentally wake you.

As he opened the fridge, the faint sound of a muffled sob reached his ears. Chris froze, his hand hovering over the soda can.

He turned his head toward the couch, his brow furrowing. The room was dim, but he could see your figure curled under the blanket, your shoulders trembling.

"Y/N?" he called softly, stepping away from the fridge.

You stiffened, biting your lip to keep any more sounds from escaping. But it was too late—he’d already heard you.

Chris approached the couch slowly, his heart sinking at the sight of you trying to hide your tears. Without a word, he sat down beside you, the couch dipping slightly under his weight.

You turned your head away, wiping at your face furiously, but Chris wasn’t having it. Gently, he laid a hand on your head, his fingers threading through your hair in a soothing motion.

"Hey," he said softly. "What’s wrong, hm?"

"Nothing," you whispered, your voice cracking.

"Y/N," he said firmly, though his tone remained gentle. "Please. Tell me. We both know something’s hurting you. You can tell me anything, I promise."

You shook your head stubbornly, clutching the blanket tighter around yourself.

Chris sighed but didn’t pull away. "Okay," he said after a moment. "How about this? If you don’t want Matt or Nick to know, I won’t tell them. Whatever it is, it’ll stay between us. I swear."

You hesitated, his words making the weight on your chest feel just a little lighter. Taking a shaky breath, you sat up, letting the blanket fall to your lap. Chris stayed close, watching you carefully, his concern etched across his face.

Your eyes fixed on the ceiling as you spoke, your voice barely above a whisper. "Jason cheated."

Chris blinked, his jaw tightening. He opened his mouth to say something, but you held up a hand, stopping him.

"And it wasn’t just with anyone," you continued, your voice breaking. "It was with my sister."

The words hung in the air, heavy and raw. Chris stared at you, his eyes wide with shock, his mouth slightly open as if he couldn’t quite believe what he’d just heard.

You looked down at your lap, your fingers twisting in the blanket. The silence felt suffocating, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him.

Finally, Chris found his voice. "Y/N..." he started, but his words trailed off, as if he didn’t know where to begin.

Chris sat there for a moment, stunned into silence. His mind reeled at your words, trying to process the betrayal you’d just revealed. But as he looked at you—your trembling hands, the tears that streamed down your cheeks—his shock quickly gave way to something else: protectiveness.

Without hesitating, Chris moved closer, sliding an arm around your shoulders. His touch was warm and steady, grounding you even as your emotions threatened to spiral.

"Y/N," he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don’t even know what to say… but I’m so sorry. You don’t deserve that. Not from him. And definitely not from her."

His words broke something loose inside you, and the tears came harder, pouring down your face and soaking the neckline of your shirt. You buried your face in your hands, your body trembling as you let out the sobs you’d been holding back for days.

"How could they do this to me, Chris?" you choked out between sobs. "My own sister… she knew everything—everything Jason and I had been through. And she still—" You couldn’t even finish the sentence.

Chris felt a sharp pang in his chest. Seeing you like this—completely broken—made his blood boil. He wanted to storm out, to confront Jason, to demand answers from your sister, but he knew none of that would help you right now. Right now, you needed him here.

"They’re both selfish," he said firmly, his voice steady despite the anger simmering beneath the surface. "They didn’t think about you at all, and that’s on them. That’s not your fault, Y/N."

You shook your head, tears still streaming. "But it feels like it is… I keep thinking, ‘What did I do wrong? Was I not enough?’"

Chris grabbed your hands, gently pulling them away from your face. "Hey, stop that. Don’t do that to yourself," he said, his tone more intense now. "Jason cheated because he’s an idiot who doesn’t know how to value someone amazing when he has them. And your sister…" He paused, choosing his words carefully. "She’s the one who betrayed you, not the other way around. You’re not to blame for any of this. Not even a little."

You tried to respond, but the words wouldn’t come. The weight of everything—the betrayal, the heartbreak, the shame—was too much.

Chris seemed to sense that. He didn’t say anything more, just pulled you into a hug, wrapping both arms around you tightly. Your head fell against his chest, and he rested his chin lightly on top of your hair.

"Just let it out," he murmured, stroking your back in soothing circles. "I’m right here. You don’t have to hold it in anymore."

The dam broke. You clung to him as if he were the only thing keeping you from falling apart completely, your tears soaking into his shirt. Chris didn’t flinch or pull away. If anything, he held you tighter, his hand continuing its steady rhythm on your back.

"It’s okay," he whispered, his voice soft but firm. "Cry as much as you need to. I’m not going anywhere."

And he didn’t. Chris stayed there, holding you like you were the most fragile and important thing in the world. Even as your sobs wracked your body, he remained calm, offering the kind of quiet strength you desperately needed.

Minutes passed, though it felt like time stood still. Slowly, your crying began to subside, your breaths becoming less ragged. But Chris didn’t let go, not until he was sure you were ready.

The warmth of Chris’s embrace began to steady your breathing, though your body still felt heavy with exhaustion. Slowly, you pulled away, your hands resting in your lap as you avoided his gaze. Chris leaned back slightly, giving you space, but his concern didn’t waver.

Your eyes were puffy and swollen from crying, your cheeks streaked with drying tears. Chris reached out, his thumb gently wiping a stray tear that lingered.

He gave you a small, reassuring smile. "Let’s try and get some sleep, okay?" he said softly, his voice warm and steady. "It’s been a lot tonight, but it’s going to get better. I promise."

You nodded wordlessly, lying back down on the couch and pulling the blanket up to your chin. The headache from crying so much throbbed behind your eyes, and you couldn’t deny how tired you felt.

As you settled in, you expected Chris to stand and head back to his room. But instead, he surprised you. Without saying a word, he shifted to lie down behind you, sliding in close and wrapping an arm protectively around your waist.

You stiffened for a moment, startled by the gesture. "Chris… you don’t have to stay here if you don’t want to," you protested, your voice soft and hesitant.

Chris’s hold didn’t falter. He rested his chin lightly against the top of your head and hushed you gently. "Shhh," he murmured. "I’m not going anywhere, Y/N. We’ll get through this together, okay? You don’t have to do this alone."

His words, spoken with such quiet determination, made your chest tighten. You felt tears prick at your eyes again, though this time they weren’t from sadness.

You nodded, your voice barely above a whisper. "Thank you, Chris." Your voice cracked slightly, but you meant every word.

He gave your waist a small squeeze. "Always," he said simply, his tone carrying a weight of sincerity that made you feel safe in a way you hadn’t in days.

The steady rhythm of his breathing, the warmth of his arm around you, and the comfort of knowing he wasn’t going to leave finally allowed your body to relax. The headache and emotional exhaustion took over, and before you knew it, your eyes fluttered shut.

Chris stayed awake a little longer, watching over you as your breathing evened out. He held you close, his heart breaking a little as he thought about everything you’d gone through. But more than anything, he was determined to be there for you, no matter what it took.

Finally, a small, tired smile crossed his lips as he rested his head against the pillow, letting sleep claim him too—right there with you in his arms.

The morning light crept through the blinds as Nick shuffled groggily into the living room, his eyes barely open. He stretched with a yawn, heading toward the fridge for something to drink. As he turned toward the couch, he froze mid-step.

At first, he blinked a few times, convinced he was still half-asleep. "What the…" he muttered, rubbing his eyes dramatically. The sight before him—Chris curled up behind you on the couch, his arm draped protectively around your waist—was not something he’d ever expected to see.

"Am I dreaming?" he asked aloud to no one in particular. After a moment of staring in disbelief, he turned and bolted down the hall.

"Matt!" Nick hissed, bursting into his brother’s room.

Matt groaned, burying his face in his pillow. "Nick, if this isn’t an emergency, I swear—"

"It is!" Nick interrupted, shaking Matt’s shoulder. "You need to see this. Like, right now."

Reluctantly, Matt sat up, his hair a mess and his expression sour. "This better be good," he grumbled, throwing the blanket off and following Nick back to the living room.

When he caught sight of the two of you on the couch, his annoyance vanished, replaced by wide-eyed surprise.

"Is that…" Matt started, leaning closer to get a better look.

"Yup," Nick whispered, his tone somewhere between shocked and amused.

"Did he finally make a move?" Nick asked, tilting his head.

"I don’t know," Matt replied, scratching the back of his head. "But… doesn’t she have a boyfriend?"

Nick frowned, looking at Matt. "Yeah, she does. At least, I think she does. So… what’s this about?"

Matt shrugged, his brow furrowed. "No clue. But they look pretty cozy."

Nick pulled out his phone, biting his lip to keep from laughing. "Should we ask them? Or should I just take a picture for evidence?"

"Definitely a picture," Matt said, smirking.

Nick nodded, holding his phone up and aiming the camera. Just as he was about to snap the shot, his fingers fumbled, and the phone slipped from his hand.

The loud clatter of the phone hitting the floor echoed through the room, and both you and Chris stirred.

Chris blinked awake first, squinting against the light and taking a second to register what was happening. He glanced down at you still in his arms, then up at Nick and Matt, who were both frozen like deer in headlights.

You woke up a second later, groggy and disoriented. "What’s going on?" you mumbled, sitting up slightly and noticing Chris’s arm still loosely around you.

Nick recovered first, quickly scooping up his phone. "Uh, nothing! Morning! Just… you know… didn’t mean to wake you guys!"

Matt, however, wasn’t as subtle. "So… are we gonna talk about this, or…?" He gestured between the two of you, his brows raised.

Chris rubbed his face, clearly trying to think of a way to explain. "It’s not what it looks like—"

Matt snorted. "Really? ‘Cause it looks like you two were cuddling all night."

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. "Can we not do this right now?"

Nick crossed his arms, a mischievous grin creeping onto his face. "Oh, we’re definitely doing this right now."

Chris’s body stiffened as he quickly sat up, his expression suddenly serious. His protective instincts kicked in, and he shot a sharp look at Nick, his voice firm. "No, Nick. Seriously. Drop it. It’s not the time."

Nick froze, blinking in confusion at the sudden change in Chris’s tone. He wasn’t used to hearing his brother so... intense. But before he could ask anything more, his gaze shifted to you.

You had your face hidden in your hands, your shoulders shaking with quiet sobs. That’s when it hit Nick. It wasn’t just a casual morning moment between friends. Something was wrong.

Matt’s playful smirk faltered, and his eyes softened as he noticed the tears trailing down your face. His teasing nature immediately gave way to concern. "Y/N…?" he began, but Chris cut him off before either of them could say anything else.

"Look, this is serious," Chris said, his voice still low and full of emotion. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself as he turned toward Nick and Matt. "You guys don’t know what happened."

Nick looked at him, unsure. "What happened?" he asked, his voice quieter now, sensing the weight behind his brother’s words.

Chris glanced over at you, his heart breaking as he saw how upset you were. He didn’t want to push you, but he also knew you needed support. "Y/N gave me permission to tell you guys," he said softly, then turned to face Matt and Nick fully. "Jason—her boyfriend—cheated on her. With her sister."

The words hit like a punch to the gut. Matt and Nick both looked at each other in stunned silence, their eyes wide with disbelief.

"Wait, what?" Nick whispered, shaking his head in confusion. "He… cheated on her with her sister?"

Chris nodded, his jaw tight with anger. "Yeah. And I know she’s been trying to keep it together, but it’s been eating her up. She didn’t deserve any of this." His voice cracked slightly, the weight of what you were going through becoming even more apparent as he spoke.

You wiped at your eyes, feeling the sting of their stares but too drained to care. Chris’s hand remained on your back, offering what little comfort he could, but you could tell this was a lot for Matt and Nick to process.

Matt was the first to speak up again, his face hardening. "That’s messed up," he muttered, clearly frustrated. "She doesn’t deserve that." He glanced at you, his expression softening. "Y/N, I’m sorry."

Nick nodded in agreement, though his voice was still filled with disbelief. "I… I had no idea. Why didn’t you tell us sooner?" he asked, genuinely concerned.

You sniffed and looked up, finally meeting their eyes. "I didn’t know how to. It hurt too much. I didn’t want to drag anyone into it." Your voice trembled, but you tried to hold it together. "I just needed some time to figure out what to do."

Chris gave your back another reassuring rub, silently telling you it was okay to let them in. He looked up at Matt and Nick, a heavy sigh escaping him. "She needs our support right now, not questions. So please… just… give her space if she wants it."

Matt nodded solemnly, his usual teasing nature now completely gone. "Yeah, of course," he said, his voice softer than before. "You’ve got it, Y/N. Whatever you need."

Nick hesitated for a moment, then gave you a small, almost apologetic smile. "We’re here for you. You don’t have to go through this alone."

You nodded weakly, still feeling the sting of everything that had happened. But for the first time in what felt like days, you felt a small flicker of hope. With Chris, Matt, and Nick by your side, maybe things would start to get better.

Chris’s arm tightened around you once more, offering the quiet comfort of knowing that, for now, you weren’t alone in this.

The room fell into a quiet calm, the weight of the conversation lingering in the air. Matt and Nick gave you the space you needed, no longer pressing you with questions. Instead, they offered small, reassuring smiles, letting you know they were there—ready to support you however you needed.

Chris, still sitting close beside you, rubbed your back comfortingly, his presence a silent promise that he wouldn’t leave your side. The warmth of his touch brought a small, but much-needed sense of peace.

After a few moments of silence, you took a shaky breath and finally looked up at Chris. "I don’t know what to do… or where to go from here," you admitted, your voice still thick with emotion.

Chris met your gaze with understanding in his eyes. "You don’t have to have all the answers right now," he said gently. "We’ll figure it out together. One step at a time."

You nodded, feeling the truth of his words sink in. Maybe you didn’t have the answers yet, but you weren’t alone. With Chris, Matt, and Nick by your side, you knew you had the support to get through this.

"Thank you," you whispered, your voice breaking again, but this time with gratitude.

Chris smiled softly, his thumb brushing against your cheek. "Always, Y/N. You’ll never have to go through this alone."

As the day began to unfold, you and the triplets spent the rest of the morning together. No more talk of Jason or your sister—just the comfort of knowing you were surrounded by people who cared. Slowly, the pieces of your heart that had shattered started to heal, one moment, one breath at a time.

And for the first time in a while, you felt a spark of hope for the future, knowing that with time and support, you’d find your way through the pain.

[seasicksilver]

good old times

[lovecatsys]

my life doesn't even feel real anymore.... i feel so dissociated from everything that it is so genuinely upsetting. i keep getting lost in fantasies and then in moments of clarity realize how much my life fucking sucks and also how little I care about it at all. why live in your own life when you can just dissociate from everything so hard that none of it feels real. jk it fucking sucks i just wish i could experience any genuine emotions besides the occasional sadness about the state of my life right now.

[orcelito]

Honestly hate how hard it is to start writing again when you've gone too long without it. Like for fuck's sake man Why's shit gotta be like this

[supportgaza]

From Gaza to Ireland: Out of the Fire of War to the Fire of Soul-Crushing Survival Guilt and Fear for my Family

Note: My main account (@mahmoudkhalafff) was unfortunately terminated by Tumblr for no reason. This is my back up account. Please continue to boost my campaign. We are too close!

At times of peace, having to be away from your family for months and years is a high price you pay for obtaining an academic degree or securing a better job. Imagine while you are away, they were trapped in a besieged strip of land and thousands of missiles rained down on that besieged area of 360 km² around the clock for almost 11 months. That would crush every cell of your mind and drive you crazy, wouldn't it?!

Imagine suddenly getting addicted to watching the news and the gory videos and pictures all the freaking time. You follow relevant social media pages that only show images, videos, and stories of entire families that were wiped out in an instant in an airstrike and deemed as collateral insignificant damage. While plunging deeper and deeper into an unprecedented state of acute depression, I wondered: how come all my suffering from displacement, fear, and hunger in Gaza for 5 months during the war before being evacuated to Ireland is nothing but a drop compared to my ocean of suffering now?

The constant thinking of my family in Gaza during the genocide and all the potential scenarios is consuming my sanity and mental health at a time in my life and a place where I am required to be 199% focused and productive. To give you a glimpse of my horrible psychological suffering these days: I fear going to sleep because I know horrible horrible nightmares are waiting for me on the other side. Some have to do with the horrors of wars I witnessed in Gaza myself and others relate to the horrible potential scenarios I keep thinking about.

Seeing the images and pictures of Gaza makes you think a thousand earthquakes hit every neighborhood of the Gaza Strip! Nothing and no one has been spared. The horrific war has turned the place into a hell on earth, unfortunately. How can young people have any hope for a better future seeing the mass destruction and the relentless Israeli efforts to stifle Gaza and squeeze hope out of its people as a form of collective punishment. How monstrous and heartless!!!

Amid all this chaos and madness, my number one priority and focus is evacuating my family to Egypt as a first step and hopefully reuniting with them in Ireland at a later stage.

Please do consider helping me save my family by donating, reblogging, and sharing.

Note: Vetted by:

1. @el-shab-hussein and @nabulsi # 151 on the spreadsheet of Vetted Gaza Fundraisers List]

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Tagging for reach <3

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[shimaiitsoh]

[athenamikaelson]

Klaus Mikaelson x Soulmate!reader x Elijah Mikaelson Part 12

Warnings- 4.2k

Word Count- Swearing, violence, mentions of sex

“Is he my father or not,” My voice seems to echo throughout our family's little living room as I glare at my mother. 

“It’s not that simple, Y/N,” My mother raises her hands in surrender as she begins to take a step closer to me. The dark glare on my face seems to halt her movements and she closes her eyes and sighs.

“He’s the man that raised you, he-”

“You. Know. What. I. Mean,” I cut her off, biting out each of my words, “I want the truthful answer. Is Y/F/N Y/L/N my biological father?”

I seem to lose all the air in my chest as I watch my mother drop down onto the couch and look up at me with tears running down her face. And that’s all I need to have my answer.

“Oh my god,” I cover my mouth as my chest starts concaving on itself. Tears cloud my vision as I stare at my mother. Her tears mimicked my own. And a wave of anger flows through my body. She was crying as if she was the victim here. She was crying in front of her emotionally and physically wounded daughter as if this wasn’t her fault. 

I sit on the dark coffee table in front of my mother, our knees touching as I stare at her, “You’re going to tell me everything. And don’t even try lying to me.”

My mother looks up at me and nods as she puts her head in her hands, “Eighteen years ago your father and I were having problems. We’d been married 3 years and still couldn’t conceive. It took a toll on both of us. I got depressed and well… you know how your father gets when he is upset,” She looks up at me and I slightly nod as a wave of nausea passes over me, “Your father was out of town for the night and so I thought I would go down to a little bar outside of town. I was there for about an hour before I thought of leaving. But right when I was about to,” she pauses in thought for a moment then continues, “The most beautiful man I’d ever seen approached me. We talked throughout the night and then,” She looks at me to see if I understand where she was going and I nod disgusted.

“After I did what I had done I had never felt more disgusted with myself in my entire life. You have to believe me Y/N,” She reaches out to take my hand but I flinch away from her.

“Does Dad…or your husband know,” I ask but a part of me already knows the answer.

“When I fell pregnant with you soon after, you have to understand how happy your father was, I had never seen him that in love with something in the time I’d known him. You saved our marriage, Y/N. But… as you got older and you developed more of your own features and personality, neither of which were like me or him… I think your father realized or suspected that you weren’t his.”

My eyebrows furrow as I try to hold back my tears and sobs, “Is that why he…am I the reason he left?”

My question has my mother quickly shaking her head, “Your father and I had our own problems and even if it was because of that, it still isn’t your fault. He is still your father, he is the one who raised you.”

I stand up quickly, making sure not to move too much to upset my wounded arm, which is currently in a sling, and I huff out an angry laugh, “Raised me! Raised me?! I saw that man maybe once or twice a month for 16 years and in those few moments, all he caused was torture and heartbreak in my life. That man didn’t raise me! And looking at you now… I realize that you barely raised me too… I raised myself. Just like I’ve raised Theo,” I walk backward out of the living room as I shake my head at my mother, “I’ll never forgive you for this. Never.”

I hear my mother call out to me as I grab my keys and run out of the house. Rain pours down on me, dampening my clothes as I throw open my car door and turn it on. 

I drive around trying to decide my next move, and somehow I end up in the Salvatore’s driveway. 

I’m practically on auto-pilot as I walk up the stairs to the front door, I bring my hand up and knock, and within a moment it slams open and Damon stares down at me.

“What the hell do you…Y/N,” He pauses as he stares at my tear-filled eyes, “What happened? Are you hurt?”

I just stare at him and he takes a step forward and brings a hand to my arm. His touch seems to bring me out of my stupor and tears explode from my eyes as I throw myself into Damon’s arms. He doesn’t react for a moment as I cry into his shirt, but after a moment I feel his arms come and wrap around me.

“You want to…um, talk about it,” Damon asks quietly as if he’s not really sure how to comfort a teenage girl.

“My dad,” I hiccup out a sob, “Isn’t my dad!”

I feel Damon nod and he hums, “Um, sure, ok. Not entirely sure what that means,” He says the last part under his breath.

“I can’t go home. I can’t see my mom,” I pull away from Damon and I wipe the tears away from my face with my t-shirt sleeve.

Damon looks down at me for a moment before he turns sideways and gestures to the living room, “Then you’re going to stay here. For as long as needed.”

—

-2 months later-

“Hurry up hoe! This party isn’t going to decorate itself,” Caroline’s cheery voice calls up to me as I leave my bedroom at the Salvatore’s. 

“I’m coming Caroline, chill out,” I laugh to myself as I descend the stairs to where Caroline is standing. She shoots me a bright smile that rivals the sun when she sees me. 

“I can’t believe you’re still living here,” Caroline says as she grabs my hand and pulls me down the hall. 

I laugh awkwardly, “Ya, I guess I just like the bed here better than the one at my house.”

“And your mother really doesn’t care,” Caroline asks and I flinch at the mention of the woman I haven’t talked to in two months. 

“Um, ya. Theo’s away at some football camp until school starts and my mom’s always working so she doesn’t care.”

“You’re so lucky that you’re mom is so chill,” I laugh at the irony of that. My mom being “too chill” is the reason I’m not living at home right now. Caroline doesn’t know that though so she shoots me an odd look as she must’ve heard me laughing to myself.

After finding out about my paternal issues and moving in with Damon I made up a lie to all my friends that the reason I was living with him was that I needed a little vacation from my life, and not that I’m pissed off at my mom and scared to go home because it means I’ll have to face the reality of my life now. 

Damon is currently the only one who knows of my new “bastard” status. Even though sometimes I feel like strangling him, he has honestly been kind of a great friend these past two months. He’s gone along with my lie, not even telling Elena, who he is totally in love with. Damon and I have even started our own movie nights. Right now we’re bingeing the TV show Supernatural. He and I both like Dean, but our reasonings are a little different. God, I love Jensen Ackles. 

We’re postponing our movie night tonight because Caroline and I, mostly Caroline,  are throwing Elena her 18th birthday party. Elena told me to promise her that we wouldn’t make the party too big, but I kind of had to cross my fingers behind my back when I made that promise because when it comes to Caroline Forbes, no one will get in the way of her party making plans. 

“Good morning,” I look over to see the birthday girl smiling up at me as Caroline and I enter the living room. She and Tyler, who nods hello at me, are going through boxes upon boxes of party supplies.

“It’s 1 pm,” I say back to her and she frowns and checks her watch.

“Oh… Good afternoon then,” She laughs sheepishly.

I walk down the steps and bring her into a hug, “Happy birthday, Elena!”

I can hear Elena sigh and she pulls away from me, “Thank you,” Her vision goes from me to the boxes surrounding us, “I thought you said this was going to be lowkey?”

It’s my turn to smile sheepishly at her as I gesture towards Caroline, who is currently bitching to Tyler about hanging a streamer wrong, “You try getting in the way of her planning something. I love you Elena, but I’m more scared of her.”

Elena turns to look at Caroline as well and we both cringe when she hits Tyler over the head with a hard plastic plate.

“Good point,” Elena whispers out. 

—

“I feel like I have to fight Damon every single time we get a lead on Stefan,” Elena’s complaints have me side-eyeing both Caroline and her. I try to busy myself with unraveling some string lights, trying not to seem suspicious in any manner. I’m the only one here who knows really just how much Damon knows about Stefan’s “activities” this summer. 

About 3 weeks ago I found the articles about Stefan and he who shall not be named in Damon’s closet when I was going through Damon’s things. He’d gone through my things so I thought I’d return the favor. 

When Damon found out I knew he made me promise to keep it to myself. Only he, myself, and Ric could know. Damon didn’t want to worry Elena about all the killing Stefan had been doing. So “The Squad,” as I like to call us, have been researching different “animal killings” around the US this summer. Unfortunately, Damon and Ric won’t let me go on any of the road trips with them so I’ve been stuck at the Salvatore house this summer. 

“Maybe he doesn’t wanna find him,” Tyler’s comment makes me cringe slightly at the irony.

“Tyler!”

“What? He’s into you. Isn’t he” He asks Elena.

“The only reason Stefan left with Klaus was so that he could save Damon’s life,” Elena explains as she takes the supplies Tyler handed her, “I mean, trust me Damon wants to find him.”

You have no idea.

“But…you kissed him. Probably screwed with his head,” Tyler says and Caroline and Elena whip around to look at him while I hover a hand over my mouth to keep me from giggling. I’ve made fun of both Elena and Damon on multiple occasions this summer about the “kiss of death,’’ as I like to call it. 

“Tyler,” Caroline exclaims and Elena shoots her an “Are you serious” look. 

“I’m sorry,” Caroline apologies wholeheartedly. 

Elena raises her hand and shakes it, “I…Don’t worry about it. Look, yes, I kissed him, but it was a…”

“Kiss of death,” I say under my breath, but Elena still hears me and shoots me a glare.

“It was a goodbye kiss. I thought he was gonna die,” She tries to explain herself but Tyler shoots me a look and I have to fight off a laugh.

Elena fishes her phone out of her pocket, “I just missed a call from Bonnie,” She says.

At the mention of my witch friend, I perk up, “Tell her I say hi!”

Elena nods in agreement as she leaves the room. As soon as she goes, Caroline groans and whips around to stare at the werewolf.

“Just because I tell you things, doesn’t mean you’re allowed to know them,” She exclaims at him to which he apologizes. 

“I gotta run if I’m gonna change and pick up Sophie in time,” He says as he waves goodbye to me.

“Wait, you’re bringing a date? Slutty Sophie is your date,” Caroline asks and I frown at the nickname she gave her.

“Hey,” Tyler turns around, “It’s been kinda slow in that department. And… I’m horny all the time now.”

“Ya, tell me about it. Sometimes I feel like I’m gonna explode” Caroline agrees and I gag out loud.

“Ok, has no one here ever heard of too much information,” I say as I make a show of covering my ears. I go back to decorating trying to block out the obvious sexual tension between the vampire and wolf as they talk about their sex lives, or lack of. 

“Bye Y/N,” Tyler’s voice calls out to me and I just wave him off, which makes him laugh.

I turn around and watch Tyler walk out of the room and then I turn to my blonde friend, “Well, that was painful to watch…and hear.”

Caroline groans and throws the cups she has in her hands back onto the table in front of us, “Tell me about it. I just…ugh, I don’t know,” She groans in annoyance again as she picks up some streamers and tape.

“Can we talk about something else, please?”

I laugh slightly at her pleading tone and nod, “Sure, what about?”

Caroline thinks for a moment before turning to me and smirking, “About the guy you’re bringing tonight.”

I roll my eyes at the insinuation in her voice, “It’s not like that at all. Alastair is a work friend. He’s new to town and I thought he could use some more friends.”

“Is he cute,” She raises her eyebrows suggestively and I shoot her a look.

“Some might say that but I’m not into him like that, and he’s definitely not into me like that either,” I respond.

“And how would you know that,” She questions.

I think back to all the times I’ve seen him ogling the male customers at work and smile to myself, “Just a hunch.”

“When did you meet the guy again?”

“Around the start of the summer when I started working at The Grill. He got a job right after me and we’ve been put on the same schedules at pretty much the same times, oddly enough. He moved from Louisana, I believe.”

Caroline nods, “And he doesn’t know about…you know what?”

I shake my head, “As far as I can tell he’s a perfectly normal NON-supernatural guy.”

“Unlike Elijah right,” I glare at Caroline because of her comment which only makes the smirk on her face deepen.

“And unlike Tyler, right,” I smirk back at her and we both drop the subject on both of those men. Caroline got the jist about my little “friendship” or whatever it was with Elijah when she, Elena, and I, accidentally got into Jenna’s wine supply a few weeks ago. He also told me about her confusing feelings about Tyler. 

“Okay fine, changing the subject again,” She thinks to herself before frowning and looking at me, “Wait…when did you say your birthday was again?”

I frown at the question, “I didn’t say it.”

Caroline shoots her hands up in the air like a mad woman, “Well then tell me, hoe!”

I fight back a groan at her question and I don't want to answer but knowing Caroline she won’t stop bringing it up unless I tell her, “It was a few weeks ago.”

Caroline stares at me in shock as she drops the streams she currently holding. A wee bit dramatic might I add. 

“Excuse me! Why didn’t you tell anyone,” She practically screeches at me.

I shrug as I go back to untangling the lights I’ve been working on, “Elena has asked but I always just brush it off. Damon also knows, but he doesn’t celebrate birthdays either so I didn’t have to worry about him throwing me a party.”

Caroline’s eyes practically fall out of her head at my words, “So you did absolutely nothing for your birthday!?”

I just shake my head as if it’s nothing, “I don’t ever celebrate my birthday, Care. I haven't in years… I mean Damon and I had a pizza night, but other than that, no not really.”

Caroline continues to stare at me in shock as she comes over to me and throws her hands onto my shoulders, “Y/N Y/M/N Y/L/N I solemnly swear I will be throwing you a huge 18th birthday party very soon. And it will make you change your mind about not celebrating.”

I go to argue but she puts a finger to my lips, “Hush hoe. I’ve already started planning in my head.”

Someone kill me now.

—

“Well, don't you just look Darling,” Damon's sarcastic voice sounds from behind me as I flatten out my dark blue dress. 

I turn around and see him wearing the same color top, “We’re matching!”

Damon looks at his top and then the color of my dress and groans, “You really need to move out. We’re starting to become the same person.”

I frown slightly at his comment and I think he notices because he clears his throat, “That was a joke, Pukey. You practically have already made this entire place yours I doubt you’re moving out anytime soon.”

“And yet you still won’t let me paint the walls,” I gesture to the wooden walls of my bedroom. 

Damon shoots me a glare as he raises his arm for me to take, “The wood on these walls costs more than some of the houses in this town. I’d rather die than let you paint them.”

I walk over and grab his arm and he leads me out of my room and down the hall where I can hear dozens of people yelling and music blaring.

“Did you find anything about-” Damon shushes me before I can finish my sentence.

“No talk about that tonight. Only happy drunk thoughts tonight,” I want to argue but I notice the tension in his shoulders and drop the topic for a later time. 

“Where’s the birthday girl?”

Damon slightly glares at the young teens that surround us, “With Blondey. Somewhere.”

“Y/N!”

The sound of someone calling my name has me turning around. I smile once I’ve found the caller. Alastair’s bright smile shines at me as he pushes through the hordes of people. His dark skin contrasts beautifully with the white button-up shirt he’s wearing. Dark slacks cover his long legs and I have to fight back a laugh at how put together he looks compared to the rest of the people around us who look like they picked out the first piece of clothing they could find in their closets.  

Alastair slightly grabs me out of Damon’s arms and brings me into a hug, “You look beautiful.” 

His compliment makes a warm feeling coat my cheeks as I look at him. “You don't look so bad yourself,” And I’m not lying either. He’s shaved down his hair again since the last time I saw him so he’s rocking a buzz cut that makes him appear even more striking and his dark brown eyes sparkle against the bright lights that Caroline and I had previously hung up around the house. 

“I fear I might’ve overdone it a bit. It has been awhile since I’ve been to a highschool party” He jokes as he gestures toward his attire.

“You think,” Damon’s sarcastic tone has me turning to glare at him.

“Alastair this is Damon,” I gesture to the man beside me.

Alastair who is usually all smiles seems to glare at the vampire next to me for a moment before brightly smiling at him, “Pleasure to meet you, Damon.”

Damon just stares at him for a moment, “Y/N lives here with me. So if I find you in her room later I will kill you,” He threatens and then shoots him a fake smile, “Other than that, enjoy the party.”

My eyes practically fly out of my head as I watch Damon’s retreating figure leave the room and I quickly turn back to Alastair to apologize.

“Don’t worry about it. It’s good he’s protective over you,” He smiles at me and reaches out his hand for me to take, “Want to get a drink?”

“Oh definitely,” I sigh dramatically as I put my hand in his. 

We start walking but I catch Alastair and a blonde guy staring at each other as we walk by him. I smirk to myself and then look up to my friend with a raised eyebrow.

“Not a word,” He laughs out.

“I didn’t say anything!”

Alastair rolls his eyes as we approach the refreshments table and he hands me a bottle of water and I shoot him a questioning look.

“We’re so not drinking whatever is in that punch. Who knows if someone spiked it with something? Water is a safe choice,” I begin to laugh thinking he’s joking but at the serious look on my friend’s face I stop.

“A little worried are you?”

“There’s nothing wrong with being a little cautious,” He opens up my bottle of water for me and smiles, “Also what’s with the text I got from your blonde friend this afternoon about you having a birthday party?”

I groan loudly and I can hear Alastair laugh, “How did she even get your number?”

He shrugs his shoulders, “I’d like to know as well,” He looks down at me for a moment then frowns, “You really didn’t tell anyone about your birthday?”

I just shrug, “I told Damon. But other than that no. I don’t celebrate it, and whatever Caroline is planning you definitely don’t have to come.”

Alastair shakes his head defiantly, “Oh you bet your ass I’ll be there. Going to get you a pretty present with a bow and everything.”

I put my head in my hands and sighed, “I hate you.”

Alastair laughs and takes my hands away from my face, “You love me and now you’re going to dance with me.”

I’m surprised at the strength of my friend as he leads me to the dance floor that's filled with teens dancing and grinding together.

“You sure you don’t want to go and find that blonde guy,” I yell to him over the music and he rolls his eyes.

“You’re stuck with me, babe. I’m not going anywhere” 

—-

“Call me if you need anything alright,” Alastair says to me as I walk him to his car. After dancing for about an hour the party started to die down when people couldn’t find the hostess or the birthday girl. 

“I’m going to see you tomorrow at work. I think I’ll be fine until then,” I smile at him as he gets into his car.

“I know, just making sure you know you can call me for anything,” He says through his open window as he starts his car.

“I know.”

“Ok, I’ll wait for you to get back inside before leaving,” He nods towards the front door.

“Ok, bye,” I wave to him and start walking to the front door, I turn to look over my shoulder and find that he hasn’t taken his focus off me for a second it makes me unnerved but I shake it off and open the front door. 

As soon as I step a foot inside I hear the squealing of tires and I turn to see Alastair peeling out of the driveway. Guess someone’s in a rush.

I walk into the living room and sigh as I see the damage that was done by the hordes of kids. Bottles and trash line the walls as streamers and the decorations we had worked so hard to put up are lying all around the floor. I start to walk down the steps to start picking up when a loud bang comes from upstairs. 

I frown as I start walking towards the stairs, but as soon as I hear another loud bang I start running. I find myself in front of Damon’s bedroom as I watch the vampire throw and break anything he can get his hands on. I call out to him but he seems to be in his own world of destruction right now. I start to approach him like someone would a rabid animal and I freeze as he turns to look at me. Dark veins appear under his eyes as he glares at me. He starts walking towards me and I put up my hands.

“Damon, what’s wrong? What happened,” He gets closer and I’m about to run off but he grabs me. I shriek escapes my mouth before I realize what he's doing. He's hugging me.

“Damon? What’s wrong,” I slowly wrap my hands around his waist as he holds me tighter. Almost tight enough to bruise, “What happened?”Damon is quiet for a moment before he whispers out a growl, “Stefan.”

[amongemeraldclouds]

a summer night with the slytherin boys

Ft. Lorenzo Berkshire, Mattheo Riddle, Draco Malfoy, Blaise Zabini, Theodore Nott

My official entry for week two of @thatdammchickennugget and @finalgirllx's Jinxed July. Challenged myself to do all prompts!

✿ Masterlist | 1.9k words | Fluff, established relationship

Lorenzo Berkshire

Too Sweet

The firewood popped and crackled as you inhaled the smell of burning sugar. You instantly yanked your hand away along with the stick you were holding out. You frowned at the small fire that once was a sweet, innocent marshmallow.

Beside you, Enzo cackled. “Bringing the fire closer to you, dear?” You groaned impatiently. It had been your third attempt at roasting a marshmallow. Having been raised in a concrete jungle, you had never gone camping before nor tried making s’mores. When Enzo invited you to go as part of your summer adventures together, you jumped up and down with excitement.

There was nothing exciting about it now. You stared at the charred remains as the orange glow flickered out in the cool evening air. It seemed the marshmallow was roasting you instead. “Now now, that poor marshmallow did nothing to you,” Enzo said as he lowered the stick, bringing it away from your eye level.

“It’s taunting me,” you snarled.

With an amused smile, he sat closer to you. While you held the stick, he removed your latest victim from the other end and replaced it with a fresh marshmallow. “I’ll show you, okay?”

He wrapped his hand around yours and all the annoyance melted. In your rage, you hadn’t noticed how much closer he had gotten.

When you turned to look at him, you took in the upward curl of his thick lashes that you were always jealous of. His eyes glittered like the stars you were gazing at. His mouth curved with that special smile he only had when he was around you. You had been together for a while now and yet the butterflies still raced around your stomach as if you had just seen him for the first time.

With his hand on yours, he moved the stick back to the fire and it snapped your attention back to the present. “The key here is to bring it just close enough,” he said patiently, “spin it like this so the heat gets distributed evenly.” Your insides seemed to twist along with the motion as heat crept up your cheeks and it wasn’t from the fire.

“And that’s it,” he said, bringing your hand back with a perfectly toasted marshmallow this time. He grabbed the crackers and chocolate you had laid out and pressed the marshmallow in between, squeezing it into gooey goodness.

“I don’t know how I’ll eat that when you’re the sweetest thing here tonight,” you said, beaming up at him.

“And your words alone will give me diabetes,” he quipped, bringing the s’more to your mouth.

You took a bite and closed your eyes, feeling the chocolate and marshmallow melt in your mouth as you chomped on the crunchy crackers. “Never mind. I take that back, it’s sinful for something to taste this good.”

“Hey, no take backs,” Enzo insisted.

Mattheo Riddle

A treacherous wave in the late hour

You pushed Mattheo away and used the momentum to propel you forward, your laughter ringing out into the evening air, sand spraying behind you as you ran towards the sea.

When Mattheo first invited you to go backpacking with him this summer, you nearly said no, because it meant tossing your carefully laid out schedule into the wind. But you didn’t want him to spend another summer alone in his family’s depressing house.

And you hate to admit it, but he was right. There was a thrill that came with living in the moment, not caring about the days ahead. There was also the fact that being with Mattheo meant exploring exotic places, laughing over late night shenanigans, and more adventures in a few weeks than you’ve had in years. You had never felt more alive.

You squealed as the cold water hit your skin, waking you better than any coffee could in the late hour. “I won!” You declared proudly, turning back to see Mattheo joining you.

“You cheated,” he said, playfully splashing water at you.

“You just said, first one in the water wins so I win,” you shrugged. “Now where’s my reward?”

“Yeah?” He said, a dangerous smirk on his face as he prowled towards you. You tried to take a step back but the treacherous wave pushed you closer to him instead.

When he was near enough, he pulled you in, his strong arms locking you in place against his toned body. There was no place you’d rather be anyway. He brought his mouth close to your ear as his hands traced your figure. “I can think of so many rewards.”

Draco Malfoy

A colourful promise

You stepped out the into the evening air and took Draco’s hand as he led you to the balcony of his family’s holiday home overlooking the beach.

You pulled the shawl tightly around you as a chilly breeze drifted past. Draco wrapped a protective arm around your hip to warm you up. For a quiet moment, you watched the rippled glow of the moon on the sea as waves crashed onto the shore and retreated.

“What surprise could you possibly have for me this late in the evening? You could hardly see anything,” you asked.

“That’s exactly why it’s perfect, love,” he winked at you as he pointed to the sky. “Here goes.”

You followed his gaze, unsure what to look at until lights exploded in the sky. Fireworks. You watched in wonder as small circles burst and expanded, illuminating the dark sky.

You looked at his grinning face and watched his features reflect the glowing colors. He promised you the best summer of your life and you told him not to make bold statements. He just scoffed and said ‘watch me’.

And there he was, flying you to different places that summer in a private jet, taking you shopping and dining at the finest restaurants. Now lights exploded in the sky simply because he promised this summer would be memorable.

“Look at the fireworks, not at me,” he said smugly when he caught you staring.

“I just can’t believe you,” you admitted, gazing back at the colourful sky.

“It’s you I can’t believe. See those fireworks? That wonder I saw in your eyes? It’s how you make me feel.”

Blaise Zabini

Summer lights

The wind carried your hair as you propelled yourself forward, letting the swing carry you as you leaned your head back. If you weren’t so wrapped up in the moment, you would have noticed your boyfriend stop his swinging to gaze at you.

He tried to commit the moment to his memory. Your carefree laughter, the clean smell of your shampoo, your beautiful face. He felt so lucky to have you.

You swung back again and the wind brought your hair in the opposite direction, covering your entire face. You laughed at how silly it all was. You planted your feet in the sand to slow the momentum.

Earlier in the day, you were nervous that Blaise was taking you to meet his mum for the first time. A thousand thoughts crossed your mind in the days that led up to that moment. What ifs that kept your heart racing like they were its personal trainer. Blaise assured you that you’d hit it off and surprisingly, you did.

You finally noticed Blaise’s eyes on you. “What? I still don’t have that cake on my face, don’t I?” You ran a hand through your face, “I swear, I wiped—“

Blaise chuckled, “no, I just like seeing you happy.” You mirrored his grin and then a small blinking light beside him lit up.

“You didn’t tell me you had a floating light in the garden,” you remarked.

It was his turn to be confused and he followed your gaze where a few more floating lights appeared. “These are fireflies!”

You gazed around the garden as more and more drew closer, lighting up the garden. It was as if the stars descended from the heavens themselves. You watched them glow in wonder.

“Did you know that if you catch one, you can make a wish?” He said holding out his hand as a firefly landed on his palm. “Like this,” he cupped it and whispered his wish before releasing it back.

“I don’t need to wish for anything, I have everything I need here,” you beamed at him.

“Okay love, I’ll buy all the clothes and hand bags you want,” he teased and you slapped his arm.

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

He brought you in for a hug, savouring the way you melted against him. “I know,” he said gently kissing your forehead.

“I’ll buy you all the shoes you want instead,” he quipped.

“Blaise!”

Theodore Nott

Sunshine smile

(A/N: this is the only one that happens during the day and is not an established relationship)

Theodore Nott hated summer with its long, hot days that scorched everything it touched. Public places were more crowded than he’d like. He wouldn’t see his friends again for a few months and he sure as hell wasn’t going to go home to his father. Instead, he went to a resort on a remote island to get away from it all.

He met you while he was sulking over breakfast, trying to get lost in a book. You excitedly introduced yourself and despite being friends with Enzo, Theo could not for the life of him figure out how someone could have so much energy so early in the day. You had recently read the exact book he was reading and loved it!

He was about to ask you to leave when you took the seat across from him and sat down like you owned the place. (He would soon find out that your family actually did.)

You wanted to know his thoughts on the book. When you shared yours, he was surprised how insightful you were, he even found himself agreeing with most of your ideas. Though he kept that to himself.

He was relieved when breakfast was nearly over so he could have his peace and quiet back, but then you offered to be a local guide to the island. When you mentioned a bookstore that contained rare books and lesser known authors, he found that he couldn’t say ‘no’ to you.

That was how he find himself pedaling beside you as you shared the history of your home. There was something so charming about the island as if it were untouched by the world outside it. Just the open air and clear skies.

The quaint little town in the distance was just a small stretch of buildings that contained the necessities. There were other spots you promised to show him in the coming days. In the meantime, you browsed the bookshelves together as promised and he bought a few rare items he was excited to dive into.

When you returned to the resort, you relaxed by the beach chairs, listening to the ocean waves as the sun splashed hues of orange and yellow against the blue sky. Theo opened the book you recommended and was already captivated by the first few pages.

When he looked at you to share his thoughts, he found you peacefully asleep on the chair. He took that opportunity to study you, the way the wind caressed your hair and your chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm. He found himself smiling.

Summer, he thought, wasn’t so bad after all.

✿ Masterlist

[blackbird5154]

𖤐 Encyclopedia of Terzo 𖤐

I've been thinking a lot about how the personality of Papa III was created. Tobias set the basic framework, the archetype, the cliché from which he drew. But the real implementation of Papa was on stage, where his image developed through improvisation. Some things were conceived on purpose, some were invented on the spot, some came out unplanned, due to circumstances. Papa turned out to be as lively and unpredictable as life itself. In many senses, he lived on stage.

Thanks to the research of concerned fans, there is quite a lot of material. It occurred to me to collect them in one post for those who want to get acquainted with the canonical image of Terzo. This catalogue uses materials from two users, Cityofmeliora's and myself. You can use them for fanfiction or just for your own amusement. So, allow me to introduce Papa Emeritus III!

Cityofmeliora: Transcriptions and facts

Radley @cityofmeliora has an academic degree in Terzo Studies. He did a great job watching probably 100% of the Terzo videos and bringing us some interesting insights about his personality from the Terzo mines.

▸ notes / thoughts on Terzo's characterization (Terzo is so disappointed and depressed and i love him)

▸ Terzo's mom was mentioned twice

▸ quotes on Secondo and Terzo's age gap / the Emeritus brothers having different mothers

▸ TF on the archetype of Papa

▸ about Terzo's height...

▸ Terzo's sweet tooth 🍰🍫

▸ Secondo lied about being able to speak Swedish, and Terzo lied about *not* being able to speak Swedish

▸ according to the Nameless Ghouls, Terzo is better than Secondo because he has hair and is "less smelly" 😂😂

▸ TF breaks character a little too much and accidentally makes it canon that Terzo has a child 💀👶

▸ Who is Mysterious Spectre?

▸ transcript: Terzo's first concert - Linköping, Sweden (June 3, 2015)

▸ transcript: Sweden Rock Festival (June 4, 2015)

▸ Terzo lying about his knowledge of Swedish AGAIN!

▸ Terzo talking about his mom <3

▸ Papa Nihil taught his sons to sing

▸ Terzo hates it when people are bad at clapping 👏👏👏

▸ Terzo knows he's always yapping <3

▸ Terzo is hard of hearing 🦻

▸ Terzo did WHAT in Poland? 😳

▸ Terzo totally not bragging about his Grammy 🙄

▸ Terzo + children 🥰

▸ Terzo had eye infections???

▸ "And it is very important that you respect the fact that there are kids and there are"

▸ Terzo thinks 'Cirice' is a sad song

▸ Terzo getting angry

▸ Terzo's fucked up sore throat voice 🤒

▸ Terzo mentioning Secondo 😎

▸ Terzo mentions his parents 🧑‍🤝‍🧑

▸ Terzo + family 👪

▸ Terzo + being old 👴

▸ Terzo saying quesadillas are his favorite food 🧀

▸ Terzo is NOT a fluent / native Italian speaker 🤭🇮🇹

▸ Terzo + musical instruments 🎹🎸🥁🎺

🆕 Terzo hates it when people pronounce "Meliora" incorrectly ☝️🤓

🆕 What does terzology know about the overthrow of Papa III?

🆕 sad, sad Terzo + 'If You Have Ghosts' 🌙

Blackbird: Observations and analysis

My modest contribution to terzology was an attempt to summarise observations and look inside the head of the mysterious Papa III.

▸ Part 1: Terzo's responsible attitude to work

▸ Part 2: The jokes about height

▸ Part 3: The relationship between Terzo and Secondo

▸ Part 4: The ideas behind the birds and the bees speech

▸ Part 5: Terzo's other beliefs that he broadcast

▸ Part 6: Terzo and his loneliness

🆕 Part 7: Terzo is referring to Cartesian philosophy?

[maxdibert]

Having a shitty past is no excuse for being a horrible person, and Snape was a horrible person. Snape fans always try to turn him into a tragic hero, but there was nothing heroic about him when he was just an obsessive bigot who followed a group of genocidal maniacs

Well, I think I’ve said this a million times already and explained in exhausting detail why growing up in a particular environment—lacking social, emotional, economic, or essential support—and being subjected to violence during the most crucial years of cognitive development creates the perfect breeding ground for antisocial behavior. It also makes vulnerable or socially excluded youth prime targets for sectarian groups (whether religious, political, or otherwise) that prey on their situation, offering them promises of protection, safe spaces, surrogate parental figures, or social progress. These groups actively seek out kids with emotional voids caused by dysfunctional family dynamics, minimal to no financial resources, and a profound sense that the system has failed them at every turn. They offer these kids an alternative system—one that gives them a roof over their heads, a hot meal, a place to belong, and people who won’t marginalize them like the rest of society has—at the simple price of blindly following the group’s ideology. And they do it. Of course, they do. Because what other choice do they have? This group gave them life, a place in society, and restored their status as human beings.

But since I’ve spoken about this at length before and about how Severus’s life shaped his decisions, I feel like I’m starting to sound like a broken record. So, since I’m also reading a legal ruling I need to memorize by Friday, I’m going to indulge myself and dissertate as freely as I please—because hey, if you’re going to throw hate, I’m going to grant myself the privilege of replying however I want.

Here’s a question: why does it even matter? Seriously, what does it matter if he was a shitty person? Do you know that people go to space today thanks to the work of physicists and engineers who were literal SS members? That after WWII, all the top scientists, physicists, chemists, and engineers were granted amnesty and fast-tracked into citizenships so they could work on government projects? That people working within a stone’s throw of concentration camps are the pioneers behind some of the greatest technological advances of the 20th century? And you don’t care that the products you consume are derived from the work of collaborators with mass genocide, but you’re upset that people find a fictional character interesting? I don’t want to sound cynical, but honestly, it’s ridiculous to get so morally high and mighty about a character who doesn’t exist and who followed an extremist cult for, what? 3 or 4 years tops? and then canonically worked actively to take it down. If we put Severus in a real-world, wartime context, the guy would be a literal war hero with medals to his name. No exaggeration. If he survived, he’d be recruited with a fat paycheck to work in internal affairs for some major world power’s secret projects. That’s just how the world works.

And yeah, he was obsessive. But in an era where everyone suffers at least one anxiety episode a month, where the best-case scenario is that your panic attacks don’t spiral into chronic mental health issues—can we really judge him for that? Like, most of the people I see being ultra “snater” are folks who openly declare themselves neurodivergent, and one of the common denominators of all neurodivergence is obsessiveness. All of them. Whether it’s chronic anxiety, depression, OCD, ADHD, paranoid schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, borderline personality disorder or autism. Every single one has an obsessive component. So it’s kind of ironic—and even hypocritical—for people who are themselves pretty obsessive (because let’s face it, we’re all compulsively doomscrolling here to soothe our anxious compulsions with little dopamine hits) to judge this character’s obsessiveness as a negative trait. Maybe let’s take a good look in the mirror, too.

And let me just say, no court would convict Severus of collaborating with a terrorist group. Not a single one. Impossible. Especially since he literally collaborated against said group, so any judge would happily clear him—not after the war, but the moment he struck his deal with Dumbledore. Severus is what’s known as an informant. He worked from the inside, exposed himself to greater dangers than regular agents. Legally speaking, there have been cases where people guilty of heinous crimes—including crimes against humanity—were let off because they provided critical information. So imagine someone like Severus, who, as far as we know, didn’t even kill anyone during his time in the group, willingly spilling the beans and agreeing to work as a spy. He’d be celebrated as a hero of war. Hell, they’d probably buy him a mansion in Florida if he wanted one. That’s just how our system works, and honestly, this kind of moralist posturing is pretty cringy because you’re talking about a guy who literally saved half of magical society’s asses and without whom the kid destined to save the world would’ve died in his first year at school.

You can dislike him or think he’s a jerk, but he was damn good at his job. And compared to the people he’s often unfairly measured against (Sirius, James, Remus...), he actually did something. They didn’t. Absolutely nothing. Contribution: negative one.

[astridthevalkyrie]

honeymoon period | jumin han x reader

After Jumin marries you, slowly, his threads start to untangle.

a/n: my first and probably last long jumin fic. this has been in the works for months, literally what i've been stalling on superior for (pre keigo 😭) i hope you all enjoy! i love this man <3

warnings: afab reader with she/her pronouns, some depressing thoughts, smut, oral (m and f receiving), penetrative sex, references to kinks that they both have, references/nightmares about abuse including sexual harassment, insecurity, jumin's comedy lol

word count: 13.2k (only a little less than the last superior chapter that is cray cray)

There is a knock on your door.

It makes you jump. Not that you’re nervous—it’s a hotel and several of your friends and family are here to see you get married, so naturally many of them know where your room is. The room itself is, of course, lavish, a paradise compared to most of your previous lodgings. Honestly, you miss the penthouse.

No, that’s not quite right. You just miss being curled up on the couch, tucked into Jumin’s chest with Elizabeth on your lap, wine on his lips and love in his eyes. You miss him, even though you saw him last this morning. You know he’s in the hotel lobby being forced to get wasted by Luciel, because the hacker in question has sent you dozens of videos of your fiancé. In one of them, when Zen reminds him he’s getting married tomorrow, a goofy smile breaks out on his face as he ducks his head.

Maybe the wedding wasn’t necessary. Maybe you two could have just signed the necessary papers without having to go a full day without seeing each other. How are you supposed to sleep tonight? You could call him, but it wouldn’t be the same.

Sighing, you make your way to the door. If it’s one of your friends trying to convince you to let loose or a family member coming to check up on you, you’re not in the mood.

When you open the door, your fiancé is standing there.

“Jumin!”

All questions on the tip of your tongue disappear when he brings you into his arms, burying his face in your neck with a content sigh. There’s no urgency in it, just a quiet, sudden happiness, like he’s fully aware that in just a few hours he won’t have to worry about you being anywhere but in his arms again.

“Thank you.” His voice breaks the silence, muffled on your skin. “For letting me love you, and for loving me.”

Your eyes well up with tears. What an emotional bride you’re turning out to be. And what a wonderful groom you have, to somehow know exactly what you need even when he’s not completely sober.

Slowly, you wrap your arms around him as well, breathing in the scent of his shampoo as you press a kiss to the top of his head.

“You’re welcome, Jumin.”

///

There has never been a lovelier sight than your smile, and Jumin hopes you know that.

If you don’t, he’ll just have to convince you.

“Hi, sweetheart.” You’re sporting a grin for him—just for him—wearing nothing but one of his shirts with Elizabeth the Third scurrying out from between your feet when she sees him. There’s a pink bottle on the counter. Frosting, he thinks. “I hope you don’t mind, but having a chef cook for us for a month straight has ruined my palate for anything else. I had to cook for myself again before I got spoiled. I can call him to make you dinner if you don’t want to eat what I made, though!”

“Of course not.” The urge to embrace you is unbearable. A month after the wedding, and his first day back at work after the honeymoon, he still can’t seem to keep his hands off. “What did you make? I’ll eat anything.”

He leans down to take Elizabeth the Third in his arms, scratching the back of her head softly. “Alright! I made stew and baked some cupcakes, I hope you like it. But you should probably change first. Slip into something more comfortable.”

“Ironic, considering you and I are wearing the same thing.”

“Well…” You lean over the counter, making a show of ogling him. “If you really want to match, you can leave the shirt on and take off your pants.”

It’s impossible to even try and stop the smile growing on his face. “Would you like that?”

“Come over here and find out, hubby.”

The nickname makes him flush pleasantly, but instead of taking you up on that extremely tempting offer, he simply walks up and presses a kiss to your forehead. You pout, and with the tact of knowing Elizabeth is still in his arms, you tug on his tie and kiss him properly. Jumin’s brain turns off, if only for a few seconds. As long as you kiss him and he kisses you back, the only thing he knows is you, you, you and nothing else.

Now, instead of changing, he’s holding his cat and kissing you in the kitchen. With just a minor breakaway and murmured apology, he’s no longer holding his cat. His hands slide around your back and pull you in, and your hands meet at the base of his neck. You. Only you. 

“Ju-min,” you admonish breathlessly, the second he pulls away to trail hurried kisses down your neck. “Dinner first.”

“Mm. I’m not hungry.” Or he is, but not for dinner.

Your hands come to rest on his chest, but you don’t pull away, and Jumin is beyond grateful. He doesn’t want to eat, doesn’t want to sleep or shower or do anything else when he could be showing you just how much he’d missed you at work today. 

Slightly pressed into the counter, you place your hands back and jump onto it, and he eagerly steps in between your legs to kiss you again. Your legs wrap around his waist and your hands tangle in his hair—a habit of yours, he’s noticed, to mess his hair up. He doesn’t mind. Not if it makes you happy. 

Finally, you pull away and before he can dive back in for yet another kiss, you dip your finger into the bowl next to you and offer it up to him. Without even considering it, he takes your finger in between his lips and licks the gravy off.

It’s only after he registers the taste does Jumin realize how intimate the action is. And of course, he knows that you’re married, that you and he have seen each other absolutely bare and open to one another, that he is literally making out with you in his—in your—in your shared kitchen. He knows that despite everyone thinking that the marriage was rushed and impulsive, this will be a long road, and he plans to stick by you for each and every single step. He knows that tasting something off your finger is hardly the most domestic thing you two will do.

But it doesn’t stop the flurry of butterflies he feels in his stomach. It doesn’t stop him from thinking my wife is letting me taste what she made, because she’s perfect. That’s not to mention how wonderful the taste actually is.

“Good?” you question, with gleaming eyes.

“Incredible.” He takes your hand and dips your finger in the bowl, stealing another taste right after. “More than incredible. The best stew I’ve ever had.”

“I know you’re flattering me.” Leaning forward, you take his face in your hands, brushing your thumbs over his cheeks. Softly, gently, like he’s something fragile that will break if you use any force. “But I’m not complaining. Keep going.”

“Food is always better when a beautiful woman is the one serving it.”

You beam. The butterflies in his stomach do a victory soar.

Jumin Han is in love.

///

Zen has a dream about you. That’s when the problem starts.

He tells it to the group in great detail—it’s not anything romantic or sexual, but Jumin doesn’t see a reason for you to be in his subconscious at all, even if you were just the supposed director for Zen’s dream movie. You’re not any sort of movie director, so the dream is ridiculous at any rate.

It doesn’t stop him from pouncing on you the second you two get back home. You don’t even get to take a seat before he’s pressing you against the door, ensuring it’s locked (the last thing he needs is for one of the security guards to see this and have dreams about you too) and kissing you possessively. 

“Jumin—?” There’s a question on the tip of your tongue, but it cuts off into a delicious moan when he starts sucking and biting all the same spots he knows he left hickeys on during your honeymoon. 

“Spend the day with me,” he whispers. “Just me, no one else.”

An amused giggle bubbles from your throat. “I was already gonna do that, honeybunny.”

Good. That’s plenty of time for him to mark up your neck (and other places) so that everyone knows you’re his, and other people can stop dreaming of you. Already his mind is filled with wicked thoughts, of how he can make you cry and beg and scream today. From the time you two spent on your honeymoon, he knows you can get quite loud if he puts his mind to it.

The only limit is his imagination.

“Jumin.” Your head tilts back against the door, eyes closed as his tongue soothes a bite mark he just made. “Ah, J-Jumin, are you jealous?”

“No.” He is.

“I know what possessiveness looks like.” You take his hand in yours and press a kiss to each fingertip. “You know that me being in Zen’s dream isn’t something in our or even his control?”

“Of course I know that.” He huffs, impatiently fiddling with the buttons on your shirt. “That doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

He kisses you again, and you hum in understanding, sliding your arms around his neck and pulling him in closer. It’s amazing, no matter how many times he thinks everyone would dismiss him for being ridiculous over something like this, you are always there to prove that at least one person wouldn’t. And you taste. So. Damn. Good. 

So why not taste you all over? Jumin hungrily slides his tongue over your teeth, seeking entrance. When your mouth parts for him, he tastes you intimately, swallowing your soft sighs. 

“For the record,” you mumble, out of breath, “I only ever dream about you.”

“As do I, darling.” He pulls you closer still, thinking about how good you’ll taste when he has his mouth on your pussy. “As do I.”

///

This need to prove himself to you extends beyond the sexual—you laugh so much when you’re around Luciel and Yoosung. Actual laughter that is so different from the polite smiles and chuckles that are in response to his own words.

He hates it. He hates it so very much. He wants to make you laugh, full blown and unabashed. As much as he likes making you giggle, he wants to make you laugh so hard that there are tears pouring down your cheeks. And his experience has quite readily set him up for the expectation that if he wants something, he will have it.

And now, what he really, really wants is to see his wife lose her in laughter because of him.

That means it’s time to bring out the big guns.

Right now you’re under the covers, reading glasses on as you flip through a book. The book in question is something from his personal library (when he showed it to you, mentioning a scene from Beauty and the Beast, you had promptly told him that he was not a beast, but that you finally understood how the princess felt in that scene). 

To an extent, Jumin feels bad when he distracts you from work or requests your attention. But he tries to remind himself that if you didn’t want it, you were more than capable of telling him as much. And your reaction to him crawling on top of you with his arms on either side would certainly not be to put the book aside and pull him down to lay on your chest with a kiss to the crown of his head.

For once in his life, Jumin is certain that he is loved.

“I have a joke,” he tells you matter-of-factly, and your brow raises.

“What is it?”

Taking a deep breath, he raises himself up so he can take a good look at your face.

“Hit Seoul, hit Daejon, hit Daegu, hit Busan, hit it!”

There’s a long pause, and your surprised expression slowly morphs into a giggle, then at his grin, a chortle. Jumin laughs first, and then you do too, throwing your head back. It’s single-handedly the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard in his life.

“W-what—“ You’re wheezing now, shoulders shaking. “What does that even mean?”

“I cast a spell on you. Those who laugh are no ordinary souls, for your information.”

“You are so perfect.” The praise catches him off guard, but your body is still shaking from laughter, and in your eyes he sees something like adoration. “How are you so perfect?”

That is definitely not a word he associates with his humor. His status, money, company, business acumen? Yes, perfect, as they were always meant to be. But the little flips in his stomach tell him that none of those things are what you’re referring to. The look in your eyes—he never sees you look at material objects or money that way. He has only ever seen it aimed towards him, and Jumin realizes with a start that there is no need to compete with Zen or Yoosung or Luciel—because really, there is no competition to begin with.

///

Being a workaholic comes with benefits. Everything always gets done. And he enjoys doing business, so there is no negative side effect…other than the lost time that could be spent with his wife. Typing away on the computer he has set up in his study, Jumin sighs, cracking his neck every half hour or so. He’s been at it for hours, but there’s still more left to do.

A soft knock makes him look up. You peek your head in, blinking sleepily and all wrapped up in a blanket. “Sorry to disturb,” in a whisper that barely reaches his ears, “can I sleep here, honey?”

Jumin beckons you in, looking around dubiously. “I’m sorry, I don’t think there’s any surface here you’d be comfortable on. I don’t want you to have an ache by tomorrow morning.”

“Oh, that’s okay.” Your eyes keep blinking closed, as though you’re barely staying awake. All your words are hushed, but you still manage to clamber over to his side of the desk, blanket in tow, and fall onto his lap, burying your face in his chest. 

With a start, he catches you, holding you close. “What is it, sweetheart? You can’t sleep?”

You shake your head, getting even more comfortable. “The bed’s too cold.”

Something indescribable squeezes his chest. Above everything, the pleasure that you would rather seek warmth from him rather than get another blanket is all-consuming. Without another word, he stands with you in his arms and walks to the bed. The second he steps into the bedroom, your grip on him becomes a little tighter.

He huffs back a small laugh. “I’m not going anywhere. I’d just rather you sleep here.”

Pulling out a second blanket from the closet for good measure, he lays down on the bed with you, throwing both blankets over your bodies before wrapping you up in his arms. You sigh happily, legs mixing with his and face pressing in his chest once more.

“Sorry for distracting you.” Now your voice is barely audible. “Mm…you’re just…so much warmer…”

“Can I ask you a favor?” You hum softly in response. “Please never apologize for demanding my attention. I am yours, that includes my body, my soul, and my time. Should you ever need me to sleep and I am in the office, please call me and I’ll come home immediately. I’ll take the jet home if I have to. That doesn’t just stop at my time either. If there is anything, anything, you would like, then all you have to do is ask me. I’ll buy you anything. The world is at your disposal.”

There’s a pause and Jumin thinks you’ve fallen asleep, but then you break the silence, quietly asking, “Is it okay if I ask you for something, then?”

“Anything.”

Cute but glossy eyes peer up at him, and you blink rapidly. “A kiss?”

Jumin places his hands on your cheeks, catching the stray tear that falls. Then he leans in, and everything is right with the world.

///

Ice Prince.

Jumin has no idea where the title actually came from. He doesn’t see what’s wrong with someone having control of their emotions. Is he expected to cry or rage at every little thing? That’s a genuine question. Maybe he doesn’t show much emotion at all, and he should. He’s open to advice.

It shouldn’t even be on his mind. He’s watching a soap opera, and the most beautiful woman in the world is in his arms. He enjoys watching your reactions more than watching the show itself, whether you’re holding back an aww or wincing. Every so often, you look up and meet his eyes, giving him a sweet smile each and every time before placing your head back on his chest. 

Still, he can’t get the article he read earlier out of his head. Has the Ice Prince really settled down? What kind of life does the new Mrs. Han lead? One can only imagine that she does not get many warm moments with Jumin Han. A speedy divorce would not be surprising.

Just the thought makes him tug you in closer, the idea of you leaving never failing to terrify him. He’s gotten better, he doesn’t freak out over you exiting the penthouse or hanging out with friends or working. He’d told himself harshly that he would not drive you away with his overt possessiveness.

But maybe he’s going to drive you away if he can’t learn to show you his emotions and instead continues to be…well, an ice prince, as much as he hates the term.

“Jumin.” You’re pressing a kiss to his throat, breaking him out of his thoughts. “Are you tired, honey? We can go to bed.”

When he looks down, you’re gazing concernedly up at him. He doesn’t feel like a villain when you look upon him like this. And holding you close is not the only privilege he has here. Taking your face in his hands, he kisses you, and you melt in almost immediately. Jumin knows that you’re starting to get sleepy because you don’t make any move to straddle him further.

The man who knows you best—that is what the articles should be about. Doting husband. Family man. Your partner. How could anyone think he was cold or heartless to you?

“Juju,” you mumble softly, not bothering to break the kiss, “we should get to bed.”

Yes, you’re right. However…

“May I ask you a question?” His curiosity and slight anxiousness requires him to make sure. If he’s ever done anything to make you think he’s some kind of robot, he needs to get rid of such behavior immediately.

Your lips quirk like he’s said something funny. “You may.”

“Have I ever seemed…cold to you?” Almost as if to remind you before you answer, he holds your hand, squeezing gently, while the other hand remains on your cheek, his thumb stroking your skin softly. “Since we’ve been together, I mean. Have I ever acted anything like an…” Jumin cringes just saying it out loud. “Ice prince?”

The question seems to take you aback, and you blink a few times. Your eyes—warm, beautiful eyes—first stare at him with a certain confusion, then quickly become infused with a sudden anger.

“Did someone say that about you? Who was it?”

“No one,” he responds, then hastily amends, “there have always been articles calling me that. I just happened to see one today, so it was on my mind.”

Now, you really do straddle him, threading your fingers through his hair. The anger has dulled into a stubborn crossness. With a deep scowl, you kiss his forehead and say, “That is ridiculous. You have been nothing but warm to me, Jumin Han.”

The same warmth you’re talking about spreads across his cheeks, painting them pink, but you’re not done.

“Since when do you care about those articles anyway? They’ve always been inane. Remember when everyone was convinced that you would marry Sarah?” Here you huff, and he hates to admit that he loves seeing you jealous, even if over someone he never even considered getting to know. “And you had to set them straight for them to print anything accurate. Maybe I should give a press statement of my own. Ice Prince my ass.”

“Such language,” Jumin says lowly, already hiding his face in your neck. You’re still peeved, muttering things under your breath as you stroke his hair, angry kisses pressed to his skin in the middle of your rant.

Eventually, you tire yourself out, falling asleep right there on his chest, a common occurrence. He doesn’t mind it one bit, it’s actually really easy to carry you to bed. For some reason, Jumin feels much, much lighter.

///

His wife is a party planner. An event planner, technically, since you’ll take some requests for meetings as well, but it’s mostly parties. He knows that due to your marriage, there’s been an increase in the amount of clients wanting you to plan their events. Even before, you’d said your schedule had always been sporadic, revolving around whatever the current most pressing event was.

Frankly, he shouldn’t be surprised, with how masterfully you pulled off the RFA party. 

He’s more than proud of you, of course. He’s now attended quite a few of the events you put together, and it always leaves him impressed. You’ve confided in him about how you’d like to either switch to a company that exclusively does weddings or start your own, and despite your protests, he’s fully prepared to finance such an endeavor when the time comes.

The only issue about your job, and his job as well, is that your schedules can be sporadic. There are days where you can work without even leaving the penthouse, and then there are days where you are running around and don’t return until 2 AM. Jumin can hardly get upset when he’s taunted the clock with his record times at coming home as well.

Can’t get upset at you, that is. Being upset at the situation is perfectly reasonable. He wants to spend time with his wife, dammit. You’re his favorite person in the world, all the things he wants to do involve being with you.

So when he’s the one who’s arriving at 2 in the morning, he deflates to see that you’re fast asleep, a couple documents and your phone in the bed next to you. How many times has he told you he would set up a separate room for you to work in? Each time, you shake your head and say all you need is your phone and laptop, and you can work anywhere. That doesn’t take into account your health, though. The place you relax should not be associated with work, or it leads to a less relaxing sleep cycle. He once read a study about that.

It might be hypocritical, but Jumin misses you. He wants to talk to you so badly it pains him, and not just longing phone calls that always leave him wanting more.

Loosening his tie, he waits for a second before falling hard onto the bed.

Your eyes flutter open immediately, and in your daze you take in your still-dressed husband. With a sleepy smile, you push away all the papers next to you to snuggle into his arms. “Welcome home.”

“Thank you.” One arm secured around your back, he pulls you as close to him as you can. He sees you breathe in his lingering cologne, and it makes him downright giddy that his scent seems to bring you comfort. “Shouldn’t a loving wife be waiting up for her husband?”

You yawn, throwing one leg around him. “Not when the husband returns at an ungodly time and the wife has an early morning site inspection. Did you have dinner?”

“I did. Did you?”

“Mmh. Yeah. I refrigerated some in a container if you wanna take it to work tomorrow.” 

This is one of his favorite domestic things you do—and he doesn’t even think you realize how much he appreciates it. If it’s between having something from a five star restaurant or having your cooking, the latter will win each and every time. Sometimes he wants to brag  to the whole world, although the most he’ll do is slip how tasty his lunch was today to Assistant Kang (who will almost always respond with a dry, “Glad to hear that, Mr. Han.”).

“I will.” Jumin kisses your lips, smiling when he feels you respond with little effort. “I’ve missed you.”

Your arms snake around his waist as you tuck your head under his chin. Jumin sighs when he feels you kiss his collarbone. “I’ve missed you too.” All he needs is your breath on his skin, or your hands on his face, or your voice filling his ears. It relaxes him instantly. “What’s your schedule like tomorrow?”

“I’ll be in the office all day.” Already he groans, burying his face in your hair in the hopes that it will preemptively soothe the headache sure to form tomorrow. At first he didn’t understand why you insisted on using the same hair conditioner you always did instead of a much more expensive one he could buy for you, but the smell of your hair is so exquisite that now he wholly prefers it (although there is a special kind of tingling in his chest reserved for the moments you smell like him). 

“Same. After my inspection, I’m going to be meeting four new clients, and I’m going to guess they all want priority.” You roll your eyes, carding your fingers through his hair. “Tomorrow is also Mr. Wang’s wedding, so I’ll be back late.”

At his wordless whine, you giggle, kissing his cheek. Then after a few seconds of thoughtful silence, a soft hum sounds from your throat.

“I have an idea.”

///

The click of Jaehee’s heels alerts him to her entrance, and Jumin straightens in his chair, accepting the papers that she hands him. 

“Thank you. Have you eaten, Assistant Kang?”

Jaehee blinks at him once, then twice, like he’s grown an extra head. Then she slowly nods, the surprised expression melting back into her perfectly professional one once more. “Yes, sir. And you?”

“Not yet. I brought a container my wife packed for me.”

“Honey, I don’t think she really cares to know that.”

“I see. She is a pretty good cook if I recall correctly.”

“Everyone cares,” Jumin insists. 

“Excuse me?”

“You’re so sweet, it’s annoying. I want to kiss you all the time.”

“Mr. Han, are you alright? You look a bit out of it—should I call for a doctor?”

“Do it.” He smiles at the papers in his hands. “I won’t stop you.”

“Call…call the doctor?”

“Will you kiss me back, in front of all your employees?”

“Yes. Of course. Whatever you desire.”

“Right away, sir,” Jaehee responds in a sort of strangled voice, and it’s not until he hears the click of her heels again that he remembers she was there. In almost a flash, she leaves his office. 

“What did she say?”

Jumin touches the tiny earpiece that’s been on all day, adjusting it only slightly. “I honestly have no idea.”

///

Jumin hates leaving. But he does, well, what is the phrase? Hate to see you go, but love to watch you leave? Something along those lines, is what you’ve said to him. He’s not sure it applies here, since he is actually leaving to go abroad for a few days, and already he’s looking forward to his reunion with you, but he didn’t expect that both of you would be so needy for each other the night before the flight.

It starts with a few kisses, a pout on your lips that he thinks he can kiss away if he just tries hard enough. Telling you in hushed whispers that he’ll miss you an unfathomable amount. Your understanding on a pragmatic level, and your clinginess the second you both laid down. Both are appreciated more than he can say.

“What if I want to watch a movie with you?”

Kiss. “Just wait a week for me, my love.”

“What if the bed is too cold and I need you to warm me up?”

Kiss. “One week, I promise. No more than a week.”

“What if aliens invade the penthouse and I have no one to protect me?”

Kiss. “Tell them that your husband is going to kill them…in a week.”

For a few minutes, it goes on like this, with you proposing other scenarios and Jumin doing his best to both reassure you and make you laugh. He lays kiss upon kiss to your lips, and perhaps subconsciously, they become more ravenous, demanding. Seeking more. Seeking your conviction on just how much you will miss him.  

“Jumin,” you breathe into his mouth. Jumin, Jumin. He loves how you say his name.

You’re seeking something as well, the warmth that you are so certain will disappear along with him. On one hand, he hates that his princess has to sleep without him at all, especially when she clearly doesn’t want to. And on the other hand, knowing that you’ll be here, missing him so desperately, makes his heart flutter. You’ll miss him. You’ll miss him.

Within moments, you’re on top of him, seated on his lap and unbuttoning the buttons on his shirt. He’s responding in kind, leaving love bites on your neck as he slides your night robe off your shoulders. 

“What if I get lonely?” you ask, more demure than you actually are. “What if I need you, and my fingers aren’t enough?”

His hands press into your hips, hard enough to bruise. You mewl at the slight pain, and he manages to hiss, “I never want your fingers to be enough. If you wait for me, princess, I’ll make you cum more times than you can handle when I get back.” Even if just the idea of you sending him a video or even calling him as you touch yourself was incredibly appealing. Maybe next time. This week, he would have you think of nothing but his own fingers, his tongue, his cock.

And what better way to do that than to remind you how they feel?

“I’ll be gone seven days exactly.” Spoken more to your breasts than you, but he does gaze up at you reverently as he kneads them in his hands. “Maybe tonight I can make you cum once for every day I won’t be here. Would you like that?”

He jerks his thigh up against your core before you can answer, so you nod frantically, mouth falling open. “Uh huh!”

And who is Jumin to ever deny you?

///

The trip right before Valentine’s is the worst. It’s all Jumin can do to finish work before running like a madman through several different stores, picking up this and that. He insists on a different bag for each purchase, despite the clerks gently pointing out that he can put a lipstick tube in the same bag as a pair of heels and nothing will happen, but he doesn’t want to. He would like to see you open every item with a new spark of delight in your eyes.

Usually, he would return late at night, always opting to finish the day’s work and catch a flight right after instead of waiting for morning, because this way he would arrive home, gather you up in his arms as you slept soundly, and then bask in your surprise and delight when you woke the next morning. 

And this time would have been no different if one of the departments had not messed up, forcing him to wake up on Valentine’s Day still out of the country. After five days’ worth of work forced into two hours, a shopping spree and a quick call with you, he nearly takes the wheel from the pilot himself before Jaehee begs him to just sit and try to enjoy the ride home. The rest of the trip, they are engaged in a glaring contest every time she looks up from the video she is watching on her laptop. 

As soon as the door opens, he hears a surprised cry of his name, and then you’re barreling into him—all the bags in Jumin’s hands fall to the floor in favor of catching you and hefting you up in the air for a spin. 

“I thought—“ Kiss. “That you—“ Kiss. “Weren’t coming back today!“ Deeper kiss.

“I couldn’t miss my first Valentine’s with you, my love.” The deepest kiss of all.

The two of you only stop because his bodyguards are coming into the room after him, with more bags. Your eyes widen as you take in all of them, and your sharp mind has already pieced together what’s going on. “Is this all for me?”

“Of course.” Jumin knows that the way you’re latching onto him with such a tight grip is a more priceless gift than anything in these bags. “Why don’t you open everything? I wish to see your reaction.”

And so you do. The makeup, the shoes, the clothes, the jewelry, the books, the decor, all of fine quality and all things well thought out with your interests in mind. With every single item, no matter how big or small, you gasp, or squeal, or simply smile ever so widely. And without fail, you kiss him right on the lips each time.

Jumin is dizzy only halfway into the opening process—he must start buying you gifts far more often if this is the reward he gets.

However, you see beyond just his outward appearance, and you place the next bag he hands you aside without so much as a glimpse at it before clambering onto his lap. Hands on his cheeks, your thumbs smooth over where he’s sure eyebags are forming. “My poor Juju,” you whisper, “you look really tired, honey.”

Honey, honey, honey. How joyful he feels when you call him honey. “As always, you see right through me. I can’t hide from you, can I?”

“I never want you to hide from me.” A sweet kiss pressed to his cheek makes his stomach jump, like he’s a teenage boy with a crush. “Let’s lay down, shall we? We can finish opening everything afterwards.”

Jumin concedes, rising hand in hand with you until you’re both on the bed, curled up in each other. “What a terrible Valentine’s this turned out to be. I’m sorry, my love.”

Your arms wrap around his neck, kissing him slow, soft and smooth. “What are you talking about? You’re here where I can hold you, we’re both off work, and you’ve gifted me more than anyone else ever has or will in my life.”

“Good,” he says, satisfied that he’s set a standard that no one else can ever match for you. “But is that…enough?”

“Enough?” Your tone is incredulous. “Jumin, just you being here is more than enough. I love you so, so much, and I—“ You cut yourself off, slightly backing up as though you’re trying not to overwhelm him (a ridiculous notion, he would love nothing more than for you to overwhelm his every sense). “I cannot believe how lucky I am to have married you.”

This time he kisses you, the idea of sleep slipping further and further away because really, why should he close his eyes when he can only see you when they’re open? Why should he rob himself of the privilege to gaze upon your lovely face and listen to your quiet, soothing voice? Why should he do anything else, eat or drink or work or play, when he could simply kiss you for the rest of his life?

“I love you,” he breathes, pulling you closer because you simply can never be close enough. “Happy Valentine’s, my precious wife.”

///

Of course, the first time your schedule allows you to accompany him on a business trip he’s ecstatic. Finally a week without the headache of returning to an empty hotel room, and instead what will feel like more of a vacation, especially once he completes the necessary work and the two of you can spend the rest of the days lazing by the beach.

Because of the honeymoon, Jumin had become well acquainted with your fear of flying, and had arranged your seats in his private jet to be close together. As the jet takes off, he holds your hand in his as you squeeze, eyes shut tightly for the takeoff. Reassuringly, he kisses your hand, rubbing the back of it while his other hand strokes Elizabeth the Third’s head through the carrier she’s in. 

“Poor Elizabeth,” you manage to whimper, still looking quite pale even after the takeoff is done, “I hope she doesn’t get airsick.”

“She doesn’t,” Jumin reassures. Elizabeth is used to such flights, unlike you. He’d much rather you focus on your own health right now.

The stewardess for the flight comes through with the cart of food and drinks. “Anything for you, Mr. Han?”

“A glass of wine.”

“Of course, sir. And you, Mrs. Han?”

“Oh, um…” You smile sheepishly up at her. “Would you happen to have apple juice?”

The woman blinks once, then, as though she’s fighting back a laugh, says, “Apple juice, ma’am?”

“Is that a problem?” Jumin cuts in sharply before you can answer, glaring daggers.

“No, no! O-of course I can give you apple juice, ma’am, I didn’t mean to offend—“

“No offense taken.” Even nauseous and teased, you smile kindly, eyes lighting up when you have your drink. If he remembers correctly, he used to drink apple juice when he would get airsick as a child as well.

When the stewardess leaves, you lean over and press an apple-tasting kiss to his lips, and he catches a few drops of the juice in his mouth. It tastes yummy, or maybe it’s just the taste of you that he likes. 

Probably the latter. Either way, he’s eager to get this vacation started.

///

“I feel so good that you’re here. Thank you so much for coming. I…never want to let you go.”

…

“I’ve trapped you here, haven’t I?” he asks one night, after he thinks you’ve fallen asleep.

You’re wide awake, though, and he feels your lips on his throat as you whisper, “I’ve never once felt trapped with you, Jumin.”

///

You’re a lightweight, and it’s the most adorable thing Jumin has ever seen. Including cat photos. Including Elizabeth the Third. And you don’t realize just how cute you are, which only makes you cuter.

“Juju,” you whine, when he starts to guide you to bed.

“You have to sleep, my dear.” Almost smugly, he places a kiss to the tip of your nose. “Sleep and allow me to take care of you in the morning.”

The protest you seemed to be ready to fire back morphs into a happy giggle as you throw yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his midsection. “I do like when you take care of me.”

“Likewise.”

For some reason, that sends you into more giggles as you press against him. “You talk so smart like. I love when you use big words.”

Biting back a smile, Jumin raises a brow. “Is likewise a big word?”

“Anything is a big word when you say it.” You kiss him softly, sliding your hands in his hair. You love messing up his hair, almost as much as he loves letting you do it. “You’re so smart. So clever. Your brain is like…” To exaggerate your point, you lean your head away, with his hands on your back to keep steady. “Soooo huge.”

“Not the only thing,” he hums slyly.

“Jumin!” Laughing, you hit his shoulder, only for him to tug you in close, making you squeak. The only downside to how well you two know each other now is that he doesn’t get to see your beautifully embarrassed face, but he still gets some wins when he catches you off guard.

“I’m only kidding, my love.” Watching your lips part for him as he leans in, Jumin kisses you this time, gently sucking your lower lip between his teeth. Let no one say he wasn’t out and open with his oral fixation when it came to you. “I’m honored to know you find me intelligent.”

You beam, nearly blinding him with how brilliant your smile is. “Intelligent, and funny. So, so funny. I love your jokes.” Now you turn your cheek, placing sloppy kisses along his jaw. “And handsome. I have the most handsome husband in the world.”

Jumin, only now realizing the difference between being happy and being giddy and knowing he’s both, can only close his eyes, tilting his head back. “Ironic for you to say, considering no one with your beauty has ever existed before nor will exist again.”

The way your cheeks flush make him realize that he, too, must be quite tipsy. Surely his stomach does not flip so violently just to see how your eyes glow at his praise.

“I love you.” You swallow, and he watches the movement of your throat closely. “Do you know how much?”

He exhales, not having realized he inhaled before. “M-more than is reasonable, I presume.”

“A lot more than is reasonable,” you whisper before kissing him again. This one is different, he can tell. Something more desperate. More wanting. More likely to make him lose his mind.

How does he know? It’s because you’re not just kissing him, you’re also borderline riding the knee he’s slotting between your legs. With a whine, you tug on his collar, as though you want him closer. Need him closer. 

Losing his mind is just the beginning.

“Sit on the couch.” The tone with which you beg makes his already hardening cock twitch. “Please, Jumin.”

He obeys—how could he not obey?—and just the sight of you dropping to your knees to unbuckle his pants has him throwing his head back with a lustful groan. How did he get here? How did he get so lucky? 

You kiss the head of his cock, and Jumin is gone.

When you start bobbing your head, eagerly sucking with your eyes closed in concentration, it takes every inch of willpower he has ever had to not cum immediately, so that this can last. With every slow caress of your tongue, he can feel himself getting lost in his own base senses, every coherent thought fading away and leaving only an animalistic need.

“Princess,” he moans, fingers in your hair. His words escape him in a slurred, barely coherent manner. “I, ahh, won’t last—shit—”

Coming inside your warm, wet mouth is not in the top five moments he remembers when he thinks of his favorite times with you, because he likes to think he’s classier than that, but regardless, he’s never going to forget this.

///

Growing up, the one trait that he was always told to avoid and to find disdainful in others was laziness. There is nothing worse than a person who is not efficient. People who waste time just doing simple tasks are not worth his time, he was told.

But surely, surely, that does not apply to you. (Or maybe it’s a silly lesson in the first place, another one to add the list he has started to garner since he married you.)

It does not apply when you have to get up early for work and you sadly try cuddling with him in the five minutes you have left to remain in bed. Most days Jumin leaves before you, pressing a kiss to the lips of the princess in bed before heading out. Your parted lips in sleep do such a number on him that he has to make sure not to linger too long.

Days where your job demands you wake with him are no less enjoyable, and perhaps even more so as he gets to witness your clinginess. Jumin tugs you to the bathroom, where you close your eyes and rest your head on his chest as both of you brush your teeth. When you finally make it to the kitchen, he seats you on the chair by the counter and amuses himself by watching your sleepy eyes follow him while he makes a quick breakfast.

“Maybe I could eat ‘n your lap?” you ask cutely, poking at your scrambled eggs with a fork. 

“My dear,” Jumin answers, intertwining your fingers to kiss the back of your hand, “I would love nothing more, but you will fall asleep again.”

Not even an argument as you nod with a lazy smile, head falling forward on the counter. “I want to fall asleep again. How do you do this every day?”

“It’s what I’ve always done.” He’s finished with his eggs, so he stands, sweeping your hair aside to lean down and press a kiss to your nape. You squeal, squirming away as he catches you and tugs you to him, watching you immediately give up this play fight and snuggle into his chest to catch a bout of standing shut-eye. “Now come, Driver Kim is waiting to drop us both off.”

You shake your head, clutching onto him stubbornly.

“You can sleep on my lap in the car.”

And he feels inordinately pleased with how fast you move after that.

///

The days that he knows you will be at the penthouse when he returns, there’s always an extra breath in his steps, as if the air itself knows he must return home immediately.

Tonight, for example. He has a whole night planned. The two of you would cook the next thing to try on that list of recipes you printed and excitedly taped up in the kitchen, then after dinner he plans to play some soft music and waltz you around the rather spacious living room, and then both of you could go for a swim in the pool, and the night would end with you dozing off in his arms.

A perfect night. The kind he dreams about, the kind that he never can quite believe are real.

When he opens the door, he doesn’t hear any call of his name nor is he tackled in a hug, which only makes his shoulders deflate slightly. Elizabeth the Third softly mrrows at him from where she’s sitting on the couch. Placing a kiss atop her head, he pokes in to check a few rooms, searching for his wife. 

You’re nowhere to be found. The only place left to check is the bedroom. His sweetheart usually doesn’t fall asleep so early, though.

He opens the door, then freezes in his tracks.

With a couple of candles lit up around the room, you sit on the bed, nothing on except the set of lingerie he ordered a few weeks ago at your request, black as the night sky (“because it reminds me of you”). A few pillows support you as you lean back, eyes trained on him. There’s a glass of wine in your hands, and another on the table next to you clearly reserved for him. 

You take a small sip, and some drops purposefully miss your lips and slowly drip down your neck, down over the swell of your breasts.

“Care to join me, husband?”

Jumin swallows.

None of his plans end up coming to fruition that night, and he doesn’t mind one bit.

///

(You’ve pointed out how the most random things turn him on—when you wear his clothes, but specifically his striped shirts, when you let him buy something ludicrously expensive for you, when you do simple things to take care of him, when you wait for him at home after work, cat ears—cat ears, cat ears, cat ears!—and the rare moments where he gets to see you pissed off.

But he’d only responded how the things you were into were equally as random—seeing him disheveled after a hard day’s work or a visit to the gym, the way he answered business calls simply by saying Jumin Han speaking, what do you need, and every time you’re naked on his lap while he’s fully clothed. 

Shall I remind you how desperate you get, my dear? he growls into your ear. Your cheeks flush, and Jumin reaches for the ribbon in the drawer, even more impatient than you are.)

///

There are other times where Jumin will arrive home and if you aren’t leaping into his arms, kissing him full on the lips as he spins you around or pins you to the wall depending on the mood, you’re sitting on the couch, typing away on your laptop either for your job or for the RFA.

In those moments, he finds himself easily sliding his arms around you and burying his face in your neck, absolutely reveling in the subconscious way you rub his nape and kiss his hair.

Sometimes you both will exchange stories of your day, expanding on something a phone call simply couldn’t cover or something that perhaps you had wanted to say in person to fully soak in the reaction (you seem to particularly enjoy how he insults the difficult clients you tell him about). Other times, there is a serene silence, only broken by Elizabeth the Third’s purring and the clack of your keyboard keys. 

You smell so good, all the time. He wonders if he should be capitalizing on the perfume you use so that no one else can buy it. That way this scent would solely be yours, just like he is. Something about that idea blooms a warmth in his chest.

The best part of the night comes when you finish, closing the laptop and setting it aside before wrapping your arms around him. “I love you,” you say, only for his ears, just like how your lips are only for his skin, just like how your scent is only for his nose, just like how Jumin is only here to be yours entirely. 

///

In the past, when he’s fallen ill, he’s either ignored it or simply just taken the necessary amount of time to recover. The last time he was pampered like this was as a child by his nannies. And even their doting paled in comparison to yours (but then, didn’t everything, when it came to you).

Because this. This, is heavenly.

Every single ounce of your affection is solely for him. Your soup that you feed him, your fingers stroking his hair, your voice sweetly singing him to sleep. Your lips on his forehead, whispering, “How are you feeling, Juju?” 

Granted, because he’s sick, he can’t fully appreciate it without the feeling that his body is turning against him. But it’s worth it, it’s easily worth it.

So, the day that he wakes up with a low temperature, feeling absolutely fine, he still manages to cough pitifully and throw out the word to Jaehee that he simply has to take another day off.

You have a knowing smile on your face, but when he slips his arms around your waist, with his face buried in your neck, you still hold him just as warmly, and Jumin is so, so, so in love with you. Nothing could possibly stand to be better than this. One hand absentmindedly strokes his hair while you type on your phone with the other hand, communicating with someone from work. 

Your phone starts to ring; he only shifts minimally to get closer as you answer it. “Hey, what’s up?”

He can hear the person who called—it’s one of your friends. “Hey! Check your messages, I won that ukulele I told you I would win last time.”

The sound of your laugh is so melodious, he’d do anything to get drunk on it. “Win another one for me, I���ll hang it up in my closet.”

“Yeah, right.” Your friend snorts. “I wish you were able to come. It’s been so long since we’ve been here.”

“I know, but Jumin really doesn’t feel well. I couldn’t just leave him at home alone.” As though your friend can see, you plant a kiss on his forehead. “We’ll go another time, definitely.”

“I’ll hold you to it. Alright, I have to go. Give the husband all my love, I hope he feels better.”

“Will do. Bye, have fun!”

With that, you hang up, resuming the scrolling through your phone and the stroking of his hair. Jumin is still, for good reason. 

You had meant to go out with your friends today. And due to his not-actually-sick state, you had canceled on them.

Hadn’t he told you to put him second to your own self? But he can’t pin this on you, not when he was the one faking. A terrible feeling begins to rise in his chest, causing him to move away from you and stare at you with a guilty expression.

“Is your neck finally tired of…” You trail off when you look at him, furrowing your brows. “What happened?”

“You were meant to go out today.”

A small frown forms on your face. “Um…we made plans, yeah. But you were sick—“

“I wasn’t,” he confesses, ironically sick to his stomach. “I just wanted to take another day off and spend some time with you.”

“I know that.”

“I—you know?”

The frown on your face is replaced by a tiny smile, as you tug gently to bring him back into your arms. “You’re not exactly subtle.”

“Yes I am.” He pouts, still upset but more calm now that you don’t seem disappointed. 

“Honey, the one time I kissed your finger after you got a papercut, you somehow got a papercut on every finger the following week.”

Jumin blushes, but you’re not wrong—he just craves your attention. You simply make everything better.

“More importantly,” and now you pull him into your chest, settling back into the same comfortable position with a kiss on his forehead, “I’m faking just as much as you, because I love it when you do things like this. Why would I complain? I get to spend time with you.”

This is what it feels like, Jumin is certain, to be loved. To be cared for and adored so deeply that it leaves an ache in one’s chest. “The next time,” he murmurs, as your hand finds purchase in his hair once more, “The next time you would like to go out to an amusement park with your friends, please let me know. I can buy it out for the day.” A thoughtful pause. “Or forever.”

Another soft kiss, he’s tempted to keep going, to make more and more outrageous promises just to earn each and every press of your lips to his skin. “My friends will appreciate that. I think the park is already owned by C&R, actually.” You chuckle. “Some fast passes though? I wouldn’t say no.”

Fast passes? He’ll ask you what in the world those are just as soon as he finishes kissing you (something a fake sick person can, thankfully, afford to do).

///

A soft knock on the door. 

“Mother?” He makes sure to keep his voice to a polite volume. “I’ve played with all my toys. May I please come out now?”

Silence. 

Jumin clears his throat, trying his best not to look behind him, just three steps down. It’s dark down there, and he knows it is not logical to be afraid of the dark, but even the logic does little to quell the growing fear inside him. 

“Mother? It…it has been a few hours now.” Fourteen hours, he counted on the tiny clock that ticks a little too loudly in the basement. “May I please be let out? I’m starting to get hungry.”

That’s a lie, but he doesn’t think she’ll know. The truth is he began to get hungry hours ago, and is now close to starving. As if on cue, his stomach growls. 

Jumin knocks again, the dread he feels growing with every second. “Please, Mother, I’ll be good. I’ll play with my toys. I’ll be normal. Please let me out.”

None of it makes any sense to him. In all the books he reads, none of the mothers lock their sons up in the basement. But then maybe none of the sons are as strange and abnormal as he is. They didn’t need to be locked up like he did. 

Still, even if he deserves this, the loneliness is starting to scare him.

“Please.” Childish tears start to prick at his eyes. “Mother? I don’t want to be here anymore. I’m sorry. I’ll do better, I promise.”

The only response he gets is the silence, beckoning him to come back to the darkness where he belongs. With a trembling lip, he turns to face it once more.

The doorknob jiggles.

He whips his head back, not daring to believe it. Is this punishment finally over? 

The first thing he’s going to do after he eats is call Jihyun, ask him if he’d like to go to the park nearby. Anything to go outside, in the light, with other people. 

Except, to his horror, when the door finally opens, it’s not his mother standing at the top, but his stepmother.

“No,” Jumin whispers, stumbling back. He misses one step and trips, hands on the cement floor as he stares, terrified, at the woman. “Please, no. Where’s Mother?”

The woman at the top laughs, a sound that seems to make others happy but only serves to suffocate him further. He’ll choose to stay in the darkness for a hundred more hours before going upstairs to see her. “What’s this? Another woman in your life, Jumin? What a lady killer!”

He shakes his head desperately, as though to tell her that there’s no one, there’s no need for her to get possessive.

It doesn’t work. 

“I’m your mother, Jumi.” He hates that nickname. “Shouldn’t you spend more time with me? You know I love our time together. I know you love it too.”

No, no, no, no, no. He’s on his feet in an instant, scrambling back away from her as fast as possible. His back hits the shelf, no longer a child but an adult, and yet still equally as pathetic.

“Your father doesn’t even pay attention to me anymore. You’re all I have, Jumi.” Her eyes turn cold. “But it looks like you’ve found someone else, haven’t you? You’ve replaced me so easily.”

Now her gaze is focused somewhere else. Jumin follows it, peers through the darkness, only to see…

You.

Relief floods his chest all at once. You are his solace, to hold close and worship. You are the only person to ever understand him, to love him without hurting him. You have accepted him no matter how much he’s shown you that he doesn’t deserve any of your care. As long as you are by his side, he can face anything.

“Jumin.” Even his name sounds so much nicer coming from you. Everything and everyone else seems to melt away.

He takes one step towards you.

You speak again, but it doesn’t sound the same this time.

“Jumin.” Now that he can see your face properly, you look…angry. “Don’t come any closer.”

Immediately, he stops, and that sharp fear grips his throat, squeezing.

“You’re fucked up, Jumin.”

The words spit out of you like a spear, hitting him right in the center. 

It can’t be you talking. You don’t say things like that. You always tell him you love him, that you understand him, that you adore him.

But maybe you’ve just…had enough.

Tears begin to spill from his eyes. You stand before him, his heart in your hands, and you look at him with such disgust that he hopes the darkness in here opens up and swallows him.

“I’m leaving,” you say firmly, “don’t follow me.”

“Please,” he gasps, shakily reaching a hand out. “Please don’t leave me here, my love.”

But you don’t listen. You step up the stairs, grip the door, and with one last look of vitriol, you slam it shut, damning him to the darkness forever.

Jumin wakes with a gasp that’s really a sob, head jerking up and slamming against yours.

“Ah!” You grip your forehead, wincing in pain from your position above him. “Ow ow ow, that hurt!”

Like he’s in auto mode, Jumin sits up, touching your cheek with a terrified expression. “I’m so sorry, my love, let me call the doctor. I’m sorry.”

“No, no, I’m fine.” You wince again, rubbing your forehead. “It’ll probably bruise later, but I can deal with it.”

He hurt you. He hurt you.

But you don’t have any of the hate that your dream counterpart did in her eyes. Instead, yours are filled with concern, and you cup his cheeks with such gentleness that he closes his eyes, immediately melting in your hands.

“Were you having a nightmare?” You kiss his forehead. “You were tossing and turning and mumbling in your sleep.”

As much as he wants to bask in your worry for centuries, it doesn’t stop the guilt that threatens to spill. “I apologize for waking you, my love. And for hitting you. I—I was having a nightmare, yes, but I’m alright now.”

“Jumin.”

“If you’d like, I can make some tea for you to help you go back to sleep—“

“Jumin.” Your lips are on his forehead again. “You’re crying, sweetheart.”

So he is. It’s strange he didn’t realize, but there are indeed tears wetting his cheeks. He opens his eyes to meet your gaze, looking at him so sincerely and with such care that this time he actually feels the tears pour down.

“Oh,” you breathe, brows meeting in concern. Your thumbs wipe his tears away diligently, and your lips begin to kiss every spot you wipe. Jumin trembles under your touch, hating himself for being so pathetic in front of you and simultaneously considering crying forever so that you stay here forever too. “What is it, honey? Please tell me how I can help.”

He wants to. But all he can manage to do is grip the back of your shirt in his hands, bury his face in your shoulder, and sob.

Not even for a second do you let him go. He doesn’t know how long he stays in your arms, seconds, minutes or hours. He cries, and cries, and cries, until his eyes feel swollen. and all the while your hand strokes his hair, your lips kiss his cheek, and your voice comes out in soothing whispers.

It’s okay. 

I’m right here, I’m here for you. 

You have me forever. 

We’re going to get through this.

I promise I’ll stay with you as long as you want.

Even though he hasn’t told you what his nightmare was about, you still somehow know exactly what to say. 

Even when he finally tires himself out, Jumin can’t stand the thought of not being held by you. He’s never felt this safe, this protected, in his entire life. He continues to grip your shirt tightly, breathing in and out, chest heaving. Any second now, he thinks. Any second now, you’re going to pull away and see how awful he is when he clings to you again, like a child.

You do no such thing. Instead, you lean back against the headboard, gently guiding his head to rest on your chest. It’s not the most comfortable position, but he shifts so that he’s sitting curled into you and pulls you forward gently to place a pillow behind your back. This way, he can hear your heartbeat.

And it’s that steady rhythm that makes his eyes start to droop.

But if he falls asleep again, he risks having another nightmare.

“Sleep,” you murmur, kissing his temple. Jumin’s eyes close on instinct. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The promise knocks him right out.

///

When he wakes, you’ve kept your promise, and you’re in the same unfortunate position, head lulled to the side as you snooze. 

An indescribable feeling settles upon him. It’s not just one feeling, in fact, but multiple. Guilt, because he forced you to sleep like this throughout the night. Gratitude, because he’s pretty sure he’s in the arms of an angel sent from above. And most importantly, he feels white hot love, because he has clearly married the only person in this world worth a damn.

And as much as he wants to stay like this, he knows that will surely not bode well for the chiropractor appointment he plans to schedule for you. So Jumin slips out of your embrace gently, taking good care to lay your head down on the pillow. With you picturesque in front of him, he places a kiss on your forehead, whispering, “Thank you.”

“Ju,” you mumble in your sleep. Your hand seems to reach for something, stopping when he intertwines his fingers with yours.

An angel, indeed.

Jumin gets up fully, taking the time to brush his teeth and freshen up before going into the kitchen to whip something up for breakfast. He wasn’t expected at the office until after lunch, so he had time to really make something nice. Chocolate chip pancakes, instead of his usual strawberry.

As he makes the batter, he thinks. Last night was…an anomaly. There should be no reason for him to dream of people that no longer matter anymore. His present is the most important, and his present is, thanks to you, leagues and leagues ahead of his past anyway. He wants to forget it all, forget his mother and stepmother and even Sarah Choi, who, while she hadn’t made an appearance last night, had been in his nightmares more than once, in a bleak alternate reality where he actually married her.

But he knows who he really married. It’s the person whose arms are sneaking around his waist right now. You.

“Morning.” Your voice is exceedingly pleasant, especially when it’s cooed in his ear. “You’re going in late, right?”

“Yes.” He places a kiss on the back of your hand, pressing his lips to each knuckle. “And you, my princess?”

“All from home today, my prince.”

Inwardly, he feels a quick twinge of irritation. “I wish I could spend the whole day with you. I should call out.”

“I’m never going to dissuade you of that.” You kiss him right on the nape of his neck; Jumin shudders. “But it’s up to you.”

“I’ll end up burning these pancakes if you keep distracting me.”

“Maybe that’s what I want.” Your laugh is so pretty, he thinks, and he didn’t think he could describe laughter as pretty before you. “Um, before I get too off topic…don’t you think we should talk, Jumin?”

He knew you weren’t going to simply forget the fact that he had cried himself back to sleep last night. Luckily, before you’d woken, he’d already prepared for such a scenario.

“I apologize for disrupting your sleep. I had a disturbing dream, but it will not happen again.”

For a second, he thinks it’s enough to stop you from asking any further questions, up until he feels your arms slide out from under him. The next thing he knows, you’re turning off the stove before he can start on the next batch of pancakes. 

Then, you’re gently turning him so he’s facing you, looking at you right in the eye. Jumin has seen that look before. It’s way too determined for even his stubborn nature, and it always comes out when you’re about to do whatever you want (a rare delight, given your selfless nature, but one he enjoys every time).

Your hands loop around his neck, and you kiss his cheek. Jumin closes his eyes as you speak softly. “Won’t you tell me what’s bothering you, love?”

It’s amazing that you think anything could bother him when you’re this close, calling him that. 

“Just a nightmare,” he says softly, but you clearly don’t buy it.

“I have nightmares too, it’s very rare that one of them affects me that much after I wake up.”

“A bad nightmare.”

The other version of you flashes in his head again. You’re fucked up, Jumin. But she’s not you, and even though he thinks for a terrible second that you’re going to shove him away, you pull him in for a hug instead, warm and welcoming and cozy. The scent of your nameless-brand shampoo fills his senses—it makes him desperately want to go back to bed.

“Please,” you breathe on his neck. “That’s what you were saying last night. Please, Mother. Please, no. Please, don’t leave me.” 

His hands grip the back of your shirt.

“Please talk to me, Jumin,” you plead. “Please.”

Somehow, he has to keep from crying this time. How pathetic can one man be? But he also has to acquiesce to your request, because you’re you, and he cannot deny you no matter how hard he tries. If you want him bare, you shall have him bare. If you want him destroyed, he will destroy himself in an instant. 

“Alright,” he concedes, trembling.

Not wanting the kitchen, where you and him cook together and laugh together (and a couple other things too), to become associated with these tainted memories, he guides you to the couch, hands holding yours. You promptly get into your favorite position, on his lap with your knees on each side. With a sigh, he rests his head on your shoulder, the fabric of your shirt seemingly smoothing out the creases in his forehead.

Your lips on his skin and your whispered words of encouragement give him a courage he wasn’t aware he possessed. Jumin talks.

“You have not met my mother yet. There is…good reason for that. A week before our wedding, she sent me the profile of a woman she wanted me to marry. I refused, of course. But that is the first time she has reached out to me in years.” He clears his throat. “She and I did not have a pleasant relationship. I think some part of me was very disappointing to her, because instead of giving her the true challenge of parenthood I molded to exactly what she wanted me to be. She recognized that I was…abnormal.”

In the span of a few seconds, your eyes have hardened more than he’s ever seen them harden before. This isn’t determined. This isn’t even pissed. This is raw anger.

“Abnormal?” There’s a bite to your words. “Is that her way of saying she was blessed with an intelligent, kind child?”

“You are kind,” Jumin whispers, cupping your chin to press a short kiss to your lips. “As a child, I was perhaps more robotic than I am now. I took to the world of business rather quickly.”

“You were brilliant, Jumin. Were and still are.”

If he kisses you after your every reassurance, the two of you will never leave this couch (not that he necessarily minds that idea). The more disturbing risk is that he will break down in front of you, if he starts elaborating, not to mention when he begins to talk about his stepmother as well.

But that’s a risk that Jumin can now accept. He understands now, that he hasn’t known love before you, and that there will be a great many times he will feel afraid, but he also knows that there is no one in the world he trusts more. 

Taking a deep breath, he continues.

///

Jumin is addicted—addicted—to making you cum.

The face you make when you orgasm—eyes shut, mouth open in a silent scream, head thrown back—is the most beautiful thing he’s seen in his life. He considers spending eternity with his head between your legs, recklessly licking you to completion again and again.

The sounds you make—God. They have him rolling his hips against the sheets, so close to finishing just from your taste. It’s an obsession now, one that’s been growing ever since you two were married. A stressful day or a bad meeting or even projects being set back for whatever reason, Jumin can get all that frustration out as long as you allow him to spread your legs and devour you. As long as you squeal on his tongue, make a mess of his face, cum on his lips once or twice or more. He only stops when you beg him to. 

He could taste you forever.

But he reconsiders this commitment after he experiences the feeling of you coming on his cock once more.

A choked cry escapes him when he feels your walls clench around him. For a second, he can’t move, too lost in the way your eyes roll back and your nails dig into his skin. It’s the most pleasurable pain he’s ever had the fortune of experiencing.

“Ju-min,” you whine, legs clasping around his waist as he continues to thrust lazily, seeking his own release, “more, please.”

It really is always nice to know that he’s not the only one affected, enthralled and addicted to this madness.

///

Returning home to silence is still better than returning home to the sound of soft crying.

Jumin is on high alert in an instant, not bothering to take his suit or even his shoes off. You’re curled up on the couch, wiping your cheeks aggressively when you catch sight of him.

“J-Jumin, I didn’t hear you come in. Um…” You swallow, dried tears still obvious on your face. “I haven’t made anything, let me call the chef.”

He crosses the rug over to you almost blindly. There’s nothing else in his head, only you—your tears—you’re crying—you’re crying and he wasn’t here. His hands cup your face, wiping another fresh tear that rolls down your cheek as you look up at him, shaking.

“Who did it?” There’s a white-hot anger pulsing inside of him. He never sees you cry. “Tell me who I need to kill.”

A soft gasp escapes you, and you shake your head frantically as he sinks to his knees, taking your hands in his own and pressing reverent kisses to your knuckles. “N-no one did anything—I promise I’m fine, h-honey, please get up—“

Your laptop is set to the side, but the only thing on it is an email draft, giving him no clues at all. The last thing he desires is for you to have to recount that which distresses you, but he wants, needs, to ensure that you never get upset again.

“My love,” he swears, pressing his palms to yours, “please, tell me what happened. Was it something I did? One of the employees in the building?”

You whisper frantically, “No,” but even as you do another fresh wave of tears drip down your face.

Jumin wants to scream, wants to hurt someone, whoever is responsible, but he’s helpless, and so he lets intuition guide him, rising up until he’s next to you on the couch, and he’s pulling you in.

With a firm grip on his suit, you bury your face in his chest, shoulders shaking. In this moment, he recalls the predicament from that night, when the roles were reversed. How you’d simply let him cry, and held him all the while. Is he capable of…can he possibly bring you the same peace you bring him? Could you allow him to comfort you in the same way?

No matter what, he’s going to try. Anything for you.

Placing a kiss to your hair, he tightens his arms around you and murmurs sweet nothings, making sure you hear all of them. Everything from you’re the strongest person i know to i’m here for you, my love, i’ll be with you till the end of time.

“It’s just so much,” you finally hiccup, sniffing, “I’m busy all the time, they dump every project on me, I never get a chance to just take some time for myself and breathe! I’m always on some call, writing some email, visiting some area, I just want it all to stop. And you’re busier than me, and you do it so effortlessly, I can’t imagine how pathetic I must look compared to you.”

“You’re worth a hundred of me.” His voice is fierce, and he meets your eyes with his entire honest conviction. “Nothing about you is pathetic. You…you’re hardworking, you’re talented, you’re brave, and you’re the kindest person I know. I do not deserve you. I’ve never deserved you.”

“Please don’t say that,” you whimper, face still wet. He squeezes you tighter.

“I apologize. This isn’t about me. You need a break, sweetheart. Please, just request a week or at least a day off.”

“Jumin, I can’t—”

“I’ll request off too. Whenever you get a break, I’ll schedule one at the same time, and then I’ll take you wherever you desire, or we can simply spend it in the penthouse, and lay in bed all day. Or I could buy your company,” he half threatens, half jokes.

You let out a weak laugh, sinking into him, but he feels the tension in your shoulders release just slightly. Placing a kiss at the top of your head, he quickly texts for the chef to come by within the next hour, then tosses his phone aside to hold you better, which is when he catches sight of your own phone. On the screen is an image of the chatroom—a screenshot, he realizes, since his own messages are in it and he hasn’t been on the messenger today.

Your gaze follows his, and a slight smile finally forms on your face. “Messages from when we first met. Ah, the day I came to your apartment, I think.”

Oh, no. To put it lightly, those days were not a good time for him (although he’d never say such a thing, because he finds it cruel to say that some of the hardest days of his life included the one where he met the most wonderful woman in the world). Heaven knows what foolish things he’d said, he’s tried to block out most of the times that didn’t include the sight of you in front of him.

“They calm me down,” you admit softly, “the screenshots I have. I’m glad I took them, I have almost a hundred pictures that remind me of all the butterflies I would get when I talked to you. Knowing you’re my husband is the biggest calm of the storm.” Your cheeks are still stained with tears, but in your eyes is a newfound admiration as you and him look at each other, as though you have all the time in the world.

Jumin’s heart seizes.

“I’ll request a week off.” You reach up, a thumb on his cheek. “Thank you, Jumin.”

Surely, he thinks, being needed by you is the best experience of all.

///

“Thank you.” Your voice breaks the silence, muffled on his skin. “For letting me love you, and for loving me.”

Your husband kisses you, impatient as always, and you adore it.

“You’re welcome,” he breathes.

[sherewrytes]

𝔹𝕣𝕠𝕜𝕖𝕟 ℙ𝕚𝕖𝕔𝕖𝕤, ℝ𝕪𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕟 𝕊𝕦𝕜𝕦𝕟𝕒 1

↳ Sukuna x f! black reader

Summary: After the death of his grandfather, Sukuna Ryomen is left to shoulder the weight of his family, caring for his younger brothers, Yuuji and Choso. As he withdraws into grief, his relationship with Y/N, his girlfriend of a year, begins to crumble. When Y/N discovers the truth about his grandfather’s passing during a heated argument, it leads to a painful breakup. Now, both are navigating life apart, but Sukuna’s heart aches for Y/N. Determined to win her back, he must confront his pain and find a way to break through the walls he’s built. Can he rekindle their love, or is it too late?

contents: heavy angst, modern au, 18+, smut, dark romance, drug use, talks of depression and similar topics. (a lil )

fic warnings. ooc, profanity, mental health issues, toxic relationships, cheating, explicit smut, serious drug use, mentions of depression + more to be updated as story progresses.

Please read with proper discretion. this is a work of fiction. all characters are written to portray roles that are necessary to the plot and are in no way a reflection of their canon counterparts.

Chapter Playlist:

Chapter 1: Rolling Stone

The blaring of the alarm cuts through the dim haze of the bar like a knife. I squint at the glowing screen, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. My shift is over, but it feels like the world is just beginning again. The sounds of laughter and clinking glasses fade into the background as I gather my things, the weight of another night spent pouring drinks and avoiding questions heavier than the bottles I’ve been slinging.

What the hell am I doing here?

I didn't need this job—my grandfather left a decent savings, more than enough to keep Choso and Yuuji set for college. But I can't touch it. Not yet. The thought of dipping into that fund makes my stomach twist. It's for them.

It’s always been for them.

So, I picked up this stupid job I hate, slinging drinks for people who don’t care about anything but getting wasted.

“Another night, another dollar,” I mutter to myself, a bitter grin creeping onto my face.

The familiar faces of patrons blur as I head to the door, but the fleeting laughter and boisterous conversations wrap around me, a reminder of the normalcy I’m missing. I should be out there, living it up, but instead, I’m trapped in this monotonous cycle of work and regret.

It’s been eighteen months since Jin died, and three weeks since I lost Grandpa. Shouldn’t I be over this by now?

“Just need to keep my head down,” I say aloud, shaking my head. “Keep the money coming. They depend on you, Sukuna.”

I step outside into the night, the cool air hitting my face like a splash of cold water. The streets are alive with the sounds of nightlife, but they feel like a distant echo, a life I no longer belong to. I light a cigarette, inhaling deeply, letting the smoke fill my lungs, trying to drown out the nagging thoughts in my head.

Y/N…

She’s been my anchor since my world turned upside down. I think about the year we’ve spent together, how she’s become the one bright spot in my otherwise dreary existence. But there’s a heaviness between us that I can’t shake. I haven’t been fully present, and I know it.

“I’m trying, dammit,” I whisper, the words almost lost in the rustle of the wind. “But how do I explain this?”

What if I lose her too?

My thoughts spiral. I’ve built walls so high, convinced that keeping her at a distance will spare her from the wreckage I’ve become. But every time I see her smile, it’s like a reminder of everything I’m not—of the light I can’t give her because I’m too busy drowning in my own sorrow.

You’ve done enough of this pity party, Sukuna. Just let her in. She wants to help. You can’t keep pushing her away.

But it’s easier said than done. Every time I think about opening up, about letting her see the raw mess I am, a voice in the back of my head reminds me of the risk. “What if she can’t handle it?”

What if she leaves?

With a heavy heart, I crush the cigarette butt under my boot and head toward my apartment. I can’t let her see how much I’m struggling. I won’t burden her with my pain. But the truth is, I don’t want to be alone anymore. I’m tired of pretending everything is okay when it’s not. I just want to talk to her, to feel that warmth radiating from her, even if it’s just for a moment.

As I approach my front door, I can see the lights flickering inside. Yuuji and Choso are likely glued to some video game, oblivious to the world outside. I shove the door open, the familiar creak echoing in the silence.

“Hey, I’m back,” I call out, forcing a casualness into my voice I don’t feel.

“Finally! We thought you fell in,” Yuuji replies, his voice full of that youthful energy that’s both infectious and exhausting.

“Yeah, as if. Just needed to pay the bills,” I respond, but my heart isn’t in it. I head to the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of water, chugging it down like it’s the last drop of sanity I’ll ever have.

I should call her. Just see how she’s doing. She’s been so patient with me, even when I’ve been a complete jerk.

I pull out my phone, the screen lighting up with her contact name. My finger hovers over the call button, hesitation creeping in.

What if she’s busy? What if she thinks I’m pathetic for calling her now?

“Just do it,” I whisper to myself, the words barely escaping my lips. “You can’t keep hiding.”

With a deep breath, I press the button, and the phone rings. My heart pounds in my chest as I wait, hoping she picks up, praying she won’t judge me for the mess I’ve made of everything.

“C’mon, Y/N. Pick up.”

After a few rings, her voice breaks through, warm and inviting. “Hello?”

“Hey, it’s me,” I say, the tension in my shoulders easing slightly at the sound of her voice.

“What’s up? Is everything okay?” she asks, concern lacing her tone.

“Yeah, just finished work. Thought I’d check in on you,” I reply, keeping it casual, though the truth feels heavier than I can articulate.

“Just hanging out. You sound tired,” she notes, and I can almost picture the way she frowns when she’s worried.

Always so damn perceptive.

“Yeah, long night,” I admit. “How about you? You doing okay?”

“Better now that you called,” she replies, her words wrapping around me like a warm blanket.

I need this. I need her.

“Maybe I’ll come over. I could use some company,” I say, trying to sound casual even though my heart races at the thought.

“I’d like that. Just… come over when you can,” she responds, and I can hear the smile in her voice.

“Okay, I’ll see you soon,” I say, ending the call.

As I toss my phone onto the couch and lean back, I realize how much I’ve needed this connection. For all my reckless decisions and the way I’ve pushed her away, there’s something about her presence that makes the world feel less heavy.

Maybe I can do this. Maybe I can let her in.

I head to the bathroom to shower then to my room to change, scrolling through my phone I scrolled through spotify and played P5hng Me A*wy/Mike Shinoda and Linkin Park. I pulled out an old band tee from Bring me to the horizon and some ripped jeans. In the back of my draw I see some Xanax in a baggie. I pulled it out and popped one then a half I had from sometime before. 

I should really quit this at some point…..but not tonight. 

As I step out from my room into the living room, feeling a renewed sense of clarity, the front door creaks open. Choso strolls in, his expression a mixture of nonchalance and mischief that immediately puts me on high alert.

“Hey, where have you been?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady, but I can’t mask the irritation creeping in. I left him home with Yuuji, expecting a quiet night, and instead, I get this.

Choso shrugs, the dim light from the hallway casting shadows across his face. That’s when I catch a glimpse of something on his arm—ink, the kind that shouldn’t belong to someone barely eighteen.

For fuck’s sake.

I sigh, the tension in my chest tightening as I stride over to him, my heart pounding with frustration and concern. “What is this?” I snatch his arm, pulling it closer to examine the tattoo. It’s a crude design, something that looks like it was done in a rush, the lines jagged and uneven.

“Where have you been?” I demand, my voice low and sharp. “I left you home with Yuuji. Did you really think sneaking out was a good idea?”

Choso tries to pull his arm back, but I hold firm, scanning his face for any sign of remorse. Instead, I find a mix of defiance and pride that only stokes my anger further.

“Dude, it’s just a tattoo,” he says, a hint of rebellion in his tone. “I wanted to do something cool, you know?”

“Cool? You think getting a tattoo looking like you did it in a back alley is cool?” I hiss, my frustration boiling over. “You could’ve gotten yourself hurt or worse! What the hell were you thinking?”

He rolls his eyes, his teenage bravado coming out in full force. “It’s not a big deal, Sukuna. Everyone gets tattoos. I just wanted to be like you. You’re the one with all the ink.”

I let go of his arm, realizing the weight of my own hypocrisy. But I can’t back down now. “You think I’m some role model? I’ve made plenty of mistakes. This isn’t about me; it’s about you making smart choices! You’re not ready for this—”

“What, you mean you think I can’t handle it?” Choso snaps back, his youthful anger flaring. “I’m not a kid anymore. I can do what I want!”

“Yeah, well, you’re still living under my roof, and I’m still responsible for you,” I remind him, my voice strained but firm. “So until you can pay your own bills, I expect you to follow some rules. This isn’t a game, Choso. Tattoos can have consequences you’re not thinking about.”

Choso crosses his arms, his defiance cooling slightly as he looks away. I soften my tone, fighting the urge to explode. “I just… I don’t want you to end up regretting something like this. It’s not as easy to remove as you think. And if Yuuji knew you left the house, he’d freak.”

Choso’s eyes flicker with guilt for just a moment, but he quickly masks it. “I’m sorry. I just wanted to try something different. I didn’t think it would be a big deal.”

Not a big deal?

I lean against the wall, running a hand through my hair in frustration. “Look, just promise me you’ll think about your choices next time, alright? You’re not just a kid anymore, but you still need to act like one sometimes.”

“Fine. I promise,” he mutters, though I can see the annoyance simmering beneath the surface.

“Good. Now go shower and study and cover that thing up. You don’t need to show that thing off to everyone.” I start to walk back to the couch, but Choso grabs my arm, stopping me.

“Wait.” He looks me in the eye, something earnest in his gaze. “What if you’re not here? What if you get tired of taking care of us and just…leave?”

The question hangs in the air, heavy and charged. I open my mouth to reassure him, but the truth is, I’m terrified of what he just said.

What if I do?

“Listen, Choso,” I start, searching for the right words. “I’m not going anywhere. I lost too much already. You and Yuuji are all I have left.”

“Then stop acting like it doesn’t matter,” he shoots back, and I can’t help but feel the sting of his words.

I swallow hard, staring at him, wishing I had the right answers. “I’m trying, okay? Just… let me figure this out.”

He nods, but I can see he’s not fully convinced. “Alright. Just don’t go disappearing on us, okay?”

With that, he heads off toward the bathroom, leaving me alone with my thoughts once more.

I can’t disappear. I won’t. But what if I keep failing?

With a heavy heart, I plop back down on the couch, staring at my phone. I wonder if I should call Y/N again. Maybe she’d have something to say that would make all of this feel a little less overwhelming.

As I sit there, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m not just fighting for myself anymore. I’m fighting for Choso, for Yuuji, and for Y/N. I need to find a way to hold it all together.

Somehow. I have to.

I plop down on the couch, the weight of the evening still heavy on my shoulders. The faint smell of cigarettes and whiskey clings in the air. 

Jesus, it stinks in here

 Just as he begins to find a moment of peace, Yuuji plops down next to him, grinning as he passes over his lighter and a pack of cigarettes.

“Here,” Yuuji says, his voice light, almost playful.

“Stay outta my shit, man,” I grumbles, though I can’t help but feel a hint of amusement at Yuuji’s carefree demeanor.

Yuuji chuckles, unfazed. “Where’s Y/N? I didn’t see her at Grandpa’s funeral.”

The question hangs in the air, and for a brief moment, I feel the ground shift beneath me. I had meant to tell Y/N about  grandfather's passing—she had been there for me through so much—but the weight of it all had left me feeling paralyzed.

It wasn’t important that she was there…

I shifted uncomfortably, feeling the guilt settle like a stone in my chest. “It wasn’t important that she was there,” I muttered, trying to brush it off.

“But isn’t she important to you?” Yuuji presses, his tone shifting to something more serious.

I fell silent, the question echoing in my mind.

Is she?

I reach for a cigarette, pulling it out with slightly trembling hands before lighting it. The flame flickers in the dim light, illuminating my features for a moment as I inhale deeply.

“Dude,” Choso pipes up from the hallway, his voice laced with annoyance. “You said no smoking in the house.”

I rolled his eyes, exhaling a cloud of smoke toward the ceiling. “Cut me some slack,” I snapped, though I can’t ignore the tiny voice in the back of my mind telling me that I should be setting a better example.

The deep feeling that I’m forgetting something tugs at me, like a whisper just beyond my mental grasp. But then again, if I forgot it, it probably wasn’t important. Right?

Yuuji is staring at me, a knowing look in his eyes, but he doesn’t say anything more. Instead, he leans back against the couch, looking comfortable in the silence that stretches between them.

“Things have been rough, huh?” Yuuji finally says, his voice softer now.

“Yeah,” I replied, flicking ash into a nearby tray. “You could say that.”

Choso saunters back into the living room, arms crossed, eyeing Sukuna. “You really should talk to Y/N, you know? She cares about you, and it’s clear you’re going through something.”

I glared at him, irritation flaring. “I don’t need you two playing therapist. I’m handling my shit.”

Choso raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Handling it how? By ignoring everything? By pushing everyone away? Because that’s not working.”

The truth stings, and I shifts in my seat, the tension coiling tighter. “I’m not pushing anyone away,” I shoot back, though I know it sounds hollow.

Yuuji breaks the tension with a laugh. “Yeah, you are. You could at least let her in a little. She might surprise you.”

The idea sits heavy on my chest. 

Could Y/N really surprise him? Could she handle what he’s been dealing with?

What if she can’t?

I take another drag, the nicotine coursing through me like a desperate lifeline. “Whatever, man. Just drop it.”

Choso opens his mouth to argue, but Yuuji nudges him with a chuckle, and they both fall into an easy banter, leaving Sukuna to his own thoughts.

Maybe I should call her...didn’t I call her…can’t fucking remember. 

But the longer I sat there, the more I felt that familiar weight pressing down. The feeling of forgetting something important resurfaces, and I can’t shake it off.

As the night drags on, Sukuna fights the urge to reach for his phone again, knowing that if he does, everything could change. But at the same time, it feels like he’s on the edge of something—something he can’t quite see but knows is there, waiting for him to make the first move.

What the hell am I doing?

I flicks the cigarette butt into the tray, the embers glowing as it lands.

“Hey,” I said, breaking the comfortable silence, my voice rough. “What if I mess everything up? What if I don’t know how to make it right?”

Choso and Yuuji both turn to me, surprised by my admission.

“Then you figure it out,” Yuuji replies, his tone steady. “Just like you’ve always done. Just don’t shut her out.”

Maybe it’s time to stop running and start fighting. For once.

With a deep breath, Sukuna decides it’s time to stop overthinking it. He picks up his phone, staring at the screen, ready to reach out to Y/N.

This is my last chance...but I’m exhausted right now. Fuck!

Yuuji’s POV

Sukuna's exhaustion finally takes over as he sinks deeper into the couch, his body curling into itself. The low hum of the television fills the room, blending with the sound of his steady breathing. He drifts off, lost in the chaos of his mind.

Meanwhile, Yuuji glances at the sleeping figure of his older brother, a frown creeping across his face. Curious and a bit worried, he reaches for Sukuna's phone, its screen illuminated in the dim light. He unlocks it and starts scrolling through the messages, his brow furrowing as he realizes how many texts from Y/N have gone unanswered.

“Dude, look at this,” Yuuji says, wandering over to Choso, who’s leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed and a bored expression on his face. Yuuji holds the phone out for Choso to see, displaying the countless messages from Y/N that Sukuna has ignored for the past month.

Choso glances at the screen, then rolls his eyes. “Mind your own business, Yuuji,” he replies, a hint of annoyance in his voice.

“Seriously, though,” Yuuji presses, a touch of frustration creeping in. “He’s been ignoring her for so long. What’s going on with him?”

Before Choso can respond, Sukuna’s phone starts ringing, the sound piercing through the quiet. Yuuji’s eyes widen, and he instinctively silences the ringer, a mix of concern and curiosity flashing across his face.

“What should we do?” Yuuji asks, looking at Choso for guidance, a bit of desperation in his tone.

Choso shrugs, his expression unreadable. “Mind our own business. It's not our place to interfere.”

Yuuji sighs, glancing back at Sukuna, who remains blissfully unaware of the conversation happening around him. “But I like Y/N. She’s cool and puts up with him,” he points out, gesturing to his older brother, still sleeping on the couch. “She deserves better than this.”

Choso lets out a breath, his frustration shifting to something softer as he considers Yuuji’s words. “Yeah, I get that. But what do you expect us to do? You think we can just barge in and demand he talk to her?”

Yuuji's eyes narrow, determination hardening his features. “Maybe that’s exactly what we should do. He needs a wake-up call. This isn’t just about him anymore. He’s got people who care about him—people who are worried.”

“Like you?” Choso scoffs, but there’s no real bite in his tone. “You think that’s going to make a difference?”

“Maybe,” Yuuji replies, his voice firm. “But if we don’t try, then we’re just letting him push everyone away. We can’t let him go down this path alone.”

Choso hesitates, the weight of Yuuji’s words sinking in. He knows Sukuna is struggling, knows that beneath the bravado lies someone broken and scared.

“Okay, let’s wake him up, then,” Choso finally concedes, pushing himself off the wall. “But if he gets pissed, that’s on you.”

Yuuji nods, determination burning in his eyes. “Yeah, well, it’s better than sitting around doing nothing.”

Together, they approach the couch, the weight of their intentions hanging in the air. Yuuji crouches beside Sukuna, gently shaking his shoulder. “Hey, Sukuna. Wake up, man.”

Sukuna stirs, groaning as he squints against the light. “What the hell?” he mutters, running a hand through his disheveled hair, still half-asleep.

“Time to get up,” Yuuji says, his tone serious now. “We need to talk.”

Sukuna blinks, confusion clouding his eyes as he tries to shake off the remnants of sleep. “Talk about what?” he grumbles, irritation creeping in as he stretches.

“About Y/N,” Choso interjects, crossing his arms again as he leans against the wall.

The mention of her name seems to clear the fog from Sukuna’s mind. “What about her?” he asks, sitting up straighter, instantly alert.

“You’ve been ignoring her, man,” Yuuji says, his voice firm but compassionate. “She deserves better than this.”

Sukuna’s heart sinks, the familiar guilt clawing at his insides. He opens his mouth to protest but finds no words.

“I don’t want to hear excuses,” Yuuji continues, determination etched on his face. “You need to reach out to her. She cares about you, and you’re pushing her away. We can’t just sit here and watch you do this to yourself.”

Sukuna looks between the two of them, the weight of their concern crashing over him.

Maybe I’m not the only one hurting here.

“I… I know,” he finally admits, his voice barely above a whisper.

Choso steps closer, his expression softening. “Then what are you waiting for? Call her. Don’t let this go on any longer.”

Sukuna glances down at his phone, the screen still displaying Y/N’s name. What am I waiting for?

With a deep breath, he picks it up, the decision weighing heavily on his heart. Maybe it’s time to stop hiding and start fighting for the people who matter most.

Sukuna’s POV

I glance down at my phone as it lights up again, Y/N’s name flashing across the screen.

Not again.

I let it ring, barely registering the sound as I mumble to myself, “I’ll talk to her tomorrow.”

But the ringing doesn’t stop. I grit my teeth, a sense of dread bubbling in my stomach. “For fuck's sake,” I mutter, watching it ring again.

Why can’t she just give me a minute?

When the phone vibrates for the third time, I finally snap. “Fuck!” I answer, irritation spilling over as I press the phone to my ear. “What?”

“Where the hell have you been?” she shouts, her voice cracking like a whip through the line, the frustration palpable.

I wince, already regretting picking up. “I’ve been… busy,” I respond, my tone defensive.

“Busy ignoring me?” She scoffs, and I can practically see her rolling her eyes, her frustration radiating through the call.

This is so typical…

I take a deep breath, trying to calm the storm brewing inside. “I’m not doing this right now, Y/N. It’s not a good time.”

“Not a good time? You’ve been dodging my calls for weeks! What the hell is going on with you?”

Weeks… The word hits me hard, the weight of it settling heavily on my chest. I can’t keep running from this.

“Look,” I start, my voice low, “my grandfather is dead.”

Silence falls on the other end, thick and suffocating. I can almost hear the gears turning in her head.

“...When’s the funeral?” she finally asks, her tone shifting from anger to concern.

“It was three weeks ago,” I reply, the admission tasting bitter on my tongue.

“Three weeks?” she whispers, disbelief lacing her words. “And you said nothing?”

“I'm handling it, Y/N!” I bite back, the frustration boiling over. I can feel the anger and grief bubbling up, the remnants of my grandfather’s absence clawing at my throat.

I don’t want to talk about this. Not now.

Her silence feels like a dagger, cutting deeper than any argument we've had before. “This isn’t how you handle things, Sukuna,” she finally says, her voice shaking.

“I’m not doing this dumb shit with you tonight,” I snap, the heat of the moment overwhelming me. “I’m hanging up.”

And with that, I cut the line, the sound of the call ending echoing in the stillness of the room.

What the hell was I thinking?

My heart races as I throw my phone onto the couch, the silence that follows feeling deafening. I bury my head in my hands, fighting against the emotions swirling inside me.

She doesn’t understand. She can’t know what this feels like… The anger, the pain, the constant ache of losing my grandfather and not being able to show it. How could I have told her?

I lean back against the couch, the weight of everything pressing down on me.

Just give me time…

But as I sit in the dim light, the loneliness creeps in. The silence is heavy, and I know I can’t keep pushing her away. I want to reach out, but the fear of exposing my vulnerability paralyzes me.

I close my eyes, wishing for the chaos to settle, for a moment of peace to wash over me. But it doesn’t come.

Tomorrow, I’ll talk to her. I’ll figure this out.

But as the minutes stretch on, I realize the truth—if I keep this up, I might lose her for good.

Ding.

I sigh, my heart sinking as I open my eyes, dreading that it’s another text from her. I reach for my phone, bracing myself for the disappointment, but I feel a wave of relief wash over me when I see the name flashing on the screen. It’s not Y/N.

It’s Toji.

I’m five minutes away and I got pizza and weed.

I throw the phone back onto the couch and turn to Yuuji and Choso, who are in the kitchen, their heads craned toward the door, eyes wide with anticipation.

“Zenin is coming over,” I announce, trying to keep my voice steady.

Yuuji shrugs, a nonchalant expression on his face. “And I don’t give a fuck.”

Choso snickers, and I can’t help but wonder,

Who raised this kid?

“Yuuji,” I say, my tone firm, “you’ve got school tomorrow. Head to bed.”

He rolls his eyes, but I can see the weariness creeping in. “Yeah, yeah, I know.”

I shift my gaze to Choso, who’s been sitting quietly, but I know he’s been feeling the pressure of finals coming up soon. “You need good grades to get into university, too. Go study or some shit.”

He raises an eyebrow, a playful grin tugging at his lips. “I will, but it’s hard to focus with you two around.”

Great, more attitude. “If you can’t handle the distraction, then take your study materials and go somewhere else.”

“Not a chance,” he says, laughing as he grabs a bottle of soda from the fridge. “Besides, I want to see what Zenin brought.”

I shake my head, the corners of my mouth twitching upward despite my efforts to maintain a stern facade. “You two are impossible.”

The door swings open a moment later, and Toji steps inside, a broad grin on his face, pizza boxes stacked high in his arms. “Guess who brought dinner!” he calls out, the aroma wafting through the air and instantly making my stomach growl.

“About damn time!” Yuuji jumps up, rushing over to help him with the boxes, while Choso just stands there, his eyes gleaming with excitement.

I lean back on the couch, watching the chaos unfold. This is a welcome distraction. I can feel the heaviness of the earlier conversation with Y/N slipping away, if only for a moment.

Toji, pulling out a baggie of weed from his pocket and tossing it on the couch next to me. “Let’s get this party started. It’s been a rough week for all of us.”

Yeah, rough doesn’t even begin to cover it.

But I nod, grateful for his presence, even if he’s a walking headache sometimes.

Maybe this is what I need—just a bit of normalcy, a moment to breathe.

I watch as Toji sets down two boxes of pizza on the table, and he turns his gaze to me, studying my face.

“Where’s Y/N?” he asks, his tone casual, but I can hear the underlying concern.

I stay silent, reaching for the weed instead, the familiar ritual of rolling a blunt providing a momentary escape. As I begin to roll, I feel Toji’s eyes on me, a bead of sweat forming at the back of my neck.

“What?” I finally snap, my voice edged with irritation.

Toji sighs, crossing his arms over his chest. “Guess we’re doing this.”

Yuuji, ever the meddler, chimes in with a grin, “Y/N broke up with him.”

I shoot him a glare, my hands stilling. “She didn’t.”

“Sure sounded like you guys were about to,” Choso adds, his voice matter-of-fact, as if I hadn’t just dismissed Yuuji’s comment.

I lean back, rolling my eyes. “So you’re both minding my business now?”

Yuuji shrugs, that infuriating smirk still plastered on his face. “Of course.” He smacks his lips exaggeratedly, just to piss me off even more.

Toji raises an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. “What happened?”

I take a deep breath, the memory of our earlier fight flooding back, sharp and painful. “We got into it,” I say, my voice low. “She called me out for ignoring her, and I... I told her my grandfather died.”

“To be fair,” Toji interjects, “that’s a pretty big deal.”

“I know!” I shoot back, frustration creeping in. “But it was the way she said it. Like it was my fault I hadn’t told her sooner. I just—”

I stop, running a hand through my hair, feeling the weight of it all settle on my shoulders. “I didn’t want her to worry. I thought I could handle it. But I’m just a mess right now.”

“You can’t just shut her out,” Toji says, his voice steady, and I can tell he’s trying to keep me from spiraling. “You need to let her in. She cares about you.”

“Yeah, but does she really? Because it doesn’t feel like it right now,” I mutter, frustration boiling beneath the surface.

Choso exchanges a glance with Yuuji, and I know they’re thinking the same thing. 

You’re fucking this up, Sukuna.

“Look,” Yuuji says, more serious now, “maybe just talk to her. Apologize or something. She might be pissed off, but she’ll listen. She always does.”

“I don’t know if I can face her after that,” I admit, the confession hanging heavy in the air.

Toji slaps my shoulder, pulling me from my thoughts. “You don’t get to hide from this. Just be honest. You’ve got to get your shit together, man.”

I nod, taking a deep breath, the reality of it all sinking in. “Yeah, you’re right.”

The weight of my decisions looms over me, but amidst the chaos and noise of the kitchen, I can feel the glimmer of hope.

Maybe I can fix this… maybe it’s not too late.

I finish rolling the blunt and take a moment, grounding myself. “Alright, enough about me. Let’s eat before it gets cold.”

Yuuji and Choso dive into the pizza boxes, their laughter echoing around me. And for a moment, the laughter drowns out the noise in my head, the worries about Y/N fading to the background as I join them.

My phone rings again, cutting through the brief moment of normalcy. I glance at the screen and see it's Y/N. My stomach drops at the sight. I switch the ringer off again, desperate to avoid this conversation.

Toji, however, doesn’t miss a beat. He watches the phone and answers it. “Hey, what’s up, Y/N?”

I can hear her voice through the speaker, sharp and clear. “Where’s Sukuna?”

Toji shrugs, glancing at me. “He’s around. Is there something you need?”

I feel the air shift in the room as Y/N’s voice crackles through the speaker. “Tell him to come get his shit from my place.”

My heart drops.

She isn’t doing this right now.

 The weight of her words hits me like a punch to the gut.

Toji pauses, clearly surprised. “Are you sure about that?”

“His grandfather died,”

 Y/N responds, her tone unyielding. “And?”

And? 

The anger surges through me, hot and raw. I mouth to Toji to pass me the phone, but he shakes his head, his expression saying it all: 

Don’t. Just let it go.

“Y/N, you know it’s not that simple,” Toji says, his voice steady but laced with caution. “He’s going through a lot right now.”

“Yeah, well, so am I,” she snaps back, frustration dripping from her words. “I can’t keep doing this, Toji. He’s been ignoring me, and I’m done. Just tell him to come get his things.”

I can feel my heart racing, the anger boiling beneath the surface.

She really done with me?

Toji glances at me again, gauging my reaction. “Y/N, I get that you’re upset, but maybe you should talk to him instead of kicking him out. You guys have been together for almost a year.”

“Exactly! Almost a year and I feel like I’m in this alone. I’m tired of waiting around for him to decide he wants to talk to me. I deserve better than this.”

Does she really think I don’t care?

“Okay, but…” Toji starts, but Y/N cuts him off.

“No, Toji. I’m not going to keep making excuses for him. He needs to take responsibility. If he doesn’t want to be with me, then that’s his choice.”

I’m clenching my fists now, the frustration spilling over. I can’t just let this happen.

“Just pass me the phone,” I finally say, my voice low and dangerous.

Toji gives me a hard look but eventually relents, handing me the phone with a reluctant sigh. I can feel the weight of the moment pressing down on me.

“Y/N,” I say, trying to keep my tone even, but it cracks slightly, betraying my anger. “You really want to do this right now?”

“What do you want me to say, Sukuna?” she replies, her voice steady yet tinged with hurt. “You’ve been ignoring me for weeks. You think I’m just going to sit here and pretend everything’s okay?”

“I’m not ignoring you!” I shoot back, frustration bubbling over. “I’m dealing with shit, and I thought you’d understand. My grandfather just died, for fuck’s sake!”

“Then talk to me about it!” she retorts, her voice rising. “I can’t help you if you shut me out. I’m not asking for much; I just want to know you’re okay.”

“I’m handling it, Y/N,” I insist, my words coming out sharper than I intended. “But you don’t get it. You don’t know what it’s like right now.”

“Then make me understand!” she snaps. “Stop pushing me away!”

I can hear the desperation in her voice, and it’s like a knife twisting in my gut.

“Y/N, I…” I start, but the words fail me.

What do I say?

But before I can finish, she sighs deeply, the sound heavy with resignation. “Just come get your stuff. I can’t keep waiting for you to figure this out.”

“Fine,” I reply, my voice quiet. “I’ll be there.”

She doesn’t respond, and the silence stretches between us like an unbridgeable chasm.

“Y/N…”

But it’s too late. She hangs up, leaving me with nothing but the echo of our argument hanging in the air.

Toji and Choso watch me closely, the weight of their scrutiny pressing down. I want to scream, to lash out, but instead, I drop the phone to my side and run a hand through my hair, feeling the tension coil tighter in my chest.

The weight of the argument hangs in the air, thick and suffocating. With a heavy sigh, I pass my car keys to Choso. “Go pick up my stuff.”

He raises an eyebrow, shaking his head. “Nah, bro. You’re doing that on your own. I’m not getting in that mess.”

I scoff, frustration boiling over. “Seriously? You think I want to deal with this shit alone?”

“Yeah, I do,” Choso replies, crossing his arms defiantly. “I don’t want any part of that drama. You can’t just ignore her for weeks and expect her to roll over when you come crawling back.”

“Whatever, man,” I mutter, pushing myself off the couch. I turn to Toji, who’s watching us with a bemused expression. “I’ll be back in an hour.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, waving me off. “I’ll keep an eye on these two losers over here.” He messes up Yuuji’s hair, earning a frustrated grunt from the younger guy.

With a heavy heart and a storm brewing in my chest, I head to my car. The engine roars to life, but it does little to drown out the chaos in my mind.

 What the hell am I even going to say to her?

[multi-fandom-imagine]

•EVEN MORE THE BLUE EYE SAMURAI INCORRECT QUOTES•

Reader: Do you ever do anything except whine like a little bitch.

Taigen: Some times I whine like a big Bitch!

Ringo: Do you think when Butterflies are in love that they feel human's in their stomach?

Reader: Ringo! What the fuck!

Reader: • • •_-• - / ... - •_• •_• -.-

Mizu: What is that

Reader: Remorse Code.

Mizu: I am even angery now.

Reader: Hey Mizu, what are you eating?

Mizu: A family sized bag of sweets.

Reader...that's not family sized....that's regular sized....

Mizu:Everything is family sized when you dont have a family.

Reader: *whispering* Mizu...nOo

Reader: *Laying in bed* Do you think birds get sad for not having arms?

Mizu: Well do you get sad for not having wings?

Reader: *Choke up* Every single day.

Taigen: If I say I love you will you say it back?

Reader: Yes

Taigen: I love you

Reader: It back

*Five Minutes later*

Mizu: Why is Taigen sobbing face down on the floor?

Reader: I wish I could block people in real life.

Akemi: Restraining order

Mizu: Murder

Reader: What are you five?

Taigen: Yea! Five head's taller than you.

Reader:

Taigen:

Reader:

Taigen:....Please don't kill me.

Mizu: Are you high?

Reader: Am I what?

Mizu: High?

Reader: Hello.

Taigen: Can you be quiet?! I'm trying to think.

Reader: Don't worry. Doing anything for the first time is difficult.

Mizu: WHOEVER CAUSED THIS MESS IS GOING TO-

Reader: It was me...

Mizu: ...Is going to be forgiven because everyone deserves a second chance.

Reader: Why are you on the floor?

Mizu: I’m depressed.

Mizu: Also I was stabbed, can you get Ringo, please

Taigen: I guess I’m just a bad person.

Reader: Nah, you’re not a bad person. You’re a terrific person. You’re my favourite person. But sometimes you can be a real cunt

Reader: Hey Mizu?

Mizu, internally: There they are. My favorite person in the world, the love of my life. Fuck I just want to stare at them and hold them and kiss them for the rest of my life—

Mizu: What the FUCK do you want?

Akemi staring at Reader: “You look like an angel.”

Reader who wasn’t paying attention: “What?”

Akemi: “I said you look ugly at every angle.”

Mizu *screeching*: YOU MEAN A LOT TO ME!

Reader: wh-

Mizu: YOU’RE ESSENTIAL TO MY EXISTENCE!

Reader:why are you screaming??

Mizu: BECAUSE I HAVE TROUBLE EXPRESSING MYSELF! IT HELPS TO YELL SENTIMENTAL THINGS IN AN AGRESSIVE TONE!

Reader: I-

Mizu: I FUCKING LOVE YOU!

Ringo: Wow, it’s a barren featureless wasteland out there isn’t it?

Reader: … Ringo, try turning the map around.

Reader: You’re mad at me.

Mizu: I’m not mad, I’m just disappointed.

Reader: Oh, come on. Everyone knows that’s worse

Mizu: Don’t worry, you’ve got everything you need to defeat them.

Reader: The power to believe in myself?

Mizu: No, a Sword.

Mizu: Stab them.

Reader: Don’t kill me, I have a wife

Assassin: I don’t care about that

Reader: That wasn’t a plea for mercy, that was a warning

Mizu kicking the door down: You called, love?

Reader: Here you are, Mizu. Nice hot cup of tea.

Mizu: …It’s cold.

Reader: Nice cup of tea.

Mizu: It’s horrible.

Reader: Cup of tea.

Mizu: I’m not even sure it is tea.

Reader: Cup.

Reader: You need to react when people cry.

Mizu: I did, I rolled my eyes.

Reader: Gotta love knitting needles, I can make a scarf, I can make a hat, I can stab someones eyes out, I can make mittens.

Akemi: What was that middle part?

Reader: I can make a hat?

Mizu: How much sleep did you get?

Reader: Eight.

Mizu: Hours?

Reader: Minutes. God! Taigen, would you shut the fuck up?

Taigen*Fixing his hair*: What the fuck? I didn’t even say anything!

Taigen: how come you’ve been abnormally nice to me lately?

Reader what do you mean?

Taigen: you just seem nicer than usual

Mizu: They can punch you in the face if you want.

Fowler: I could kill you if I wanted.

Reader: Yeah? So could any other human being. So could a dog. So could a dedicated duck. You aren't special.

Akemi: Did you really have to stab him?

Reader: You weren't there, you didn't hear what he said to me.

Akemi: And what did he say?

Reader: "What are you gonna do? Stab me?"

Mizu, nodding: That's fair.

Akemi: NO!

Reader: *Screams*

Taigen: *Screams louder to establish dominance*

Ringo: Should we do something?

Mizu: No, I want to see who wins.

Ringo:Let's speak about our talents.

Ringo:...I'll start, I like to cook.

Akemi: I'm good at languages.

Reader: I'm good instruments.

Mizu: I'm good at killing people.

Reader: *Does something stupid*

Mizu: What an absolute fucking idiot.

Mizu: I can't believe I would die for them.

[oksurethisismyname]

Trans!masc Sanji who spent years dreaming about having a baby, despite the body dysmorphia he knew he would risk.

Sanji who spent his whole life dreaming of starting a family, planning to be a better father than his shitty sperm donor and to also be a bit more gentle than Zeff. Sanji who knows his calling (after being a chef and finding the all blue) is to give love unconditionally. He gives love to so many, people constantly say he’s going to make a great father and he believes it.

Sanji who has the most difficult pregnancy. Everything hurts, standing for so long in the kitchen sucks, his ankles are sore, he’s not allowed to spar anymore, he’s not able to wear a binder anymore, but he knows, he just knows that he was born to be a parent, that one of the best things he could do in his life is to raise a child with his marimo (IM A ZOSAN FAN I CANT HELP IT)

Sanji who finally FINALLY goes into labor and has the baby, everything goes as smooth as it can… so why doesn’t this baby feel like HIS baby? Why does it feel like he’s babysitting someone else’s kid? Wasn’t he supposed to feel some instant bond, some overwhelming love? He can’t sleep more than 2 hours at a time without waking up in a cold sweat and rushing to check the baby is alive, only to desperately wish he could just go back in time and not have to do this anymore.

Nami and Robin who get together and make padcicles for Sanji post partum and hold the baby so he can just make himself a cup of tea and breath.

Brooke who plays soothing lullabies for the baby and does his best to drown out the cries so Sanji doesn’t wake up from a nap.

Franky and Usopp who create a bassinet that gently rocks the baby to sleep if it detects motion or crying

Jimbei who is so big and squishy and does contact naps with the baby so Zoro and Sanji can have a nap just the two of them

Luffy who is a human weighted blanket, grabbing Sanji and forcing him to listen to affirmations of how he IS a good dad, he loves his baby even if his brain is being dumb, no baby is as lucky as his baby is and no baby has a better set of dads

Zoro who holds his partner while he cries, reassuring him that it’s ok to feel this way, that this isn’t some Vinsmoke thing, it’s a “you just had a baby and your body and brain are totally different now”

Sanji who suffers from severe post partum depression and anxiety but has an entire crew to uplift and support him as he heals

Sanji who wakes up one morning, turning to Zoro and says “I think I finally feel like myself again”

[dsireland86]

Requesting Noah x reader where the reader experiences post partum depression after giving birth to their newborn baby girl.

Post partum depression is no joke and something so many women, including myself, have had to deal with. I wish it on no new mom. But, when you have a good partner who supports you entirely, it makes all the difference🥰

PostPartum

Tag list: @philomenie @supersquirrel1996 @foliosgirl @angelmarie89 @fadingintothegrey @thisbicc @lma1986 @dominuslunae @shayzillaaaa @mrsnoahsebastian @flowery-mess @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning @stardustsirenmelody @romanreigns-supreme @anything-more-than-human @into-the-grey @rumoured-whispers @myownthoughts12 @sister-sebastian @nyxthedestroyerofworlds-deactiv @missduffsblog @bngurngheart  @somebodyllelse @xxkittenkissesxx @fadingangelwisp @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard

I held her in my arms like she was the most valuable thing in the world. To me she was. She was my daughter. She was the best part of me and her mother put together, a treasure created out of pure love.

I looked over at my wife, watching as she delivered the remaining proof of her pregnancy, feeling nothing but pride and respect for her. What I had just witnessed in the last thirteen hours was nothing short of an absolute miracle.

I had no idea how difficult it was for a woman to give birth until now. The strength and resilience I saw in her made me see her and all women in a whole new light. It was an indescribable yet incredible feeling.

She looked up at me, smiling her beautiful yet exhausted smile. She looked completely different now; she was a mother. I grinned back, offering her our daughter and gently laid her on her chest when she said yes.

"Noah, she has your nose and your eyes," my wife gushed, kissing our little girl's rosy forehead.

"She really does, doesn't she?" I marveled, unable to hide my grin. I kissed my wife's forehead, praising her over and over for what she went through for us. I had what I'd always wanted. I had my family.

Days after we came home were a struggle. The nights were sleepless, the days exhausting. The constant feeding and changing diapers was a lot of work I wasn't prepared for. But neither was my wife.

She started crying more than usual. At first, it was simple little tears, but then there were days where those tears lingered all day and sometimes into the night, too. They would lead into spurts of her doubting her ability to be a mother and caring for our baby the way she needed to be cared for.

That's when she would say things like, "Our daughter does better when I'm not around. Maybe it's for the best", or "I just want to disappear. All of this is too much."

I knew she was exhausted, not mentally prepared for any of this, so I did my best to help take the burden off her shoulders, hoping it would help. Sometimes it did, but most of the time I think it only made things worse.

A few weeks went by, and things began to mellow out some; with our daughter at least. We got into a routine and a schedule of sleep, making the nights more bearable.

But my wife would still have her spouts of irritability, sometimes waking up and starting things for no reason. It was usually over little things like dishes or clothes, but then it started to become bigger. She accused me of not being home enough and not helping out enough which would always end with her falling apart and crying again. It broke me.

I didn't know what to do, except hold her and tell her everything was going to be okay, even though I wasn't so sure.

I would watch her during feedings and how she seemed distant from our baby, looking away, never making that mother to baby eye contact I read about in the "What to Expect When Your Wife is Expanding" book Jolly bought me for my first "father's day". She was physically there, but not mentally.

Days after our daughter turned a month old, I came home to find her sitting on the couch in the living room, staring into nothing. She had the most distant spaced out look on her face, her eyes completely void of anything.

"Baby, are you alright?" I gently shook her. She finally snapped out of whatever daze she was in, shaking her head.

"Noah," smiling weakly at me.

"Baby, I'm really worried about you. You're not looking or acting like yourself," I finally admitted to her.

"I feel okay," she said weakly.

"When was the last time you ate?" I brushed some loose hair out of her eyes, running my hand down her cheek.

She thought for a moment then shrugged.

"Come on, I sighed, taking her hand and pulling her towards the kitchen. That's when the baby monitor went off, signaling our little girl was awake.

"Why don't you go get her, and I'll make us something to eat." My wife shook her head.

"No, you get her. She wants her daddy."

Letting go of my hand she made her way into the kitchen, leaving me in a bit of shock. I thought this was the worst of it, but I didn't know how much worse it could get.

Sex was out of the question. Not just for the first six weeks of course, but even past that. She closed herself off to me, not wanting me to touch her or be around her. It got to the point that she was sleeping on the couch and whenever I came into the room she would leave. I didn't understand any of it.

I eventually had to stay home from the studio and recording with the guys, having everyone bring everything to my house because I was too scared to leave her and the baby alone. Something was off with my wife, and I couldn't figure it out. I was taking it personally, thinking that the end of us had come and what was meant to be the happiest time in our lives was now becoming the hardest and most hurtful. I was done. I couldn't go through with it anymore.

One night, after our little one fell asleep after her feeding, my wife laid her in her bassinet then turned to leave the room.

"Don't leave. Please. Just stay with me for a minute," I asked, trying not to sound too desperate.

She turned and looked at me with tears in her eyes.

All the color was gone from her beautiful face, her complexion dull. Her hair, normally shiny and in her wavy ponytail, was unkept, piled high on the top of her head in a messy bun. Her sleep clothes were the same ones she'd worn for almost a week.

This was nothing but a shell of my wife and it killed me seeing her this way.

"Come sit with me, baby, please," patting the bed next to me. At first she hesitated, but then, surprisingly, she came and partially sat on the bed.

I tucked her hair behind her ear, smiling at her when she looked at me so sadly. I leaned in to kiss her, slowly so as to not startle her, and felt relieved when she kissed me back. Her hands found the back of my neck, twisting the longer pieces of hair at the nape of it. Her touch sent shivers down my spine. I was longing for her in ways I didn't even realize.

"I miss you," I confessed, placing my forehead to hers and holding her head between my hands.

"I know," she sniffed and I wiped away the tears that slid down her cheeks with the pads of my thumbs.

"I miss you, too, Noah."

"Then talk to me," I whispered, "tell me what you're feeling. Even if you can't make sense out of it. Just tell me anyway. I'll listen."

And she did.

I ran a hot bubble bath and for the first time in months I held my wife's beautiful naked body against mine, listening as she told me everything she had been going through.

I washed her hair, scrubbed her back, and helped her shave her legs, and in return, she gave me the best sex I'd had in a while.

Watching her face as she came on my cock buried up inside her made me cum, the feeling taking us both to a higher place we hadn't been in a while. It was euphoric.

Once out of the bath and fully dressed, she checked on our little angel still fast asleep, and for the first time since we brought her home, I watched the brightest, sweetest smile grace my wife's face as she looked down on her. It made my heart swell with joy.

We discovered that night, after some slight research that what she was experiencing was called postpartum depression.

It's something most new mother's get, some more extreme than others. We weren't throwing all our eggs into the basket of self diagnosis, but she promised to call her doctor the next morning and schedule an appointment.

Seven months old. Time flies when you're having fun. I watched my wife as she attempted to feed our angel sweet potatoes for the first time. Surprisingly, she liked them. A quarter of the jar later and we had a happy, sleepy little baby.

I cleaned her up and handed her to mama as she willingly and lovingly took her and cradled her just the way she liked it. With some warm milk, a soft blanket, and mama's arms, our little girl was out like a light.

My wife looked up at me, smiling brightly. She was herself again and there was no better feeling than to see her return. With a mild medication and a little therapy, postpartum depression slowly made its way out of our lives, restoring to me the woman I loved.

She apologized, over and over, time and time again, but I always reminded her there was nothing to apologize for. None of it was ever her fault.

"Thank you for sticking it out with me, Noah. Thank you for not running away."

I took her hand and kissed it, rubbing her growing belly carrying baby Davis number two. Now that we knew what to mostly expect, this little gem would be easier to handle.

"For better or for worse, Princess. You've got me and them, forever."

[themusingsofacurlyhairednerd]

In Love and War (8)

Summary: The aftermath of all her family secrets might be more chaotic than Reader bargained for when her powers suddenly start to flare. Good thing her Warlord has more than a few ideas how to help navigate it ;)

Content Warnings: Depressive thoughts, Reader mentions wanting to die; Suggestiveness, Slight SMUT; Canon Typical Violence

Author's Note: To make up for the last chapter being so short, please enjoy that flirty little bastard being a menace! ;)

Chapter 7/Masterlist

---------------

I don’t sleep at all that night. I lay there, Rhysand sleeping soundly beside me, exhausted from the events of the last couple of days. He’d barely kept his eyes open long enough to eat. I’d barely managed to choke down a few bites myself. The guilt has my stomach in a perpetual knot. I’ve dedicated so much of my life to hating this male, only to be wrong about all of it, and now I’m in too deep to even do anything about it.  I can’t go home. There is no home to go back to. My family slaughtered an innocent mother and daughter. Rhys received their heads in boxes like some sort of twisted gift. They were supposed to be allies and my father betrayed them in the worst possible way. He paid for it with his life, with my mother’s life; it should have been the end of it. Tamlin was given a mercy and he should have taken it. He should have abandoned my father’s teachings and become a better lord, a better man. Instead, he perpetuated the cycle of abuse and suffering. He encouraged me to hate these people, to covet everything they had as if they were undeserving of it. All these years I loathed our miserable existence thinking the Mother hated us and was being unjust in giving these people all these things that we were never allowed. But we deserved it! We were the bad guys all along.

I roll over onto my side to look at him. He still sleeps in his armor, knife still strapped to his thigh, sword resting against the tent pole only a foot away. He’s ready to be up and fighting in a moment's notice. Our father’s were so similar, and yet, he turned out to be merciful and kind and somehow, so startlingly gentle that I often forget he’s still capable of intense prowess. He is the only male I’ve ever truly felt comfortable with, because that gentleness came as a response to the violence he’d seen, not because that violence was never there. He’d felt the cold sting of it, and chose to be something gentle instead of returning it.

And here I am, with all that righteous anger that had kept me warm on my coldest days, choosing to return all the violence that had been inflicted on me onto others. Just as Tamlin did. Just as my father did. 

And looking at it I don’t want to be him. He ruined my mother! He took something good and kind and locked it away and used her for his own ends! I don’t even know if he ever really loved her. Why would you keep the things you love in a cage?

I sit up abruptly. Maybe he was as scared of being alone as I am. 

I can’t sit in this tent anymore! I can’t-

Rhysand jolts awake as soon as I move, hand twitching for his knife, shadows swirling off his body in response to what his sleep muddled mind thinks is a threat. “What’s wrong?”

I put a hand on his chest, spinning onto my knees so I can kiss his forehead. “Nothing, I just need to relieve myself.”

He lets me push him down onto the mat, body relaxing and pliant beneath my touch. “You sure?”

“Positive.” If he tried to follow me out now I think I really might explode. My stomach feels like it's ripping itself apart. My bones ache, my skin feels like it's stretched too tight over them. There is too much nervous energy bound inside my body. I just need to get out and stretch my legs; get some fresh air and clear my head. I will be fine if I can clear my head.

“Take your knife,” he says, eyes already drifting shut again. 

I strap it to my thigh as I slip from the tent, gulping down lungfuls of crisp, mountain air as I go. I just need to clear my head. Is finding a way to survive this fucked up world really me acting like my father? I’ve never killed innocent people. I’ve never withheld necessities or lorded my power over people. I’m just not being honest about my intentions. It’s shitty. I’m using a mating bond I’m still not wholly sure is real as a means to getting food and shelter and, hopefully, a decent helping of mind blowing sex.

Cauldron that sounds really, really fucked up.

But how am I supposed to tell him? Hey, I know that you really don’t like my family and they’ve done nothing but screw you over but I also accepted your offer to try and ruin your life and take all of your land and kinda only just changed my mind about it yesterday. And it would be really super cool if you just let that slide because I have nowhere else to go.

That would go over soooooo well. He’d be totally fine with it! 

I ground my palms into my eyes as I walk behind a couple trees to at least make it look like I really did need to go pee. There are men on guard duty, no doubt someone is going to see me wandering around camp.

My brain feels like it’s being squeezed by my skull. There has to be a way to go about this that doesn’t get me tossed out into the coming snow, while also not lying so deeply about it. I do care about him. It was a lie at first but now…

I put my back against the tree and slide down until I’m sitting on the rocky ground, head still in my hands. I don’t know if he’s my mate. There’s something there, I feel it pulling at me, even now, but I can’t give it a name. And I want to be here. Not just because of the story he’d told yesterday. When Lucien tried to get me to leave, I really didn’t want to go back with him. But how am I supposed to live with the truth? How am I supposed to look at him and see that he wants this so much more than I do, despite everything?

Actually, why does he want this, despite everything? He’d asked me why I stayed. I never asked him why he brought me here. There’s certainly enough bad blood between our families to make even a mate hesitate to bring me in.

I lean back against the tree, the rough scrape of the bark against my aching skin a relief. My body feels so strange, being around Rhysand’s magic has made it feel like there’s something beneath my skin.

Tomorrow, in the morning, I will ask him why he still brought me back. Then I will decide what to do. 

------

He certainly doesn’t make asking him easy. Rhys wakes me up with his lips on my throat, along the fading marks he’d left a couple days before,  trailing them down as his hands hike up my sweater. The heat of him against the early morning chill has my resolve slipping, all my plans slipping through my fingers as he runs his tongue over my peaked nipples.

I can’t think past the roaring in my ears; the ache in my body for more, more, more. There is nothing and no one but him as he trails lower, each kiss more forceful than the last as he heads for the waistband of my pants.

“Rhys,” I moan, voice still thick with sleep, even as my body arches under him. I want him everywhere. I need him everywhere. The stirring feeling beneath my skin is worse today, only quelled by the trail of his hands on my body. For once, my racing thoughts are quiet. If only we could stay like this. 

“Hmmm,” he hums into my stomach, just beneath my navel. There’s a bit of stubble along his jaw, the scrape of it against my oversensitive skin makes my eyes roll back into my head. “Did you want something, mate?”

“You,” I groan, hand reaching out to tangle in his hair to try and move him where I need him. 

He grins, I can feel the upturn of his lips against my stomach, but he refuses to budge. Just nips at the skin visible above my waistline. “You have me.”

Bastard! My whole body trembles beneath him. I can’t get a breath down fast enough. I need him everywhere all at once. “Need you inside me,” I bite out.

He simply hums again, hands tugging at my waistband with an inhumane slowness that makes me feel like I’m going to burst out of my skin. I use the hand not in his hair to grip the mat, trying to ground myself, trying to find some semblance of control again. I’m gripping so tight my bones ache, fingers feeling like they’re breaking. There’s a tearing sound, a pricking sensation in my palm and then a gush of something wet across my hand. 

Even he looks up at that, and when I turn to look, I’m more than a little surprised to find that I’ve grown claws, and I’ve just tore them right through my hand!

“Shit!” He’s gone from between my legs in an instant, all the heat in my body leaving with him. 

I can’t unfurl my hand. Can’t retract the claws, they’re stuck through my palm with my fist closed around it. I’ve only ever grown them in anger, how the hell had I done it now?

Rhysand comes back with a towel as I manage to sit up. “I thought you smelled different this morning,” he muses.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” I hiss.

“Our magic can be protective. It can hide itself if it doesn’t feel safe. I don’t think you were born with too little, I think you were born with too much.” His fingers massage my wrist, trying to find the right pressure points to help me unclench my fist. “I think that it buried itself inside you to keep you safe. And I think, now that you’re here, it’s manifesting, and like the wards, it has its own scent.”

Fan-fucking-tastic!

“Well I’d like it to un-manifest,” I hiss. “I was doing just fine without it!” There’s blood dripping through the towel, if anything it feels like my claws are burrowing deeper into my palm. I can practically feel them trying to tear right through the back of my hand.

He can’t seem to find the right spot and trying to pry my fingers out of my palm is a no go. He frowns, lifting the towel for a better look. “I’m gonna try something.”

I’m prepared for a blow from his own magic, some form of glittering starlight or shadowy darkness, I am not prepared for him to kiss me again. The sound I make in surprise is somewhere between a growl and a gasp because what the hell is he doing? But even though my head is struggling to catch up, my body is not. On instinct, I lean back to allow him better access, his tongue slipping behind my teeth. The rolling feeling beneath my skin lessens, the tightness in my palm slowly releasing. I thread my functioning hand through his hair as my body gives what I can only describe as a sigh of relief. A moment later, the claws retract and I can finally unfurl my fist.

“Flair ups can be heavily tied to your emotions,” he says, lips barely off mine. “Probably wasn’t the best idea to tease you in the middle of one.” 

It takes him all of thirty seconds to find some rags and tie up my hand, even though the blood flow is already lessening. All I can do is stare at it while he does it. This is certainly a new and unwelcome development to this whole mess.

“Is that going to keep happening?”

Azriel pops his head into our tent, unannounced as usual. “Are you two done in here or what? I, personally, cannot live with Cassian if he beats us around the mountain.”

“We’ll be right there,” Rhysand huffs.

“I’m seeing a trend with him,” I mutter. 

He smirks, “It’s one of Azriel’s many charms.” 

He helps me to my feet, holding onto me like he thinks something else might just burst out of my skin. Truth be told, I can still feel something shifting around, a prowling animal begging to be released from its cage. I’d thought it was my unease this whole time, but maybe it’s worse than that. 

“We don’t know how deep your power well is,” Rhysand says. “And if it’s never fully manifested…” He blows out a breath. “When mine first started manifesting, I shredded a whole section of camp with starlight. There was a whole twenty-four hour period where my shadows blocked out the sun. And you’re my equal so, yes I think that will keep happening.”

Cauldron boil me!

“As long as you remain calm, it shouldn’t be too bad.”

“I should think you would know better than to tell a female to be calm, Rhysand.”

He grins, “Well you can also spend the day making out with me, since that seems to be such a lovely little distraction with you.”

I go to hiss an insult at him but the only thing that comes out is an actual, animal-like growl. I clamp a hand over my mouth in embarrassment while he bursts out laughing. 

“This is going to be fun!” He declares.

I am not at all inclined to agree.

----

I only manage to ride with him for an hour or two before the pull of his magic makes my skin start to itch. He was right about magic having a scent. Half way through the hour I suddenly become very aware of the jasmine scent of him. It’s everywhere. In every breath. Every brush of his chest against my back, every movement of his hands along the reins. My body is hyper aware of every place we do and don’t touch.

“Getting all worked up again, aren’t we?” He purrs in my ear.

My jaw feels like it’s snapping as a set of fangs tear through my gums, spurting blood into my mouth. Somehow his magic is the catalyst for my transformation and the balm all in one. I can’t be near him and I can’t be away from him, as I soon learn. When I jump off the horse and declare I’m going to walk beside him, my claws return, in both hands this time. At least they shoot out my nail beds and not my knuckles like Tamlin’s.

The thought of him makes another growl rumble through my chest and something that feels suspiciously like fur sprouts from the back of my neck.

“Wouldn’t recommend,” Rhysand warns.

The itchiness of my skin is even worse on the ground. I feel the wards tugging at me like I’ve been tied to the glittering magic that builds them with a string.  The jasmine and overripe fruit scent of them is enough to make my nose crinkle. Apparently the transformation heightens my senses as well.

“I’m gonna tear off my skin,” I snarl, fidgeting with my collar. Why is it so itchy? Is it supposed to be like this?

He slows his mount to keep pace with me and I do not miss the grumbled complaints of the males behind us. My ears twitch every time one of them speaks, the sound sometimes like a shout and others like a far off echo.

“Breathe,” he says gently. “The more worked up you get, the worse it will be until we can find a way to safely expel it.”

I draw a shaky breath, then another. 

“Good girl.”

A shiver works its way up my spine at that.

“Now come here,” he leans so far out of the saddle he’s only holding on with his thighs, and my first thought is how we can get this little caravan to pause so I can be the one beneath him. He gets an arm around my waist and hauls me back up onto the horse and damn if that’s not the hottest thing I’ve ever seen a male do!

“Let’s get these wards up-” I’m hyper-aware how every word rumbles through his chest, the way his body shifts on the horse. “-And we’ll find a place to camp soon enough, then you and I can work on this.”

“Make it stop,” I gently beg. “I don’t want it!” The itch beneath my skin is becoming unbearable! My claws scratch up my arms, tearing up my sweater. 

His free hand covers mine, intertwining our fingers, even as the horse begins to move. “Focus on me.”

I focus my attention on the way his body molds against mine. The way the leather of his glove slides over the back of my hand. I let my eyes drift shut, focusing on the brush of his chest against mine, the swaying motion of his hips as the horse moves over the rocky terrain. It’s not enough. Not like the feel of his lips on mine had been this morning. As if he knows it, he drops his head against my shoulder, nose brushing over the exposed skin of my throat. 

“I’m right here,” he continues. “Focus on me, just like you did this morning.”

This morning there had been a lot less clothes between us. 

“Breathe for me.”

It is a physical effort to draw a deep enough breath in; another to pull my claws away from my itching skin. He settles our joined hands against my stomach. 

“Again.”

I manage to do what I am told, just barely. 

“Good. Just like that.” His voice makes a shiver run down my spine as my mind spins with all the other things I want him to talk me through. I think I could do just about anything if he explained it to me in that rich, husky voice he was using in my ear. “Part of learning to control it is finding your center. Find a safe mental space to retreat to.”

“Like what?” There are few places in the world I have ever felt safe. Thinking about how I used to sit in the rocking chair with my mother and listen to her stories only fills me with pain now. Or perhaps a couple weeks ago I might have thought about all those summers I spent at the creek with Lucien, but now it only makes the thing beneath my skin rumble and shake like there’s some sort of animal that lives caged beneath my ribs and is trying desperately to break free. What makes me feel safe?

“A good memory, a happy time,” he lists. 

I have nothing. My eyes start to water and my throat starts to close, talons growing longer and sharper at my fingertips. I feel the give of my leather chest-piece beneath them. Everything good in my life has been a lie! Everyone that was supposed to protect me only ever hurt me in the end. None of it was ever real.

And this, this thing that could be something, that could be real, I had ruined it. I have to lie to keep it. I have to pretend that I had every right to hurt him, when it was really the other way around. The only person who had ever told me the truth, who could see me for what I was, and I had ruined any chance of it being real before it had even had the chance to start.

A sob slips out of me and with it, the tree we pass erupts in a flurry of leaves and twisting, screaming bark that makes the horse rear. The earth rumbles, random cracks splitting in the rock face, gnarled vines crawling out of them like tentacled monsters. The itching in my skin won’t stop! The more I try to trap it the more the world around us screams in protest. 

“Breathe, Y/N,” Rhysand orders in my ear. “You have to breathe.”

“I can’t!” I choke out. 

He slides his hand out of mine and brings it up against the side of my temple. It feels like a shadow unfurling from his fingertips, but the brush of it is not against my face, but inside my skull. Darkness clouds my vision from the inside out. It feels as if my brain is being emptied, piece by piece with shadows until there is nothing inside my mind but him. 

“Breathe,” he commands, the voice of a Warlord. “Now.”

I choke on each breath. 

“You are safe, Y/N,” he says, gentler. There is nothing in the world but the two of us in this dark little bubble. Nothing but the press of night chilled jasmine and calming, all consuming night. From somewhere far off, I hear music on the wind, the swell of stringed instruments pulling my attention away from the itch running beneath my skin.

“Why is this happening?” My body feels so impossibly small, yet like it’s being stretched beyond its capacity, my bones trying to tear through the confines of my skin all the same.

“Our powers can very easily get tangled with our emotions,” he explains, the hand on my temple drawing shapes into my skin. Somehow, after looking at the stitches in the tent walls, I know he’s spelling something out in Illyrian, but I’ll never know what. “The last twenty-four hours have been a lot for you, I’m sure.”

There is no room to think about it in this headspace, no twisted memories to plague me, only the music and the faint twinkle of stars for company. I let myself fall into it, let it swallow me and fill me until I feel disconnected from the pulling of my skin.

“I don’t want this power,” I whisper into the darkness.

The darkness caresses me, wraps itself around me as surely as his arm around my waist. “I know, but we don’t get a say in what we’re given, only what we do with it.”

When have I ever truly had a say in anything?

“What if I hurt somebody?” What if I am just as bad as my father in both intentions and power? If I am capable of plotting to ruin someone’s life based on a lie, how much more capable am I of turning these claws on someone else? Maybe power is passed from my mother, but that will never change the fact that I now carry the same weapons that were used to scar me, and Rhys, and probably his mother and sister. 

“You won’t,” he assures. “I’ll be right here to teach you. You can control it.”

He has far more faith in me than he should.

----

Once we’ve stopped for the night and camp is set up, Rhysand takes me by the hand and leads me out into the empty, grassy plains beneath the mountain. The knee-high yellow blades are brittle this time of year, cracking under our boots as we walk until only the smoke from the campfires pinpoints where we left the others. We’re far enough away that I won’t hurt anyone if I lose control again.

Shame flushes my cheeks. I’ve always prided myself on being the calm one of the family; always able to keep my emotions shoved deep down beneath the surface to keep them from getting the better of me. I thought I was good at it. I was wrong. It’s only been the constant brush of Rhysand’s shadows against my mind all afternoon that have kept me from tearing everything I touch to shreds. Even now, my hands ache from often my new claws have sprung and retracted from my fingertips.

I must feel about as awful as Rhysand looks. The circles under his eyes have not lessened in the slightest, and every once in a while I’ll see him start to sway, like it’s an effort to stay on his feet. The scent of his magic has lessened, the night blooming jasmine fading behind the citrus and salty scent of him. He shouldn’t be out here with me, he should be resting, recharging his own magic so he can be prepared for more warding tomorrow. According to Azriel and the scouts’ reports, we should meet up with Cassian and Mor’s group by this time tomorrow and Rhysand will need all his energy to ensure both ends of the wards are fully meshed together. 

We stop once we’re cushioned between two large hills, nothing but the chirp of crickets and the stars to keep us company. The Mountain looms dark and shadowy beneath the small sliver of the moon. 

“This looks like a good place,” he says as he finally releases my hand.

I keep my lower lip between my teeth, hands shaking at my sides. I don’t want to do this! Entertaining the idea that I have powers to train and use is foolish. I don’t need to learn to use them; I need to learn to shove them back down into the darkest parts of me where they can’t hurt anybody. 

“Let’s start with something simple,” he suggests. “Tell me where you feel your power the most.”

My hand comes up to poke between my rib cage, where the stirring and itchy feeling is the most concentrated. “Feels like something is trying to break out of my skin,” I say softly.

“The claws and the fangs could be a beast form,” he muses. “Or it could just be some shape-shifting powers you inherited from your father?”

The mention of that bastard makes the stirring in my chest feel like a tidal wave, raw energy crackling so hard and fast through my veins that I feel it crest out my fingertips. The grass around me withers and dies, the ground beneath it crackling and rumbling with what feels like the early stages of an earthquake. I can’t have powers like my fathers!

There is no shortage of pity in those violet eyes and I press my palms into my eyes with a groan. I can’t do this! It needs to stop! I need to bury it now before it runs away with me; while I still have some control over it. Because if it goes any further than this…

Maybe Tamlin was right to send me away. Maybe he did know about my powers and that was why he got rid of me. I couldn’t hurt anybody if I was alone in the woods.

Rhysands shadows drift along the floor until they can slither up my calves, rubbing affectionately against me in a way that reminds me of a cat. “It’s ok,” he soothes.

Tears stream down my cheeks. “Make it stop!” I beg. “Show me how to bury it again.”

His shadows trail higher, winding over my hips and waist, even as he steps closer, leaving barely a breath between us. “Y/N…” he shakes his head, trying to find the right words and I feel a strange pang beneath the movement in my chest.

“Please,” I whimper. “I’ll do anything! Just make it stop.”

He cups my cheek and I give myself the briefest moment to fall into the warmth of his touch.  “I know it’s scary, and that it hurts, but this is good. It has to be released. You will die if you don’t.”

Then let me. The words freeze on my tongue when a tendril of his power flicks over his shoulder, down his wrist, to brush against my cheek, but that doesn’t stop the spiraling of my thoughts. Let me be free of this pain. Let me go out before I become a monster like my father. Let that awful bastard be right; let me be useless and worthless and incapable of doing anything he could be proud of. 

As if spurred on by my thoughts, the grass around me continues to wither, until there’s a whole circle of dead earth surrounding me. The harder I try to draw it in, the wider the circle becomes. Power sizzle through my nerve endings, a fire that digs itself into my veins and when I curl my hands into fists to try and stop it, I pull weeds through the cracks in the earth, the gnarled, leafy branches reaching up like skeletal hands that wrap around my, and Rhysand’s ankles.

“Focus on that spot,” his free hand taps gently against my ribs. “Focus until it feels like you’re holding it.”

I try to imagine the power like a bowl filled with sloshing, dark liquid. I imagine myself reaching for the lip of the bowl, the cracked edges and rough wood a mirror to the one that used to sit on our kitchen table, full of apples I’d sneak when no one was looking. If I make it familiar, it feels easier to focus on. I imagine every crack in the bowl, every worn edge, focusing until I get a mental hold around the edges. Now all I need to do is tip the bowl over. If I spill out its contents, there will be nothing left inside me to unleash… right?

“Once you can hold it, focus on containing it. Imagine it like a bottle, get all that energy into the bottle, and put a lid on the top,” Rhys says like he can hear my plans.

The liquid inside the bowl bubbles and hisses as my conflicted feelings run circles through my head. He hasn’t been wrong this far, I should do as he says, but I can’t help but feel like indulging this is a mistake. I can hear my father’s voice inside my head, telling me that this is not how females are supposed to behave. 

I can feel the weeds I’d summoned dying around me. Can feel every blade of grass as if it was somehow attached to my skin. The longer I hold that imaginary bowl, the more aware of this power I become, but it doesn’t feel like control. It just feels like more things pulling at me, trying to move me in directions I’ve never decided I want to go in. 

The ground rumbles beneath my boots again as my mental grip slips, and when I open my eyes the weeds, dead as they are now, have slithered all the way up my chest, reaching for my throat like some decrypt hand. 

The air leaves my lungs in a rush and with it, the dead vegetation crumbles and turns to dust on the wind.

Rhysand should be looking at me like I’m a monster. He should be stepping away, shadows swirling, that giant sword in hand. We are supposed to be enemies and he should be looking at me like I am one. But he’s not. He reaches out and brushes some of the ruined plant off my shoulder instead.

“It’s ok,” he assures. “No one gets it on their first try. Not even me.”

That compassion and understanding makes my chest ache worse than any restless power ever has. I don’t deserve it. I wish he would treat me like the horrible creature I am. He would be better off if he tossed me out into the woods like Tam.

He stiffens and I can’t help but wonder if I accidentally said that out loud because his eyes darken as he closes the gap between us and takes my face in his hands. “Maybe I’m taking the wrong approach.” His voice is clipped, husky. 

Good, maybe he can finally see me for what I really am.

I am wholly unprepared for him to crash his lips against mine. My brain short circuits, the agitation I feel morphing into that desperate, needy thing I had felt this morning. Just as I tilt my head back, lips parting to let him in, he pulls back. 

“Let’s play a game.”

The power in my chest feels like it’s going to rip out of my skin again. 

“Match what I do and you’ll get a reward,” he explains. “If you can’t…” He takes a step back and it is an effort not to chase after him, but the message is clear enough: Matching his efforts means his hands, his lips, his body is on me again, fail to do so, and he puts space between us. It shouldn’t work. It shouldn’t make me want to try, but I do. Gods I do! 

“Ok,” my voice shakes a little. In the back of my mind I still think it’s a bad idea. Maybe I will regret it in the end, but this thing between us is the only thing that makes sense. There is nothing between us when his lips are on mine. I need that distraction tonight.

He holds out a hand and a ball of shadows emerge, the tendrils of darkness crawling out from beneath his skin to form the swirling shape. “Find that spot in your chest and push it into your hand. It’s a part of you, it answers to you. Make it answer to you.”

I hold out my hand, matching his position and then close my eyes, reaching for that bowl of darkness again. Hesitantly, I tip it sideways, sloshing some of the dark liquid over the edge and imagine pulling it through my limbs. It makes my muscles spasm, my claws shooting out of my nail beds in defense.

“Breathe through it, you’ll pass out if you hold your breath.” 

Selfishly, I want to impress him. Want to show him I can. I want the reward of his lips on mine again. Want to not have to think about whether I should be doing this or that, the only thought in my head him and how good he feels. I do as he says, drawing in a breath as I keep pushing that bit of darkness in the direction I want it. It makes my head hurt, trying to focus so intently, but I’m nothing if not persistent. 

I feel the rumble of movement beneath my palm, and just when I’m starting to think that maybe I’m more capable than I thought, the tiniest, most wilted looking dandelion grows from my palm. And then immediately turns to ash. It’s the saddest excuse for power I’ve ever seen and I growl out a complaint like a literal beast as even the thing in my chest shows its disappointment.

Rhysand snorts out a laugh too, which makes it worse.

So much for powerful. 

He clears his throat as he steps back into my space. “It was a good attempt.”

“Don’t patronize me,” I hiss. “That was embarrassing.” 

He wraps his hand around my wrist and places his lips against my palm anyway, never mind that my claws are still out and drifting over his temple as he kisses right where my powers flared. “You still tried.”

I shiver at the contact of his plush lips against my skin, his breath warm against my palm. My senses are still incredibly heightened and even that bit of contact makes my skin buzz with excitement. 

He quirks a dark brow as he looks at me from where my hand is still pressed against his lips. “Try again for me?”

I nod, not trusting my voice when he’s looking at me like he wants to devour me. His pupils are blown wide, barely a ring of violet left to see. He keeps his lower lip between his perfect teeth as he watches me with an intensity that makes my thighs clench. 

Just like before, I imagine myself holding that bowl, this time, I draw a breath and tip it over, letting more of that strange darkness spill into the abyss that is my soul. It is strange to see it like this, to have some parts of it so clear and yet the rest of it is shrouded in fathomless depths. There might be anything living within the confines of my skin. I’d never bothered to look until now. 

I push it towards my fingertips, just as before. The same spasm in my muscles returns, a knot forming in my bicep that I do my best to ignore as I keep pushing my power towards my hand. I remind myself to breathe when it flares in my wrist, making my claws retract and pop back out. 

“Just like that,” Rhysand coaxes.

Cauldron his voice makes my insides feel like jelly. 

Crawling vines emerge one by one from beneath my palms, twining around my fingertips like tiny snakes. In the center sprouts another dandelion, a little taller than the last. I manage to hold it for all of five seconds before the knot in my bicep and wrist become too much and the vines and flower die together. My bones ache. How does he do this so easily?

“Better,” Rhysand praises as he places the next kiss on the inside of my wrist, his fingers massaging the knot forming there. 

“Is it supposed to hurt?” I grumble.

“It’s a process,” he murmurs into my skin, lips trailing higher, causing a shiver to run down my spine. “Think of it like building a muscle. The first couple days of using that muscle will hurt. You’ll be sore. But the more you build it, the stronger it becomes, and the less it hurts. Eventually, you’ll be able to perform bigger and bigger feats with less and less discomfort.” 

That sounds exhausting! 

I’m going to have to do this for the rest of my life? The thought sours my mood, once again turning my thoughts away from this lovely little distraction he’s been offering and back into the darkness that’s been threatening to overtake me all afternoon. 

I swear he can hear the thoughts spinning through my head as he suddenly nips at the tender flesh of the inside of my wrist. “You think you can give me one more?”

I have a headache just thinking about doing it again, but he keeps looking at me through those long lashes, the intensity in his gaze making all rational thought fly out the window. 

“I’ll make it worth your while,” he promises, lips trailing higher. He’s so warm and intoxicating, I think he might be capable of making me do anything, as long as his lips remain on my skin.

I focus on that spot, paying extra attention to breathe as I reach for that imaginary bowl a third time. Maybe if I let myself relax, lean a little heavier into the warmth of his touch, and stop trying so hard to hold on so tight, it won't hurt so bad. It has been like fighting a tide all this time; if I relax, go with the wave, will that make it easier?

I imagine that darkness spilling from the bowl like water instead, letting it flow like a river. The path from my chest to my fingertips is kind of like a stream, right? The water bubbling and rushing through me. There must be something to that thought process, because, when I open my eyes, there are more vines twining around my fingers and wrist, but this time, tiny yellow and pink flowers bloom from them. There is nothing dead or angry crawling out from beneath my skin, but something beautiful and alive. My claws retract as the vines spin around my fingers.

I can’t help but grin as I look to Rhys for his approval. “I did it!”

He grins right back, the sight so dazzling I think I might just stand here for hours summoning flower after flower to see it again. “That’s my girl!”

Instinctively, spurred by the excitement rushing through my veins, I stretch up on my toes and place a quick kiss on his lips. “You’re a good teacher,” and I mean it. Whatever this is between us, I am grateful for him, even if this is all we have. “Thank you.”

He slides a hand in my hair and kisses me back. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

I don’t know what it is I feel about it. It still feels wrong, or maybe it just feels different. Everything feels different these days, I’d rather not think too long about it. “Feels like I can breathe a little easier.” 

“Good.” He kisses me again. “We’ll practice some more tomorrow.”

I slide my hand into the silky strands of his hair, nails scraping lightly over his scalp as he rests his forehead on mine. I won’t let myself think about tomorrow, or about these new powers. There can only be this moment.

“Just promise me,” he continues, “that you’ll keep trying?”

“I might need some convincing,” I return, clinging to this distraction with every last bit of willpower I possess.

He grins at the challenge. This is the best I can give him today; the closest to the truth I can admit without laying everything bare. 

“I can be very persuasive,” he purrs and the next thing I know I am on my back in what’s left of the grass, the solid weight of him on top of me. “Maybe we should work on some self-defense while we’re at it. That was alarmingly easy.”

“The words every girl wants to hear when she’s beneath a man,” I retort.

“I just want you to be safe, is all,” he says as he kisses the tip of my nose. 

I reach up a hand and brush some of the hair that’s falling over his forehead into his eyes out of the way. He is breathtakingly beautiful under the moonlight. I wish I could paint or sketch, immortalize every glorious sharp edge of him in ink and paper. “I’m with you, how can I not be safe?”

Cauldron boil me, I mean that too.

It’s not until later that night, long after I’d fallen apart on his tongue in that field and then tumbled back into camp, nearly asleep on my feet to nestle down against his warm body that I remembered I’d meant to ask him this morning why he’d still let me in after everything between us. By now I’m too exhausted to care; maybe I’ll find the courage to ask in the morning.

-------------

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