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nereidprinc3ss · 9 months ago

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do you believe me now? | 8

it's the morning after. spencer reid suspects you’re left with some doubts after losing your virginity to him. he has to figure out why—which is hard when you're keeping secrets.

series masterlist

this series is 18+ warnings/tags: fem!reader, blood related to losing virginity (dramatized for the drama duh), super vague allusions to the BAU being hungover, mild blasphemy if anyone even cares, pondering god bc am I really a fanfic writer if I don’t get a little religious w it, emily AND hotch are here and nobody knows why pls don't pay attention to that bc we are imagining like season 11/12 spencer and I'm inconsistent w who is unit chief in this series apparently, spencer slut lore, spencer emotional wounds lore, Spencer is a traumatic situationship survivor a/n: DADDYS HOMEEEEE (me and dybmn not spencer) anyway missed these little guys and am happy to be writing for them again!! idk what my upload schedule will becoming back to this but pls lmk what u think of this part, I have no idea how you will respond but I'm being brave and ily

Friday morning Spencer comes into the office fifteen minutes late (he tried his best), in yesterday’s suit (everything in his go-bag had been too wrinkled), hair messy (no doubt from your fingers), coffee cold (he’s exhausted) and overall, in an excellent mood.

The rest of the team isn’t faring quite as well—Spencer gathers they stayed at the bar celebrating Derek’s birthday a lot later than he had. It shows through sallow skin and dark circles and the grimaces he receives on the way to his desk that are probably supposed to approximate good morning’s.

Honestly, he doesn’t mind the dull mood—he doesn’t need the teasing and the prying questions that would be sure to come if his co-workers were at peak performance and were able to put together his unusually perky demeanor and disheveled appearance. At least Prentiss doesn’t appear to be paying him any mind. She’s always the one who can read him like an open book and has no shame in doing so aloud. Echoes from years of, ‘so who was the lucky girl, last night, Reid?’ Still ring through his mind and it’s like he can feel her finger prodding at his side.

The Emily of it all makes him smile, though the rest of the memory leaves a metal tang in his mouth. Back in those days, there were sometimes a lot of girls, but even then he was consciously aware he wasn’t necessarily doing something he enjoyed. He spent a lot of time, actually, staring at his bedroom ceiling, psychoanalyzing himself. Repetition compulsion. The insatiable desire to repeat or reenact emotionally painful experiences. Maybe he thought if he could teach himself to subsist off of emotionless hookups, he could in some way heal from his experience with Elle. Though, he’s hesitant to think of it now as healing—it’s not like he didn’t know what he was doing when a few nights after she said I don’t feel the same I’m sorry he opened up his front door for her. It’s not like he didn’t know what he was doing every time after that. So, maybe heal isn’t the right word, when one doesn’t have the right to be injured. Or when the injuries are, in a manner of speaking, self-inflicted. At the very least he could tell himself that this time around, meaningless sex was a choice he was making for himself. Spencer hates when things just happen to him.

But you—you’re different. You were a complete surprise. At first, a cute and unexpected complication. After a few painful and short-lived attempts at real relationships, Spencer decided he was simply not to be trusted with emotional intimacy of any kind, including that which inevitably develops from physical intimacy, and would resign himself to a life of celibacy. He tried not to like you, but you were just so damn likable. Magnetic, to use a trite and perfectly honest turn of phrase. All that to say: he doesn’t regret you at all. There is no filter of putrid shame or anguish over his memories of last night.

Just you. Perfect. Starlit. Glowing softly around the edges like you’re not even real.

I love you I love you I love you. A hymn with no melody. You, always reminding him exactly why he is decidedly not a man of faith. At least, not in the typical sense of the word.

How God became the idol and not Mary is lost on him. That’s why, Spencer supposes, tapping an eraser on his desk, marriage and sex were forbidden for so many ecclesiastics. After all, if they knew what it was to love a woman, specifically to love you, he doubts they’d feel like spending much time in the pulpit. Love. Humans had that long before they had any gods. It’s primeval. It’s the most natural manifestation of devotion and worship. It will always have come first. Isn’t it a better kind of religion when a man realizes he can kneel in front of a woman rather than an altar?

A heavy hand falling on his shoulder jolts him from his theological musings—which are in all practicality useless. What’s that saying about blasphemous thinking on the FBI’s dime? Right. There isn’t one.

“I’m scared to ask,” Morgan says as Spencer jumps slightly in his chair.

“What?” He mumbles, looking up from the document he’d only sort of been reading.

Morgan just looks at him, strong brows furrowed and a ditch between them, angles his head and glances to the side as if Spencer is missing the obvious. He almost follows Derek’s eye-line. When that doesn’t work, Derek just says your name. Like your status is somehow in question.

“Did you two work things out, or not? It looked pretty bad when you guys were leaving last night.”

People often misunderstand an eidetic memory. It’s not like things can’t slip his mind—Spencer can actually be quite forgetful. It’s made worse by the fact that last night at the bar feels like months ago. For a moment, he has no idea what Derek is referring to.

“Oh. Oh! Right, we—right. Yeah, we, uh—we worked it out.” Before Derek has a chance to read his face, no doubt as incriminating as his fumbled speech and an ill-timed throat clearing, he turns back to his paperwork. “Thanks for keeping an eye on her at the bar. I appreciate that.”

It’s quiet for a moment, and Spencer’s lips twist as he can feel the incoming inappropriate comment.

“Is that the same suit you were wearing last night?” Morgan quips, his wide grin audible. Spencer can practically hear the cartoon gleam of his friend’s bleached teeth.

“No.”

“You dog.” Derek is still smiling as he claps Spencer’s shoulder again. “What did you say to her that worked so well?”

Spencer clears his throat again and tries to look extremely involved in logging onto his computer, speaking quickly as if he’s beyond disinterested and can’t wait for the exchange to be over.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m actually trying to work so if you wouldn’t mind going back to your desk that would be great.”

“Uh-huh. I’ll let you work. But I see you, pretty boy.”

Spencer tries not to blush like a teenager as he refuses to look up.

Naturally the rest of the day is a slow descent into dread and madness as all those good feelings with which Spencer had started his morning begin to harden into something much worse, chilled by your lack of response to the text he sent you earlier. Which was essentially a rehashing of the note he left on your bedside table.

Maybe it was too much. It should’ve been one or the other, but not both. He’s overwhelmed you.

Okay, so maybe this is what religion is for. A last ditch effort when you can’t talk to your girlfriend so you have to try talking to God.

But Spencer knows you, and he knows something is wrong. You wouldn’t just ice him out so blatantly if everything was okay. He catches himself glancing up toward Hotch’s window to see if the blinds are drawn, and considers faking an illness to get out of work early and go check on you. But he powers through the remaining hour and a half that he is obligated to stay at work, he bounces a pencil between his fingers, drums at his desk, and gets nothing else done. As soon as 4:59 rolls around, he’s out.

Spencer can hear shuffling on the other side of your door as he stands in the hallway. A pot clatters. The walls hum with the rush of water through the pipes to your sink. He knocks, relieved that you’re okay and at the same time struggling with that weight on his chest—something cold that leans over his shoulders and whispers into his ear—so she just didn’t want to talk to you.

Suddenly all sound from inside your unit ceases. For a few long seconds, Spencer’s confusion only grows exponentially.

“Who is it?” You finally call, voice wavering. Also odd. Usually you just open the door.

“Um… Spencer?”

“As in my boyfriend Spencer?”

He frowns, bottom lip jutting out ever so slightly as he tries to decipher your sudden paranoia. “I hope so?”

The click and jingle of several locks precipitates your much-anticipated reveal.

“Come in,” you say breathlessly, more harried than usual and not giving him the tender greeting he’s selfishly become accustomed to—barely even giving him a second to look at you. But he steps inside, watching on in concern as you do up every single lock—the one on the knob, the deadbolt, even the chain. Is this really all because of his little comment last night about anyone being able to get in? He certainly hopes not. He didn’t mean to terrify you.

When you finally turn, he takes stock of your appearance. Big hoodie, pajama pants patterned in little hearts. Hair pulled back hastily. Your skin is sort of dull where you normally glow. But you’re beautiful, like always. It always aches just a little bit to look at you. Spencer’s always been like that. Going breathless at a particularly good piece of art or pretty girl. Like yourself. Mostly you.

You quickly turn to hurry back into the kitchen. “I was trying to make dinner, I—”

“Hold on,” he interrupts, stopping you with a hand on your stomach that is so non-demanding it’s really mostly a suggestion. He tries to clear his head, though you make it hard. “You didn’t talk to me all day. Not that you have to, but… I was worried.”

You glance at the floor and mumble, “I lost my phone,” with so much embarrassment he believes you’re telling the truth. “Did you, um—did you text me?”

Insecurity. Spencer knows well what it looks like on you. He softens. You weren’t ignoring him—but you’d been left in a vulnerable state without any ability to contact him or anyone. That couldn’t have been comfortable.

“Of course I did.” He pauses to observe you. Still anxious. Still prepared to run at any second. Something, and he’s not sure what, did a number on you today. Maybe it’s sheer exhaustion, maybe it was the anxiety of not having your phone. But he has to figure out what it is so he can undo it. “What? What’s wrong?”

He watches your breathing pause—watches your eyes gloss over with tears and a frown contort your features. Oh, god. He’s done something terribly wrong. It’s been thirty seconds and he’s done something wrong.

“Can we sit down? I don’t feel very good.”

“Yeah. Yeah, we can. Whatever you need.”

You cast a baleful look at him and now he has to wonder what that means. Spencer sets his bag on a pulled out dining chair and follows you to the couch where you settle on opposite sides—you’re curled up in the far corner, hugging a pillow to your chest with your legs folded in front of you. Spencer’s heart is beating fast. He doesn’t know what’s going on with you and he can’t figure it out just by looking and you don’t seem eager to tell him.

He’s exhausted all his typical ways of collecting information, and now he’s at a loss.

Eventually, the anxiety comes bubbling up.

“Please talk to me,” he pleads. And you do. Almost instantly, like he stepped on some sort of landmine.

“I know it’s my own fault for not having my phone on me and not being able to see your texts, but it really sucks that I had to find out from my creepy neighbor that you snuck out in the middle of the night without saying goodbye.”

The whiplash is so strong it’s almost a broken neck. Spencer reels, frowning deeply as he tries to process your impromptu speech, the sudden confrontation. What creepy neighbor?

“I… didn’t. I went to grab my stuff from the car around one, but I came right back. I left at 7:30. You don’t remember me saying goodbye?”

Your brow furrows, and your eyes dart over the design on the rug like you’re watching memories go by. He sees it in your eyes when you recall some hazy image of him holding your face, kissing your cheek more times than was necessary and whispering sweet things against your lips before he had to go. You shrink into the couch, clearly struggling under the combined weight of relief and embarrassment.

“I forgot. I thought… he said…”

A moment passes and it’s clear you’ve abandoned the sentence. Spencer is concerned about this shadowy male figure who put malicious untruths into your head. He slides his hand under yours and twines your fingers together. Finally, finally you meet his gaze.

“Someone made you believe I left without saying goodbye.”

And he almost wishes you weren’t looking at him as more tears pool before falling down your cheeks. You nod, and don’t make a sound.

“No, honey. I didn’t do that. I’m sorry that’s what you’ve been thinking all day.”

“I was worried that you… or that I wasn’t…”

His chest aches. You’d woken up alone, no recollection of his goodbye, and without the comfort of even a text.

“You didn’t see my note?”

The way you look at him then is heartbreaking. Eyes wide and wet and sad, lip trembling.

“You left a note?”

Murphy’s Law. Anything that can go wrong, will.

It must’ve fallen off the bedside table, or maybe he just hadn’t positioned it obviously enough.

A lost phone, a missed note, and not even a memory of his departure. While none of these things are verifiably Spencer’s fault, he feels so, so guilty.

“I did,” Spencer says gently, scooting closer and pulling you into him, head pressed to his shoulder as you try not to cry, and he rubs your back slowly.

Your sulky words are muffled by his shirt. “I didn’t see it. What did it say?”

“A lot of very nice things about you,” he whispers. Spencer thought maybe he could get away with giving you all the sincere compliments you can’t accept face to face through a note you could read while he wasn’t around. That way you couldn’t refute them or stop him. It was a good plan.

He feels the sigh of relief leaving your body against his neck.

“I didn’t know.”

“I know. I’m sorry. That’s not… I should’ve just stayed. This is my fault.”

You keep your cheek pressed to his shoulder as you speak.

“It’s not. You have a job. A really important job. You can’t just call out whenever I want you around.”

Logically he knows you’re right, but he doesn’t always think logically around you.

“I could’ve made it work. I could’ve come in late, or the team could’ve called me if there was a case, which there wasn’t—”

“Spencer, it’s okay. It’s not your fault. Don’t worry about it.”

He pulls back slightly, frowning at your tone. You do look relieved, much less plagued than you’d been when he arrived minutes ago, but something heavy still weighs you down. The burden of it darkens your eyes and dulls your expression. When he cups your cheek, you glance up at him, and then away once more.

He speaks softly. “Is that all you wanted to tell me?”

Again he earns a moment of your eye contact, but it’s fleeting. He watches the words spin around your head as you try to figure out what to do with them—and then choose to remain silent.

There is in fact something you’re keeping from him.

Spencer hates to use work tactics on you, but he doesn’t speak either, hoping that you’ll feel compelled to fill the silence with the truth. Knowing how you’re not entirely comfortable with quiet.

And you try, lips parting and the sound delayed as you wrestle with something you clearly don’t know how to talk about.

“I… my neighbor,” you say, frowning like you don’t quite know why you’re speaking. “The one who told me he saw you leaving in the middle of the night. He also—he said…”

Spencer brushes hair away from your cheek with a thumb, stroking the high point in gentle passes as your words taper off. Now that he’s thinking about it, he did encounter a man in a dumpy robe standing in the courtyard and smoking a cigarette when he left you tangled in sheets and dozing contentedly to get his bag from the car. In fact, they rode back up to your floor in the elevator in mostly awkward silence. Spencer was sure his outfit told a story—shirt untucked and hastily buttoned only partway, no belt, shoes barely tied, duffel slung over his shoulder—he wasn’t really expecting to run into anyone at such an hour, to be honest, but he hadn’t particularly cared what this man thought of him, so it didn’t cross his mind again.

Now he remembers.

Long night, huh? I remember those days.

It was an inappropriate comment, but given his job he’s used to ignoring those. Mostly his mind had been preoccupied with the idea of returning to you, who gave him such a warm and sleepy welcome when he climbed carefully back into your arms several minutes later that it was like he’d never known anyone else at all.

Now he resents that he hadn’t said anything, he hates the idea that you spoke to this man and he said something to upset you and Spencer wasn’t there. Usually he tries not a judge a book by its cover (metaphorically, of course) but he’s been around enough bad men to know when he’s looking at one. Last night he hadn’t even been cognizant enough to realize they got off on the same floor.

“What did he say, angel?” Spencer whispers, incapable of being anything but soft with you at the moment. Even though he senses something a lot like a tide of preemptive anger rising in his chest, painted over with layers of anxiety and guilt. He should’ve found a way to stay with you this morning.

You sniffle and let your head fall again, forehead resting against his collar. Instinctively his hand slides to the back of your neck and even at the awkward angle he finds a way to press his lips to yours hair. “Can we talk about it later? I don’t feel good.”

If it’s making you this uncomfortable, Spencer really wants to know what passed between you and this neighbor. In fact, he’d be willing to bet a lot of your strange behavior this evening stems from something that occurred which you don’t feel comfortable telling him yet. But he manages to bite back anymore questions. He doesn’t want to make you feel interrogated.

“Yeah, you mentioned that,” he says eventually, kindly, hand tracing down the length of your back and up again. “Why don’t you feel good?”

He doesn’t miss the way you reach up to discreetly wipe your cheek. But he won’t make you talk about anything you don’t want to talk about until you’re ready, and it seems like you’re already having a rough day. Which is not what he wanted. This is so far from what he wanted for you. He’s cursing himself for how he handled this whole situation.

“Um, I just… I don’t know. I feel… bad. I’m sorry I’m being so weird.”

“You’re not being weird, honey. You had a hard day. You’re having a normal reaction to an abnormal set of circumstances.”

You sit up, sniffing and wiping your tears like you can just make the whole thing go away.

“No, I am. I am. It’s all okay now, right? So I don’t know why I feel like this. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

He watches helplessly. “Nothing is wrong with you. We’ve… it’s been a big couple of days. Mostly good, but I think you’re probably really tired. Emotionally and physically.”

You bury your face in your hands and nod silently. He still feels like he’s shooting in the dark, but you’re not entirely comforted yet, and it’s killing him.

“Whatever you’re feeling is okay. If this is… about last night, or this morning, or something entirely different—regardless of what it’s about, you’re not going to be… in trouble with me if you’re having complicated feelings. And you can talk to me. But it doesn’t have to be right now. We don’t have to figure it out all at once, okay?”

You press the heels of your palms into your eyes, and for a moment, his words sink into silence. When you do raise your head, nodding, the evidence of your discomfort is all over your face—reddened eyes, cheeks polished with wiped tears. But you take a deep breath and try to project whatever it is you think he wants to see.

The back of your hand is soft under his thumb as he sweeps it, as if he could draw forth more information that way. People speak when they’re ready.

“Is there anything I can do?” He tries, all ramped brow and soft spoken.

You’re looking at where he’s tracing swirls on your hand as you swallow and blink the last of your tears away.

“Um… you can say no, but—do you think it would be okay for you to maybe stay again tonight?”

Spencer sucks in a breath, painfully aware that he’s about to let you down.

“I… I haven’t been home in a week. I’ve been wearing this suit for two days straight and I don’t think I would want to share a bed with me again until I shower.” He watches you wilt and lifts a hand to stroke your hair. “But I do want to spend time with you… do you maybe want to come stay with me instead? No pressure—”

“Okay. Yes. Is that okay?”

Spencer’s brow knits. You seem even more enthused about the idea of going to his apartment, like now that the opportunity has presented itself you can’t wait to get out. Maybe you have some sort of black mold problem.

“Of course. Do you wanna grab a few things and then we can go?”

“Um—I also haven’t showered today. Do you mind waiting?”

“Sure. Or you could use mine. With supervision, this time.”

Spencer is attempting to make a joke about your unplanned (and unmoderated) stay at his apartment last week after he left—but looking at your face now he’s wondering if he touched a nerve.

“Like… one at a time? Or…”

He thought maybe you’d be more comfortable around him after last night—and it’s not like he hadn’t seen you naked before then, either.

“Do you wanna do it one at a time?” He asks gently.

There’s this sparkly sort of longing in your eyes that he’s seen before, but you tamp it down like always. You’re so cautious. About everything. Even the things you’re curious about. It’s sweet and a little sad.

“I’ve never… showered with anyone.”

The corner of Spencer’s mouth twitches as he pushes hair over your shoulder. “I know. You don’t have to. We could save like 100 gallons of water depending on how long your showers typically last, but—”

“Spencer—”

“Sorry, sorry—I didn’t—I didn’t mean it like that. I’m not trying to pressure you. You absolutely can take your own shower. You can go first so you get the hot water.”

“No,” you laugh, and it’s like a sparkling cloud of gold has settled around you, fractals bouncing off the shine of your cheeks and eyes—the sound of your laughter, the look of it, is such beautiful relief he can’t believe how good it feels, but it fades from you quickly. “It sounds… I think I want to, I just… I don’t wanna, like… do… anything.”

For a split second your veiled language mystifies him and then he realizes what you’re trying to say without saying. Something has changed since yesterday, when you brazenly referred to it as fucking, and today, when you can’t even say sex. He’s gotten as far as it being something your creepy neighbor said. Maybe. He needs to know what.

But that’s not the topic at hand.

“We don’t have to. I didn’t mean to imply that we would do anything like that. I don’t expect anything from you.”

You swallow.

“Okay. I wasn’t sure.”

About what?

He says your name. No response.

“Can you look at me, please?”

It takes you a moment, and your head raises like you might need some oil in your hinges, but eventually you manage. Spencer hopes the way he’s rubbing your leg is comforting.

“You know I’m never, ever going to make you do anything you don’t want to do, right?”

To his horror, your answer isn’t an immediate and resounding yes. Instead you look back down and cover his hand with your own, fiddling nervously with his fingers.

Eventually, you reply, “Yeah… I know. I just thought… I’m not sure. Maybe it’s supposed to be different now.”

“It doesn’t have to be. Nothing has to be different. We’re still doing everything on your schedule, okay? And as for the next few days, at least—I think it might be a good idea to take sex off the table altogether.”

Your eyes narrow and you hesitate. “Why?”

“Because I don’t want you worrying about it. And I don’t think it would feel good for you right now. I think there are things we need to talk about, but… we’ve probably tried enough for a while, hm?”

You give him a shy nod and hum your agreement. For a moment he lets his hand linger on your leg and then pulls it back.

“Okay. Do you want my help packing a bag, or should I wait out here?”

“You can wait. It should only take a minute.” You pause, halfway up to look pensive. “Um, Spencer—do you think it would be okay if maybe I… if I stayed tonight and tomorrow? I just—I wanna get out of here, for a bit.”

He frowns but doesn’t hesitate. “Of course. Can I ask why?”

“It’s just… suffocating sometimes,” you call as you turn and hurry down the hallway to the bedroom. “Feels like my neighbors are on top of me, like they’re… breathing down my neck, half the time.”

Sure, bigger apartments exist—but it’s not like you’re in a studio. And you’ve never mentioned feeling that way before. That bad feeling is starting to come back—like you’re not telling him something he needs to know. But is it worse to let you deal with it yourself until you’re ready to talk or to force it from you?

A few minutes later you return, a duffel of your own over your shoulder and full to bursting.

“So I’m an idiot. My phone was literally in the pocket of my jeans on the floor.” You drop the bag as you bend down by the door to pull on your favorite slippers. “Oh—I think I forgot my charger, can you grab it? It’s by my bed.”

Spencer of course obliges, and is secretly pleased to be in your room again, in the light this time, so he can see better. It’s sweet. The pictures on the walls, the plants and the knickknacks and the sticky notes scrawled with messy reminders on every surface and the sweater hanging over the back of a chair—the one you’d been wearing at the cafe all those months ago—it all feels so you. He wonders why the two of you don’t spend more time here.

He lets himself linger for only a minute before remembering his task, but as he reaches down to unplug your charger, whatever dopey smile he’d been wearing evaporates. The sheets have been stripped from your bed, and he can see why—there’s a striking stain of dried blood, and several surrounding dots, soaked into the mattress. Not much, but enough to make him feel horrendously guilty. He cringes, imagining what it must’ve been like to wake up all alone to nothing but your own blood. Poor girl. Of course he’d noticed some, last night when he was doing his best at cleaning you up, but it had been dark, and he was exhausted, and he hadn’t done enough.

“Where’d your sheets go, baby?” He asks once back by the front door with his own bag on his shoulder, setting a gentle hand on your lower back and holding out your charger for you. You jump slightly, and he makes circles on your back, wishing there was��something he could do to settle you.

“Oh! They—they got ruined. I threw them out. It’s fine. I have others.”

So you didn’t have enough energy this morning to walk a few feet to your shower, but stripping your bed, getting dressed, and walking down to the trash chute at the end of the hall had been top of your priority list.

You swallow as he undoes the locks and holds the door open for you, and pretend like you’re not doing surveillance to either side as you stand in the hallway, locking your door again like you can’t get out of here fast enough.

Spencer casts a sidelong glance at you and wonders if you’re intentionally avoiding eye contact. He tries not to think like a profiler. He tries not to assign meaning to your actions, but he can’t help it. He can’t not notice.

He can’t not worry.

And he can’t not wonder what you’re not telling him.

part nine

#spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic #criminal minds smut #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fanfic

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paucubarsisimp · 3 months ago

Note

MASON REQUEST!!!

Could you write one where him and y/n get caught or overheard if u know what I mean

thin walls

pairing: mason mount x reader

summary: in which the villa you’re sharing with declan and lauren has very thin walls

warnings: VERY suggestive and almost smut

taglist: @barcapix, @universefcb, @joaosnovia, @ilovebarcaaaa, lmk if you want to be added!

a/n: not my best work :/ sorry love

the first thing you registered was the sunlight creeping through the thin curtains. the second was the ache in your legs.

the third… was laughter. loud, unfiltered, and far too smug for 8:00 a.m.

you groaned, rolling over to press your face into mason’s bare shoulder. he hummed sleepily and tugged you closer.

“they’re already up,” you mumbled.

“yeah,” he said, his voice still thick with sleep. “and judging by that laugh, they definitely heard.”

you froze for a second, heart sinking. “…you don’t think—”

“babe.” mason cracked one eye open, his hair a soft mess and his face still warm with sleep. “you literally said my name. like… screamed it.”

you flopped back onto your pillow, covering your face with both hands. “i want to die.”

“same,” he muttered, dragging a pillow over his face. “declan’s never gonna let me live this down.”

before either of you could spiral further, a knock landed on the door.

“mornin’, lovers,” declan’s voice rang out, far too cheerful for someone who had definitely just spent the night on the other side of a paper-thin wall. “hope you two got some rest… though, from the sound of it…”

mason let out a muffled groan from under the pillow.

you reached for the sheets, pulling them higher like they could protect you from the sheer embarrassment.

“you alright in there?” lauren’s voice chimed in next, teasing and sweet. “do we need to bring breakfast to you? or are your legs still working?”

you buried your face in mason’s chest and whispered, “i hate them.”

“same,” he whispered back, wrapping his arms around you. “but also… kinda proud of myself.”

you rolled your eyes, laughing against his skin. “of course you are.”

at breakfast

the kitchen was cozy and sunlit, the smell of toast and coffee filling the air. but none of that warmth compared to the heat on your cheeks as soon as you walked in.

declan was already grinning. lauren tried to keep a straight face, but one look at you and mason, and she burst out laughing again.

“good of you to join us,” declan said, leaning back in his chair with a smug tilt to his mouth. “we were starting to worry. didn’t know if you’d, y’know… be able to walk.”

mason didn’t say anything. just sat down across from him with a murderous glare and reached for the coffee like it was the only thing keeping him alive.

you slid into the seat next to him and tried to pretend the table wasn’t radiating secondhand embarrassment.

“look,” lauren said, still grinning, “all i’m saying is—thin walls. very thin.”

“traumatising,” declan added. “i had to hold lauren back from knocking on the wall.”

“declan!” you groaned, hiding your face in your hands again.

mason just muttered, “i need new friends.”

“you say that,” declan said, smirking as he took a sip of orange juice, “but you’re clearly too busy with her to go friend shopping.”

even mason couldn’t hold back the laugh that time.

you gave him a look. “don’t encourage him.”

“sorry,” he said, still smiling. “but that was kinda funny.”

later that evening

you were curled up on the couch in the living room, blanket over your legs and mason’s arm draped around your shoulders. declan and lauren were playing cards at the dining table, still giggling every so often like children with a secret.

“we need revenge,” you whispered.

“i know,” mason said. “i’m already working on it.”

you tilted your head. “oh yeah?”

he looked down at you with that familiar glint in his eyes. “next time they’re staying at ours… i’m buying a bluetooth speaker.”

you laughed. “you’re evil.”

he kissed your temple. “you love it.”

bonus:

friday – 11:48 p.m.

you knew the second mason mouthed “come here” from the bathroom doorway, shirtless and towel slung low around his hips, that sleep wasn’t happening anytime soon.

“mase,” you said, already breathless as he pulled you into him, “they’re literally down the hall.”

“then you’ll have to be quiet, yeah?” he murmured, hand slipping beneath the hem of your sleep shirt — his, obviously — as his lips brushed your neck. “we wouldn’t want them hearing how good i make you feel.”

you bit your lip, trying not to shiver as his fingers skimmed the inside of your thigh. “you’re such a menace.”

he smiled against your skin. “and yet, you keep coming back.”

you barely made it to the bed before he had you tangled in sheets, one hand pinning yours above your head, the other slipping under your waistband with the kind of slow confidence that comes with years of knowing exactly how to unravel you.

his voice was low, deep in your ear — “this all for me, baby?” — and you didn’t even try to keep the sound from your throat as his fingers traced just right.

he kissed you quiet. you wrapped your legs around his waist.

somewhere in the haze, he growled, “you’re not gonna last five minutes.”

you almost proved him wrong.

almost.

until—

creak.

click.

“hey, have either of you seen my—OH MY FUCKING GOD—”

you both froze.

mason’s head whipped around. you grabbed the sheet like your life depended on it.

“DEC?!” mason barked, half-naked, very much still inside your personal space.

“I DIDN’T KNOW—I—WHY ARE YOU—THE SHEET WAS MOVING—I NEED HOLY WATER—”

“GET OUT!” you and mason screamed in unison.

the door slammed. you heard a bang (probably his head hitting the wall in blind panic).

then dead silence.

you stared at the ceiling, mortified, chest still heaving from not the walk-in.

mason let out a shaky laugh. “we’re gonna have to burn this house down.”

you buried your face in his shoulder. “we can never show our faces again.”

“…was still kind of hot though.”

“mason!”

saturday – 9:30 a.m. – the kitchen

declan sat nursing his tea like it was medicinal.

you and mason strolled in like nothing happened. you in a smug hoodie and absolutely no shame. mason in sweats, shirtless, hair still messy.

“morning,” he said, biting into toast.

declan didn’t look up. “you two are demons.”

“why were you even up?” mason asked, innocent.

“i was looking for my charger,” he said, haunted. “and now i need a new set of eyeballs. and a therapist.”

lauren walked in and clocked the vibe immediately. “he walked in, didn’t he?”

you just nodded, sipping your coffee.

“oh, dec,” lauren sighed. “you never open their door. they’re feral.”

“i saw movement,” he said, staring into the distance. “her legs. his hand. the noises. the way he looked at me like I was the intruder.”

mason grinned. “you were.”

you leaned into the counter, stretching slightly — and yes, his eyes definitely dropped to the strip of skin at your hip. subtle. but there.

declan clocked it. “you’re doing it again. right in front of me.”

“what?” mason said innocently, licking a bit of jam off his thumb. “we’re just affectionate.”

“you were inside her less than twelve hours ago.”

“that’s love, mate,” mason said with a wink.

you raised your mug in cheers. “deep, committed love.”

declan stood up. “i’m gonna go walk into traffic.”

bonus 2:

two days later, a package arrived at your flat.

a note inside read:

*“here’s something to stop future trauma. love, your *scarred* best friend.”*

inside was a heavy-duty door lock and a white noise machine.

you sent back a voice note: “we’ll still be loud. x”

declan hasn’t responded since.

#footballer x reader #football imagine #mason mount #mason mount x reader #mason mount fluff #mason mount x you #football #mason mount imagine #man united

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i-cant-sing · 10 months ago

Text

Time Traveller AU part 12

Part 1 is here. Part 2 is here. Part 3 is here. Part 4 is here. Part 5 is here. Part 6 is here. Part 7 is here. Part 8 is here. Part 9 is here. Part 10 is here. Part 11 is here. Time Traveller au masterlist is here. Check out my MASTERLIST for more!

You and Silas stared at each other.

"What do you mean "okay"?"

You nod. "Okay, I'll marry you."

He looked at you suspiciously. "Why?"

"Why not?"

"That is not an answer." He frowned, making you sigh as you turned your body to face him completely. "Look, you're going to pay me anyways right?" He nodded. "So, I need the money, and well... lets just say I have nothing else left to lose. Maybe I'm just bored."

Bored? More like pissed at the universe and I will not let it beat me to the ground anymore. I wont go out without causing chaos and maybe if someone tries to kill me again, I will perhaps consider disrupting the historical timeline to make the universe itself combust and unravel. If I'm suffering, I'm taking the universe along!

Silas gave you an incredulous look, before shrugging in defeat. "Very well, then."

"Wait-" You stop him from getting up. "Why did you choose me? Actually, why do you need a wife?"

He rolled his eyes, standing up, you following along. "Come on, Silas. Tell me. Is it cause I'm pretty? Smart-"

"You dressed as a man."

What?

"What?"

He looked down at you. "What? You didnt think I'd spot you in that poor disguise at the newspaper office that day?"

Silas saw me that day? He recognised me?

"How did you even-" He scoffed. "I'm intelligent. And I have eyes. I notice everyone and everything." He turned around and began walking away.

"Wait!" You ran after him. "That still doesnt answer my question! You're marrying me because I dressed like a man? What- you're attracted by that-"

"Stop talking." Silas cut you off abruptly. "I chose you because you work at the newspaper, not because you're a man."

"Oh. So you need someone to write out articles singing your praises?Cant you just pay someone to do that?"

He rolled his eyes. "No. I dont need someone to sing my praises. I need you to be the mole there. I want you to report everything that happens at the paper, specifically about the murders thats been on going these days."

Murders? Murders-

"The White Chapel murders?" He nodded. "I need the papers to focus on them, not on me or who I am marrying. I need them to put the pressure on the cops to catch that sick bastard! Not idolise him with that stupid alias-"

"Jack the Ripper." You finish for him. He breathes heavily, anger radiating off him. "Yes, that. Because its only causing people to either admire him for killing off those prostitutes or fear him, letting the idea of them terrorise them!"

"I see. But... why do you need to get married to me for that? I mean, if you pay me, I could just report to you everything from there, including his letters."

Silas looked at you in slight annoyance, as if mad that you couldnt figure out his motives.

"The papers are focusing on me and my marriage. If I get married, the news will only run for a week or two before diverting their attention to the papers. And before you ask why I'm marrying you specifically instead of someone much better suited to my tastes-" okay, not gonna take that insult to heart. "- I told you, you work at the paper, which means you'll report everything to me. And if I were to marry someone more influential, the papers will continue to write about us for longer. But you? You're a nobody- believe me, I checked. You have no family, dont come from nobility, so no one will talk about you. "

Great. "Wow, you do know how to flatter a woman."

Silas smirked. "Trust me, "a woman" would be flattered-" You shot him a glare before he could finish off his joke.

Silas and you got married later that night. He arranged an out-of-town priest, some official documents, and two witnesses for the vows, which were his butler Cadbury and his wife, Erin, who acted as the best man and maid-of-honor. It was obvious that Silas wanted to keep this ceremony a secret, and he told you that the time will come to break the news.

When the priest asked him to kiss you, SIias pulled a face and said to skip over that part because you had bad breath. You did not. Jerk.

But you were glad you didnt had to kiss him, so you didnt bother kicking his shin. Maybe nearly dying so many times has made you grow a pair, or maybe its the fact that you dont actually consider this a real marriage because a Nikkah (an Islamic wedding) ceremony did not happen, so technically, you're still single, but you're surprised at how... calmly you've come to terms with everything.

Silas let you go back to you house, because the marriage was the still a secret so there's no use keeping you around at his place. Besides, he needs you to continue working on the murders.

Honestly, you do kind of want to find out who Jack the Ripper is. Any historian worth his salt, dreams of this very opportunity you've been given- to find out the man behind all the horrendous, gut wrenching murders.

Colin watched you get up from your desk and go to the corner office where Will was working on the murders. Poor Will. Colin pitied the lad- he had to deal with the gruesome details of the murders, write out the articles in details that are just pallatable enough for the readers, only to be rejected by the editor who wanted the front page news to be about Silas FitzGeorge.

What were you doing there? Colin didnt think it was best for you to go in there, after the depressing weeks you'd barely pulled yourself through. Grisly details of a killing spree might not be what you need at the moment.

"Hey Will!" You walk in his office, changing your voice to that of a man.

"Holmes." He acknowledged you briefly, his hair a mess as well his desk. If anyone knew how giddy you were everytime someone in the office called you Sherlock Holmes, you'd be labelled a loser for sure.

"Still working on those murders, eh?" You walk closer to his desk. "Any leads on who the mystery man might be?"

"No." He glared at you. "I would, if the coppers were to do their job and the editor published my work, but noooo. God forbid we miss any details on that FitzGeorge fella and his tragic life. Cry me a fucking river-" Ah, a fellow Silas hater. You can work with that.

"Let me help you." You offer him. Will raises his brow, before scoffing. "Unless you can somehow have the editor publish my articles, I dont think you can help me. Besides, I dont need an amateur disturbing me because he's just wants to see a dead body."

Amateur? Pfft, I'll have you know I was a minor celebrity on Wattpad at just age 11 when I wrote Sherlock Holmes fanfics-

"How about this? If I can convince the editor to post your work, will you let me help?"

Will stares at you, studying you for a moment.

"Fine."

You walk out of his office and go to your desk where Colin is already waiting for you.

"Hey, Colin." You greet him, sitting down as you pull a blank sheet of paper from your drawer and start writing on it.

"Hey... Sherlock. What were you doing in-" He leans down to read what you're writing. "Jack The Ripper- why are you writing about him?"

You shrug. "Why not? He's an important figure to talk about and needs to be caught. If the papers bring enough attention to him, it'll put pressure on the authorities to work harder to catch him."

"I get that, but- I mean, you already have the FitzGeorges to write about and what about other douches in high society?" Colin tried to persuade you.

"I'll write about them too, in fact. Dont worry about it. I'm going to bring you some real dirt soon." You tell him before picking up the pen again, but Colin grasps your wrist, stopping you.

"Y/n, I just dont think that you should be working on this right now-"

"Colin." You cut him off, freeing your wrist. "I'm grateful for your concern for my well being, but I assure you- I am not made of glass. I can handle my business. Besides, this is something that has intrigued me. Let me work on it, please." You say before returning to writing down your points on the homicidal maniac.

After work, you changed out of your disguise and went to the antique store on Regent street, or what was left of it.

You knew there was no chance, but something inside you hoped that your time machine had survived.

The store was burnt down, and since the interior was mainly made of wood, most of the antiques had burnt to ashes or at least, damaged beyond repair and could not be sold.

You stood outside the ruins off the store, the property was sealed off and guards stood outside it, not letting you in.

"Please, I just need to-"

"Like I said, miss. We were given specific instructions not to let anyone in." The guard cut you off, annoyed by your insistence.

Before you could argue again, someone walked up behind you.

"Y/n." Henry looked at you. He was dressed well, his hair combed and face shaved, well kept as he usually was but his eyes.... he had bags under his eyes. Like he hadnt slept in days.

"What are you doing here?"

"Oh, um- I just wanted to see if my stuff is still there."

He nodded at his guards to step aside, leading you inside the shop.

"Look around. See if you can find it." Henry's tone was flat, as if he already knew.

Still, you looked around. You searched the whole place, not even finding the remains off your machine. And how could you? It was made of mostly plastic and very cheap metal, its not like you had funds to make it indestructible.

Or incombustible.

"Satisfied?" He asked you when you finally stopped looking for it.

You huff. "If you'd just given it to me before-"

"Y/n." He cut you off. "I lost my store. I lost my employee who was working in here, who was blasted to pieces. I lost more money than you can ever imagine and you have the nerve to stand there and try to blame it on me? After I'd given you the courtesy to look through my property to put your mind to ease?"

He admonished you, all while barely letting his rage slip through his voice. He was holding back from blowing up on you, but it did not help because you still felt small.

Because he is right. He lost an employee. He lost money. He lost too, and yet you have the audacity to complain to him like he was somehow at fault.

And he wasnt. Its not like he bombed his store.

"Do you know who did it?" You ask, diverting your eyes to avoid his piercing gaze.

"No one "did" it. It was an accident." Henry looked at the floorboard. "Apparently, there was gunpowder in some of the artefacts that came from China that day. The employee probably didnt check it when he put it on the table, next to a candle. Then one got lit up and it set off all the others, blowing up the whole store."

That... sounds like a big coincidence.

"Henry, are you sure someone wasnt behind this-"

"Y/n, I dont have time to entertain your wild theories right now. I have to deal with insurance and other things. Please leave." He cut you off abruptly.

Without giving him another moment to bruise your self esteem, you stormed out of his store. By the time you reached home, it was dark, which wasnt the best idea with a murderer on the loose- as the boys made it clear.

"Do you have any idea what he's capable of?! Have you seen the crime scenes?!" Liam yelled at you.

"No. But its not like I'm a prostitute, so he wont hurt me." You answer from your seat between Benjamin's legs, who insisted on brushing the knots out of your hair and placing some essential oils in your hair.

Liam looked at you like you'd grown two heads. "How would he know that?!"

You leaned forward, frowning. "Okay if you're saying that you cant the difference between a prostitute and me, then thats just insulting to me and to you as a police officer!"

Shepherd suppressed a chuckle as he handed a drink to Liam to calm him down. As they continued to joke around, you mind went to your time machine.

Sure, you could try making it from scratch again. It'll be difficult, and not just because there isnt enough technology to make the whole thing by yourself, but also because the mere idea of building a time machine could have you lobotomised.

So yes, one of the reasons why you agreed to marry Silas was because of his money that would not only let you buy expensive raw materials but also allow you to have a space to make the machine in secret.

Suddenly there was a knock on the door. Colin left to see who it was, returning moments later with a huge box in his hand.

"Its for you." He set the box down and handed you the letter that came with it. You read the letter while the boys opened the box-

"Tomorrow. 7:30 pm sharp.

Dont be late, missus."

The "missus" part gave away that it was from Silas. What was he planning? Were you supposed to go to his place or was he going to pick you up? What was going to happen tomorrow?

"Woah! Who is this from?" Shepherd asked as he looked at the fancy dress in the box. He pulled it out of the box, the gown flowing down effortlessly. "It looks expensive- this is expensive, right? Its expensive." He stated before repeating his question to you. "Who is it from, Y/n?"

You folded the letter as you saw them all looking at you. "I... I might have a date-"

"With who?" Benjamin asked sharply.

"I-" You sigh. "I'll let you know after the date. Lets see how it goes first."

"Oh, come on! Just tell us!" Liam probed, but you took the dress from him, putting it back in the box and taking it to your room, not noticing how silent Colin had went.

You stood in front of the mirror, looking at your reflection while Ben did your hair. Wearing the black velvet gown that had a white blouse and long skirt underneath, puffy regency era sleeves and a belt at the bust, you looked elegant.

Seeing as you had no jewellery to pair the outfit with, Ben styled your hair down, curling the locks and putting a dainty black silk bow on the back, trimming the front of your hair so that they framed your face.

"There's a carriage waiting for you!" Shepherd informed you before going back to gushing about the rich fella you'd managed to bag.

You turned around for Ben for the finishing touches. He smiled softly at you, taking your hands in his and squeezed them gently.

"Dont force yourself to do anything you're not comfortable with, hm? Just because he gave you this dress doesnt mean he can do anything he wishes." You nodded, returning his smile. "And remember, you have me and the boys to beat anyone who upsets you, Y/n." He winked making you giggle.

Standing outside the carriage, you looked up and waved to the 3 boys standing in the window before getting inside.

"Ah, I hope she knows how to use that knife I gave her." Liam mumbled, making Shepherd yell at him.

"You gave her a knife?!"

"What? She needs to protect herself when there's a murderer on the lose-"

As the two continued to bicker, Benjamin went to his room and packed some scissors and razors in a small bag, before leaving the room.

"Where are you going?" Colin asked, finally speaking for the first time that evening. Sitting on the sofa chair, he'd been nursing on a drink the entire time you were getting ready for your drink. He kept quiet, pretending to be to engrossed with reading the paper to notice you getting dressed for your date night.

"I... have a client." Ben said, putting on his top hat and leather gloves before wearing his coat.

"This late?" Colin raised a brow.

Ben gave a nod.

"He... he needs a haircut urgently."

Colin stared at him before sighing, picking up his drink.

"Alright. Be careful. Its foggy out there."

Sitting inside the carriage alone, you wondered where the buttler was taking you. Since Silas isnt here with you, then its likely that you're being taken to him at the FitzGeorge estate.

You take a deep breath, fiddling with the velvet of your dress. So tonight will be the night he announces his marriage to you. Or maybe not. I mean, if he did plan on doing that then perhaps he'd be giving you some pointers on how to win over his family? To get their approval? It was a big thing for high society, if not for someone who is loosely attached to royalty.

Maybe thats why he called you over tonight. To soft launch you to his family, something like- "hey, this is Y/n, a girl I fancy. I think she might be the one." so that it seems a lot more believable when he does introduce himself as your husband, probably a few weeks or a month from now.

Yes. Silas doesnt seem like the type to just spring up the union on his family out of nowhere. He is English, he is noble, he wouldnt be one to cause a scene.

The carriage stopped after sometime, and you could hear people chattering outside. Your door suddenly opened, but before you could step out, someone stepped in.

It was Silas.

He sat across from you, wearing a formal dress black suit, his hair styled properly. If your dressing didnt give it away, then his did- it was definitely a black-tie event.

He gave you a nod of acknowledgement, looking you up and down.

"Here, wear this." He handed you a velvet lined box. Opening it, you saw a beautiful pearl necklace and matching tear drop earrings.

"Oh, this is... beautiful." You said in awe. "You could've sent this along with the dress, I would've worn my hair differently-"

"No, I didnt want to risk you running off with it." Silas casually insulted you as he began opening the door. "Wear this and dont talk to me or approach me in there."

"Wait, what?" You looked at him confusion.

Silas huffed in irritation. "I'm going to go back inside. You'll walk in after five minutes, and when you do, you will not talk to me, or approach me or do anything that gives away that you know me."

"Silas-" But he left before you could question what he was on about.

So... he wasnt planning on announcing his marriage to you tonight? Wearing the jewellery, you followed his instructions and exited the carriage exactly five minutes later.

But instead of seeing the FitzGeorge house, you were standing in front of a... palace.

A palace you're seen quite a few times.

Buckingham palace.

"What am I...?" You whispered to yourself before composing yourself as other guests began walking past you.

As you ascended the stairs to the entrance where guards stood, you wondered if they'd let you in. Surely, without Silas by your side or an official invitation, they wouldnt let you in. You watched a few guests holding an envelope with a royal seal, an invitation they showed to the guards before being let in.

Heart pounding as you feared the embarrassment you're about to face, you reached the guards who looked at you for a few moments, trying to recognise you before their eyes fell on your necklace and they let you pass.

Ah, so thats why he gave you the jewellery. If you looked like you belonged there, then you probably did.

Why am I here though?

You looked around and saw many people inside, all belonging from high society. This definitely wasnt the place where Silas was going to announce his marriage. So why did he invite you here?

Maybe he wants me to use this as an opportunity to get dirt on high society?

Yes, perhaps, but how would this serve him? Is there a specific person he wants me to get dirt on? Someone I need to write about in the papers?

Silas, what game are you playing?

You spotted him standing in the corner, talking with his cousins and uncles, though you noticed many girls looking at him. Of course, he still is the "most eligible bachelor" to them. If they knew how rude he was, maybe they'd change their opinion.

Walking through the crowd, you began listening on conversations, trying to pick up on interesting bits. It was the usual obnoxious bragging about their wealth, some scandals here and there, disturbing comments about women, etc. Nothing particularly interesting.

Fortunately, you werent bored for long as the royal butler announced the arrival of the hosts. It hadnt truly hit you where you were standing until you heard her name-

"Her Majesty, Queen Victoria-"

Queen Victoria. The Queen Victoria.

You could feel goosebumps raising on your skin, your eyes widening as you realised you're looking at one of the most iconic figures in history. Alive. She's alive and she's walking right in front of you-

She's short. They were right about that. Standing next to her husband, Prince Albert, she looked even shorter. But she looked incredibly happy, full of youth as she stood next to him, unlike all the paintings who depicted her as this angry old widow.

She looked absolutely beautiful.

Her children stood behind her in order, all smiling at their mother. Her daughters, you recognised them all, looked just as beautiful. You recognised her eldest, Edward VII, a 20-something old boy who would end up being hated by his mother and blamed for his father's death. He looked nervous, standing beside her and you could see he was just itching to leave her side and avoid any more scrutiny.

The Queen began speaking.

"Thank you everyone for joining us on this pleasent occasion." She looked around. "Tonight, we are going to welcome a member to our family, even though he has always been a part of us. But now, we will make things official."

"Silas FitzGeorge." She called suddenly. You saw Silas step forward in front of the queen, bowing his head curtly before looking at her confidently.

"You're my cousin Georgie's grandson, and I have no doubt when I say that if he were here tonight, he'd be just as proud of the young man you've become as I am. Our families may have had some issues in the past, but I have always accepted you as a part of me. Over the years, you've only proven me right with how capable you've become on your own, without seeking a helping hand in your adversities. You have made us all immensely proud, as well as your predecessors for being the first man in our family to attend Oxford university. Watching you start businesses and expand your empire, I have no doubt that you will only continue to make the royal family and Britian proud. Therefore, I would like to offer my support and make good on my promise that I made to you when you were a child."

She turned around and a servant handed her a document.

"I hereby make Silas FitzGeorge, the Duke of Westminster."

Oh. Ohhhhh. Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh-

This was Silas's dukedom ceremony. Why is this a huge deal? Because his grandfather, Prince George was once estranged from the royal family and stripped off his royal duties and benefits when he married Sarah Fairbrother, which meant their descendents were all illegitimate and not recognised by the crown.

But tonight, with Silas becoming a duke, its like a welcome back to the family. That too, by the same woman who had in essence- ostracised his family.

And with Dukedom comes other benefits, money, property, influence. Not to mention that Silas has become the duke of Westminster, as in THE WESTMINSTER! One of the wealthiest dukedoms to get, and also where Westminster palace is, the place which is the meeting place for the Parliament of United Kingdom. It'll allows Silas to have a say and play around with politics.

This is a huge gesture by the queen, and if Silas wasnt the most eligible bachelor before, then he definitely is one.

You watched the queen sign the documents first, before giving it to Silas who signed it. Everyone cheered and clapped for the young duke before stopping as Victoria began speaking again.

"Now, I would like to share more good news." She smiled at Silas, who stood beside her now. "I would like to announce the new duke's betrothal to my daughter, Helena."

What?

The guests clapped again as you saw Silas looking ahead, purposely avoiding your gaze. The queen beamed as she looked back at Helena, who was blushing.

So this is why Silas didnt want you to talking to him. He knew he was going to marry Helena, and he didnt want anyone to even doubt that he's associated with you in any way. Is this his way of telling you that the sham marriage between you two has ended?

Victoria encouraged Silas to say a few words.

Silas looked down briefly, a small smile playing on his lips. "Oh, wow. I am grateful that her majesty has awarded me dukedom. I dont have enough words to express how thankful I am to you." He looked up and you saw a mischievous glint in his eyes. "However, I was only informed of this ceremony and not of my betrothal beforehand."

The queen's head snapped in his direction, as did all of the royals, but Silas continued speaking unfazed.

"I wish I had been told about this earlier to avoid this awkward situation uhhh..." he chuckled nervously, but you could see he was anything but nervous. "I am honoured to be even considered for the princess's hand, your majesty, but I'm afraid I am already married." He announced, looking straight at you.

The hall interrupted into gasps and whispers before they parted the way to let Silas make his walk to you.

With a charming smile, a dimple on his left cheek, he approached you, pulling you into his arms as he leaned down to press a kiss to your temple.

"Hi, sweetheart." He whispered loud enough for the onlookers to hear. Your eyes widened, your face flushed at the feeling of everyone's eyes and at his word.

"Si-" The words died down your throat as he placed an arm around your back and pulled you close to his side, showing you off.

"This is Y/n, my darling wife."

With Silas's announcement, the hall went silent once again. Your throat went dry at being put in the spotlight, and your eyes flickered from one guest to another, until finally falling on the queen's, who looked... pissed.

Finally, it was Prince Albert who broke the silence and announced dinner had been served. As the guests began walking out of the hall, Silas lead you out of the palace and to the carriage where his grandmother was waiting for you.

"Go home, now. I'll see you soon." Was all Silas said to you before whispering something to his grandmother, who beamed and nodded, patting his cheek.

"Come on, Y/n. Its getting late, now." Sarah said as she lead you into the carriage, taking her seat next to you, completely unaware of the eyes that had been following you since the moment you'd left home.

Silas returned inside, seeing his uncles smirking with pride at the game he'd just played but instead of going to them to celebrate his victory, he went to Prince Albert and Queen Victoria who seemed to be arguing in a low tone in the corner while the guests were being seated in the dining hall.

Clearing his throat, he got their attention.

"Your majesties, I am so sorry for not informing you about my union with Y/n. Its just my wife is terribly shy and we wanted to keep this marriage a secret. But I understand how this creates an embarrassing situation for the crown, and I would like to humbly turn down my dukedom-"

"No." The queen cut him off, her eyes void of any emotion. "The dukedom was awarded to you for your achievements, not because you were asked to marry my daughter. Helena is not something to pawn off to just anyone."

Silas offered a sympathetic smile. "Of course, your majesty. I'm sure you'll find a better suitor for the princess." He took his bow before turning around to enter the dining hall while Victoria stared at his back.

"Are you really still going to keep him as the duke of Westminster?" Albert asked his wife.

She was fuming. But only Albert could tell.

"What choice did I have?" Victoria asked, still glaring at the young boy who dared to play her. "If I took the dukedom away after announcing it publicly, it would've been a far more embarrassment for the crown. They would call us "cheap"."

"We cant let him get away with it." Albert whispered. "Its Westminster. We may rule it, but the duke will still be able to influence the government."

"You think I'm not aware he wants to play politics?" Victoria snapped, before softening her tone. "I wont let him get away with it, Albert. He's just a boy. I am a queen. I wont let him or anyone humiliate us."

Silas sat down besides his cousins as his uncles raised their glasses to him. He sipped his drink, a satisfied grin resting on his face. He knew exactly what he did. Even though no one actually told him that the dukedom came with marriage to the princess, because how callous would it be to ask him to marry her when no one would give up the opportunity of becoming the queen's son-in-law, Silas knew he was expected to marry Helena.

But no one said it. No one asked him. Its the English, they never say what they mean outright, choosing to read between the lines and do what is expected of them, because its more artful, more honourable this way.

Not that Silas could care about traditions. Why would he, when he planned on exacting his revenge?

The queen only came to offer her support when he became successful enough on his own. Where was she when his parents died and his sister was left to take care of him? Sure, Victoria attended the funeral and "promised" to take care of him. But she also said she'd only do that if he proved himself. His grandmother and his sister, Daisy were the ones who raised him.

And now, years later when he got into Oxford without using his family name, without saying "I am related to the queen", when he used his skills to create a powerful business empire that has the potential to influence the British industries, she wants him?

Sure, Westminster has its benefits, but Silas doesnt need Westminster. Westminster needs Silas. He could topple over the government and even shut down Britain herself with just his influence alone. Being a duke just has given him a public platform, an acknowledgement and most importantly, backing from the crown.

And you? Marrying you wasnt just because you happened to be around. Oh no. Silas has plans for you, plans to use you and further his revenge. This is just the beginning.

Sarah dropped you back at your place after you insisted that you needed to inform your flatmates of your departure. She gave you a disapproving look when she found out you were living with 4 men and was very determined to have you move in with her and Silas at the FitzGeorge estate, but you were able to persuade her to let you stay the night at home one last time.

"There's something I need to tell you guys." You fiddled with your thumbs as they all sat down in front of you.

"I um... I'm married."

"What?" Shepherd asked. "And you still went on a date?"

"I went on a date with my husband-"

"And who is that?"

You took a deep breath.

"Silas FitzGeorge."

Everyone except for Benjamin broke into laughter.

"Yeah, good one. Seriously, who is it?"

You frowned. "Seriously. Its Silas FitzGeorge."

As you began explaining your situation, even showing them the jewellery that you definitely werent wearing before you left, they started to believe you.

"Y/n- you cant- you cant marry Silas. You cant just marry someone you barely know!" Colin argued.

"What? Havent you heard of "love at first sight"?" You ask but he was unamused. Sighing, you shrugged. "Look, its a marriage that will benefit us both mutually. He gets people nagging him to get married off his back and I get to use his money and influence to get dirt on high society! Besides, I can leave him anytime I want."

"Then leave him now, before its too late." Ben said, standing up as he approached you. He took your shoulders and gave them a firm squeeze. "If its money you're worried about, I'll help you. I can provide for you, Y/n. Dont get into bed with these rich bastards, you dont know how selfish they can be. I- I- dont want you to get hurt-"

"I wont, Benny." You grab his arms, assuring him. "Silas and I are working together. If I go down, so will he. He wont hurt me, he cant. Its too risky for him now, you know? He announced our marriage tonight in front of the queen!"

As you began telling him about how you met the queen and all, Colin quietly left the living room to pour himself another drink, something to knock his brain out so he doesnt have to think about you and Silas.

Next day, before the sun even rose, you had packed up a few of your things to go live with the FitzGeorges. All the boys were awake at that time, though Colin's eyes were bloodshot from apparently drinking the wrong liqour, so he sat quietly on the sofa, watching you.

Liam and Shepherd took your bags to put it in the carriage waiting outside, while Ben pulled you in for a hug.

"I'm just moving out, Benny! I'll still see you guys." You laugh, patting his back.

Ben kissed the crown of your head before tucking it under his chin, arms tightening around you. "Just know that you will always have a home here, with us. Dont hesitate to reach out for help. And if Silas or anyone every hurts you, I dont care how rich they are, Y/n. I will take care of them. You just- just come back to us, hm?"

You pulled away from him, wiping a lone tear from your eye. "You're the best, Benny." You whisper before going to Colin, who just stared at you with red eyes.

Leaning down, you poked his cheek. "Kinda wish you werent drunk when I said goodbye, but I guess it makes it easier." Colin continued to stare at you. You grabbed his hand, smiling gratefully at him. "Thank you for everything, Colin. You saved me. Truly." You gave his hand a firm squeeze before leaving, missing him mumble something under his breath.

The carriage took you to the FitzGeorge estate and you were a little disappointed to see only Sarah waiting to welcome you. Its not like you wanted Silas to make a grand gesture to welcome his bride, but you were kinda hoping he was going to ease you into his world while explaining the events of the previous night.

Sarah showed you around the house before leading you to Silas bedroom.

"Cadbury has already placed your bags in there." She turned to you. "This will be your space too, so do make changes to the place as you please."

You smiled shyly at her. Honestly, you dont know whether Sarah knows that Silas only married you for personal agenda, but she wasnt surprised when Silas announced you were his wife.

Sarah looked at you and she placed a hand on her chest, touched.

"Oh, I am so glad you're Silas's girl."

Silas's girl?

"When Silas told me he married you, I was only mad that he did it behind my back! But I suppose it is understandable... these FitzGeorge men always liked to make a statement when it came to love." Sarah said, fondly remembering her late husband.

Sarah continued to gush about you enough for you to know that you dont need to kiss her ass. You have her approval.

When she left, you looked around the large bedroom, Victorian and dark academia was the aesthetic. Wooden panels lined the room, the shelves were stocked with thick books, a study table in one corner, an ottoman chest seat in front of the bed. The entire room was illuminated by the large windows that opened into the balcony, overlooking the large gardens and the cold air of London.

Standing at his balcony, you couldnt help but wonder...

Silas definitely has to HAVE a mega douchebag personality if this was where he was raised.

I mean who wouldnt have an ego trip if they woke up to a view like this, a butler named CADBURY who probably brings him his bland tea and tells him about all the proposals he had, and Silas would just wave a hand in dismissal, telling his butler to reject them all on his behalf.

Silas lived like a king. Or at the very least, lived like the 1% of Britain.

Returning back into the room, you looked at the interior before a grin formed on your face.

Time to snoop around, Y/n. You made your way to his desk.

Lets see what secrets you're hiding, husband.

Silas walked in on you folding your clothes and placing them in his closet.

"What do you think you're doing?" He huffed, loosening his tie. He was still in his clothes from last night, having just returned home after celebrating with his uncles and cousins.

You turned to him, faking enthusiasm. "Hello to you too."

Silas rolled his eyes, sitting on his bed. "Dont touch my things." He began untying his shoes.

"Why? You worried my poverty would taint them?"

He looked you dead in the eyes.

"Yes."

"Haha." You close the closet and turn to him. "We need to talk."

He looked at you miserably. "Cant it wait-" "No."

"Fine, then. Go on, I'm listening." He leaned against the headboard while you took your place on the foot of the bed.

"Why didn't you tell me last night that we were going to the palace? Or that you were going to announce our marriage?"

Tired eyes looked at you. "I didnt want to risk you getting cold feet."

Okay. Fair enough.

You gave him a nod. "Fine. Still would've liked a heads-up." "I'll keep that in mind for next time. Good night-" He began closing his eyes when you spoke again.

"No. We still need to talk about our situation." You looked at your lap, smoothing your dress before looking at him again, only to find his tired eyes studying you.

"Silas, who knows that our marriage is not... real?"

"It is a real marriage. We signed proper documents and all." He told you. "What you mean to ask is who knows our marriage is like mutually beneficial business deal? The answer is- no one, except for my butler and his wife, who wont say a word. And I want it to stay that way."

You raised a brow. "So... what exactly is the image you're trying to sell to the world? That we're a young couple, madly in love?"

He shrugged. "Sure."

"Silas." Your tone turned serious. "If you want people to believe this fairytale you're creating, then you need to get your stories straight. And involve me in it too!"

He tilted his head at you before sighing. "Fine. Lets say... we met two months ago."

"Where?"

He grinned. "Ballet theatre. Near Oxford university."

"Ballet theatre- are you trying to use your grandparents story?"

He shrugged. "So what if I am? Besides, people will love it."

You glared at him, but he continued on with his story. "So we met at the ballet theatre, you fell madly in love with me the first time you saw me. Your exact words were- "Jesus Christ and Heavenly Father, have I died and went to heaven to witness the utter beauty of an angel-"

"I have seen rodents looking better than you." You cut him off.

"You're ruining my story." He scolded you. "Fine, we can say that after you were mesmerised by my beauty, you stalked me for a few weeks until I finally said yes out of pity-"

"Silas."

He raised his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright. I'll leave the details to you, just remember- we met at the theatre. Thats the most important part of the story."

"Okay, I'll add my version of the events, which you can read in the papers in a day or two." You stood up, walking over to the vanity. "I will be going to work from tomorrow. I'll tell your grandmother I'm going to visit some friends, and you'll drop me off at my old place where I'll change my clothes and then I'll go to the office."

"Very well." He turned his head to look at you. "But after you're done writing about us, continue working on the White Chapel murders."

You hummed, turning around. "Dont worry, I should be able to get access to the letters in a few days. Wait- Silas, didnt you say your friend owned the paper I worked for?" He nodded. "Well, can you ask him if he could let me, I mean- assign Sherlock Holmes to work on the case? You could bribe him with giving an exclusive interview about your marriage for the papers, in return, he has to let me work the murder story."

"Consider it done." Silas said, putting his arm over his eyes.

"Um, Silas?"

"What?" He asked, annoyed.

"Where am I to sleep?" With Sarah in the house, its not like you can occupy another room. It'll raise suspicion.

Silas removed his arm to look at you, before looking at his large bed.

You shake your head. "I am not sleeping in the same bed with you-"

"I wouldnt want that either." He said, grabbing a pillow. Your heart warmed at the gesture. He really was going to leave his bed for you, like the true gentleman-

Thud.

You looked at the pillow he'd thrown on the floor.

"There." He pointed before returning to bed.

"You want me to sleep on the floor?"

With his eyes closed, he replied. "You say that like you expected me to sleep on the floor."

"Well-"

"Its my room, my bed. Why would I sleep on the floor?"

"I dont know, whats the word- chivalry?!" You huffed, grabbing the pillow and walking near the closed balcony window. It was cold but you'd rather sleep with a pretty view than to wake up to Silas feet landing on your face.

Muttering curses under your breath, you soon fell asleep with your back turned to Silas. A few minutes later, he got off the bed and dropped a blanket on your sleeping body.

And they say chivalry is dead. He thought to himself, returning to his bed.

The next day, while dropping you off to work, you brought up the previous day's convo.

"I need something." Silas's gaze flickered from the window of the carriage to you. "What do you know about Henry Blackwood?"

Silas' looked bored again. "He's a fellow businessman, invests in people rather than companies, likes to keep his operations in the dark, which means he has secrets. His shop blew up some time ago, allegedly a "technical failure" but... I think someone did it."

"You think so too?" You asked, hopeful. "Do you know who?"

Silas shook his head. "No. His enemies, like his operations are secret. All I know is someone did it to send a message to him, blew up the shop deliberately while he was out."

A message?

"I want to get dirt on him." You watch Silas raise a brow at you. "Just... get me close to him, or to his people. I saw him talking to your uncles, maybe they know something?"

Silas shakes his head again. "My uncles talk to anyone who has money. Henry wouldnt ever invest in them, they couldnt manage a business for the life of them."

"And you? Would Henry invest in you?"

Silas nodded. "He's tried. I wasnt interested." He cut you off before you could even suggest the idea. "And I'm still not interested. But I'll get you close to him."

"Thank you." You settled back in your seat before remembering another request. "Silas?"

"What now?"

"Can I have some money?"

"Here's a pound-" You glared at him, making him sigh. "How much?"

"Mmhm, oh I dont know... just enough to buy a small house-"

"And why do you need a house?"

You looked at him dumbfounded. "Well, when our marriage goes to the sewers, I would like to have a roof over my head."

"And what if I say I dont intend on ending this marriage?" Your blood ran cold at his words.

"What?"

Silas tilted his head at you before chuckling. "Why have you turned pale? If anyone should be horrified at the prospect of staying married in this mismatch, completely unbalanced relationship, it should be me. Struck down, caught out of the lake in his prime, of both beauty and brain-"

"Oh God, please stop talking before blood starts pouring out of my ears."

"So you agree your voice is irritating enough to do that?" Silas remarked smirking.

"Shut up." You flared your nostrils at him. Why does he have to ruin my mood this early in the day?

He chuckled victoriously, looking out the window. "I'll get you the house. You dont need money for it." He looked at you, already knowing you'd be confused. He grinned, pointing to himself. "Duke of Westminster-" he then points at you. "Duchess of Westminster."

Of course. Now that you're married to the duke, you have a whole lot of land in your hands. You really can have a house anywhere you'd like.

The carriage stopped. "Off you go now, wife."

Entering the office, you were first greeted by Will, the man in charge on working on the White Chapel murders.

"Holmes! How did you do it?" He shook you by the shoulder gleefully. "How did you convince the boss to post my story next?!"

I married his friend. "Oh, I just... promised him an article. Once I give him that, we can work together on the murder story."

He nodded, ushering you to finish off your article first before helping him.

Making your way to your desk, you spotted Colin. "Hey, Colin-" But he walked right past you, as if he didnt hear you.

Maybe he didnt. You shrugged, sitting down at your desk as you began writing down the news about you and Silas.

"Oh, Mr Holmes has definitely written most accurately about you Y/n!" Sarah said as she read the papers at the breakfast table. "He calls you the "fairest maiden in town" and "beauty with brains"- oh, I couldnt agree more!"

You smiled, sipping your tea sheepishly while Silas rolled his eyes. Its been 3 days since you wrote an article announcing your marriage to the world, and the editor decided to post it on Sunday, when you and most of London had off from work, all tuning in to read "how the most eligible bachelor bagged the fairest maiden in town."

Sarah ate some of the dishes you'd prepared today. "These are absolutely delicious, Y/n! Silas, your wife-" A maid came in to inform her that there's someone at the door to meet her. As Sarah excused herself, you got up from your seat to serve Silas the food you'd made on Sarah's request.

Silas picked up his fork and took a bite, a smile forming on his lips.

"Have I ever told you how good of a cook you are?"

You blushed, looking down. "No-"

"Then why do you keep cooking?" He dropped his fork on the plate, pushing it aside. "Stop using my kitchen." He smirked as he drank his tea, watching rage take over your face.

"Listen you twat-"

Sarah came back rushing in, a worried look on her face. Silas immediately sat up. "What is it, nana?"

"The- there was someone here from the palace." She gulped. "They sent flowers and a letter congratulating you two on the marriage. They... they said they'd like to meet Y/n and- and welcome the new couple officially."

Silas understood Sarah's worry. The palace never writes to them. In fact, the last time they did, it was years ago when his parents had died.

Getting up from his seat, Silas wiped his face with a napkin before dropping it on the table. "Then we'll let them. We shall host the Queen."

"Si-" But he took her by the shoulders, easing Sarah's worry.

"Dont worry. This is our home, nana." We have the advantage.

Silas left to start making arrangements for hosting the queen at the estate, while Sarah ran around the house with the staff to prepare for the event that is a week from now. Seeing as you couldnt be of use there and everyone was too busy to give you any pointers on what to say or act when the queen arrives, you left the estate to explore the town. Or more specifically, return to the blown up vintage store.

Yep, you're still hoping your time machine survived.

When you arrived on Regent street, you saw the same men still guarding the store, so they probably still wouldn't have let you in. But you also saw Henry, who was leaving the store and in his carriage.

Deciding to follow him, you sneaked into the back of someone's carriage and rode it before jumping off it when it got near Henry's carriage. Fortunately, you didnt have to follow him for long as he got off on Piccadilly street soon and strolled into a place called "The Gentlemen's Club" and from the looks of the daunting bouncers standing outside, you knew you couldnt just stroll in like Henry.

You watched the people who seemed to walk into the club, mostly men, all dressed formally and looked like they were a part of the high society. You saw some women too, though most of them dressed scandalously, so you assume they were there to provide entertainment.

As the sun began setting, more and more people started entering the club and just when you were about to leave, you saw Henry walk out of the club, a frown settled on his face. You werent expecting him to leave the club so soon, not when more people had started going in there, to rave or whatever. If Henry was here for pleasure, then he came out too early. If he was here for business, then most of the club goers have just begun entering, which means that whoever he wanted to conduct business with was already in there. Someone who works at the club... maybe even owns it?

As you turned to leave, you felt someone bump into you.

"Watch where you're going!" The blonde haired woman shrieked at you before crossing the street to go to the club.

You huffed. Everyone's got a giant stick up their-

You whipped your head around, feeling someone watching you. And thats when you spot it- a shadowy figure of a man, standing in the window of the club, on the second floor. Henry? No, he left. Then...?

The shadow didnt move, staring at you until it creeped you enough to make you leave.

Silas finally sat down after working all day. Cadbury brought him his evening tea.

"How are the preparations coming along?" He asked his butler. Cadbury informed him of the arrangements he's made and the guest list he's written down that needs his approval before he sends out the invitations.

"And the seamstress will come tomorrow to make a gown for Miss Y/n-"

Silas cut him off. "No need. Send the seamstress to me first. I'll let her know what kind of clothes need to be made for the event, then she can take Y/n's measurements."

"As you wish, sir." Cadbury said, but Silas could see something troubling the young butler. They werent that apart in age, and both of them had practically grown together, each reading the other person well.

"What's the matter, Cadbury?" Silas set his teacup down.

Cadbury took a deep breath. "Its just- I dont understand why the palace is suddenly coming to visit you, after what happened at the dukedom ceremony. It was certainly... humiliating for them, so why would they be coming to welcome Miss Y/n into the family?"

Silas grinned. "They're coming to see who I replaced the princess with." He picked up his cup. "They couldnt break me down, so they're going to try their luck with the missus. There's another reason why the queen is coming, but you let me worry about that."

Cadbury looked concerned. "Then we should prepare Miss Y/n to make no mistakes."

"Dont worry, she wont." Silas smiled, making his butler even more confused. "Speaking of, did you observe her when she was cooking in the kitchen today?"

Cadbury nodded. "Yes. And as you'd said, she didnt touch, let alone cook with bacon or wine despite my insistence that its your favourite. She replaced the meats, and didnt use any alcohol at all!"

Silas chuckled, his eyes gleaming with intent. "Perfect. Just as I'd suspected." He looked at Cadbury again. "Are there any leftovers from the food she'd made?"

"Yes. I was about to throw it out-"

"No. Bring them to me. I'll eat them. If Y/n asks, tell her you fed it to the dogs and then they got violently sick." Cadbury was confused as he left to bring him the food. He thought that Silas didnt like your cooking, at least from what he'd heard him say to you.

Oh. Maybe the young duke just doesnt want to acknowledge that he enjoyed your food.

A week passed by quickly and the day of the royal dinner came. You were freaking out because Silas had barely spoken two words to you about how to act or what to say, just telling you to act as yourself and he'll take care of the rest.

"What the hell...?" You muttered, watching your reflection in the mirror. Okay, you're not a conservative, but even you knew that this plunging neckline was a little too much skin for this time period, especially in front of the queen!

You were wearing a white satin and lace gown- wedding gown, if you were being honest. All that was missing was a veil, but you guess that would be a little too much on the nose. The dress was beautiful, no doubt, but it was missing a whole lot of cloth around the neckline, the tight corset making your chest puff out slightly more with a snatched waist. Your collar bones looked prominent, but you would credit that to the bland food served in London. Seriously, why do they act like vampires when it comes to adding garlic?

"Your husband had this dress designed specifically for you, madame!" The seamstress told you as she added her finishing touches. "He must love you a lot!" You resisted the urge to roll your eyes as you wore the jewellery he'd sent for you.

Yes. Thats why I sleep on the floor while he sleeps in his bed. Hope he suffocates under those plush sheets. My backache is the sign of our true love.

"Oh, who did that to your hair?" You heard a voice behind you and you turned around quickly.

"Benny!" You squealed, watching Ben, Liam, Shepherd and Colin enter your room. "Ah, I'm so glad you all came."

"Of course we did. There's free booze-" Shepherd smacked Liam on the back of his head. "We're here because we're happy for you."

"And because they wanted to see the queen." Colin said, rolling his eyes, making the other two bicker with him.

"How's Silas treating you? Are you happy?" Ben asked in a low tone as he fixes your hair.

Oh Ben. He reminds you so much of Qasim. "Yes, Benny. Silas is very good to me. I couldnt be happier."

Ben had a sad smile on his face as he nodded.

Just a few minutes later, Silas entered your room. "Y/n. Gentlemen." He nodded to them, before pulling you aside. "I need to talk to you."

You looked at him surprised. Silas was concerned. He was nervous about something. You've never seen him break a sweat.

"What is it, Silas?"

"The queen is onto us."

"What?"

Silas looked at you exasperated. "She knows about our sham marriage." He casted a look to the boys, who were pretending like they werent trying to hear what he was whispering to you. Silas pulled you close by your elbow to whisper. "I have a source telling me that the queen knows you... you're not a Christian. That you're a Muslim."

You pull back to look at him wide eyed. "How- how did she- how did you-?"

"I suspected, you confirmed it now. But she knows. And she's coming here tonight to expose us. If she tells everyone tonight, then she'll be able to take away my dukedom and she will make our lives hell!"

Your throat went dry. "What- what do we do?"

"There's a way." Silas grip on your arm tightened. "We get married for real."

You tilted your head in confusion before shaking your head at what he was implying. "Silas, no-"

"We get a Nikkah."

A Nikkah? If... if you get a Nikkah with him, an Islamic wedding ceremony, then you'll be married to him for real. No- no, the only reason you'd agreed to his proposal was because you knew it was a fake marriage, it didnt really affect your conscious because it was a sham! But-

"No. Silas-"

"Y/n, please." Silas pleaded. "Dont make me beg. If the queen finds out, everything I've worked so hard for, it'll be for naught. She'll take it all away. Dont you- dont you want to help catch the lunatic behind those murders? Dont you want to make a difference by writing? If you dont do this, if you dont stand by me, we'll both be done for!"

You looked at him conflicted, your resolve starting to break as he continued to talk. "My sister, my parents, my grandfather... my family... they need me, Y/n. They need me to pull this off, for me to reinstate our honour, for me to remove the stain and stigma from my family's name. Please, I'm asking you to do this for me... for my family." He swallowed thickly, his eyes boring into you with intensity. "You once told me you lost everything. I'm telling you now that I'll lose everything if we dont do this. Will you let me lose everything, Y/n?"

Lose everything? Everything?

You shake your head. "No, Silas. I... I wont let you lose everything."

10 minutes later, there was an imam in your room. Silas had somehow managed to find an imam in London to marry you two off. But you suppose when you're so rich and well connected, you can find anyone.

This is happening. This is really happening.

With Ben, Colin, Liam and Shepherd as your witnesses and Cadbury and his wife as Silas's witnesses, the imam began the Nikkah ceremony.

Am I really getting married?

You watched the imam ask Silas some questions, and you tuned them out except for one.

"Are you a Muslim?"

You looked up. A flicker of hope! Yes! If Silas isnt a Muslim, he cant marry you! The Nikkah wont happen, or at the very least wont be real because he's not Muslim! He cant marry you, this will still be a sham marriage, a paper marriage and your conscious will be clear and you wont feel like throwing up-

"Yes. I converted an hour ago." Silas informed the imam. "I took my shahada, in sound mind and state, of my own will without any pressure or coercion."

No. Oh no-

"Do you take Y/n to be your wife?"

"I do."

"Do you take Y/n to be your wife?" The imam repeated.

"I do."

"Do you take Y/n to be your wife?" He asked again.

"I do." And with that, Silas signed the Nikkah contract. The officiant then turned to you.

"With the agreed mahr, do you take Silas to be your husband?"

"Mahr?" You whisper in a daze. The officiant looks confused. "Do you not know what your mahr is?"

Mahr is a gift to the bride given by the groom. It is a symbol of the groom's promise to care and provide for the bride. You're more surprised that Silas even knew what Mahr is.

"It must've slipped my mind to tell you." Silas looked at Cadbury, who handed him a document. "For your Mahr, I give you Westminster palace." You looked at the document, he really had signed it over to you!

"Silas..." You say in disbelief, your hands trembling a bit. He smiled reassuringly at you. "You wanted a house. Here's one."

House? He gave me a palace!

"Do you take Silas to be your husband?" The imam asked you. You stared at Silas, at his content face. He didnt have to sign over a whole palace to you, much less one which he'd just gotten from the queen!

And he looked perfectly content with his decision. Not a shadow of doubt. He... he trusts you? Trusts that you'll maintain this union? Wont run out on him- wont betray him?

"I do."

Does he believe that this marriage will last?

"I do."

Does he trust you?

"I do."

You signed the papers, your eyes still in a daze as Silas smiles charmingly at you before pulling you close to hug you. You hear everyone clap around you as he leans down to whisper in your ear.

"Thank you."

Silas escorted you to the dining room where all the guests were waiting. You were still quiet and in a trance as you walked by him, with your hand around his arm.

He's surprised it didnt make you suspicious with how quickly he'd found an imam. Truthfully speaking, Silas knew you were a Muslim when he first proposed to you. He had his doubts, which were confirmed by his observations especially with your aversion to foods that were forbidden for Muslims. And yes, the queen had also found out about you being a Muslim, but only because he spread the rumour to them.

The Nikkah documents, the ceremony, the Mahr, he had already planned it the moment he found out that the queen was coming over. And the reason why he waited until the last minute to spring this out on you was so that you would be pressured into saying yes. He just couldnt risk you taking time to think this through.

You may still be under the impression that Silas chose you because it was circumstantial or whatever, but he chose you to be his wife precisely because you were a Muslim. Oh he has plans to use you.

You're everything the English monarchy hates, what it stands for. You're not prim and proper, despite your best attempts. You work, that too disguised as a man, and you're far too strong willed and determined to prove yourself unlike the British high society women.

He knows the crown wont be happy to have Muslim bride in the family, much less a Muslim duke who just so happily signed off Westminster palace to his wife.

A Cheshire grin graced his lips, which people mistook for glee for being with his blushing bride. He's going to have fun ruffling the queen's feathers. He's going to tilt the palace upside down.

Curtsying to the queen, Silas immediately noticed and took great pleasure in the queen's displeasure at your dress. Yes, he specifically chose a wedding gown that showed too much skin for the conservative monarch.

"Your majesty, this is Y/n, my sweetheart." Silas introduced you so lovingly, you couldnt help but be flustered as you avert your eyes to the ground.

"Its an honour to meet you, your majesty." You manage to say without throwing up.

Victoria casted one unamused look to you. "Very interesting choice for clothing."

Oh shit. Shit. Shit. She hates it. I knew it-

Silas's hand gently grasped yours. "Thank you, your majesty. I chose it for her after being inspired by a painting my love gifted me. Ah, let me show it to you."

You already knew it was the stupid portrait he was talking about, and you wanted to hide away into a corner as you saw the disapproval on the queen's face- God, she doesnt mask any emotion, does she?

The queen turned to Silas. "I have heard a rumour and I would like you to address it now." She said, glancing at you.

Silas nodded, leaning down to press a kiss to your temple. "Why dont you go and help nana with the guests? I'll be right with you."

Sarah was introducing to the guests, but your head was preoccupied with Silas and the queen. They are definitely talking about me-

"Y/n, this is Mr Blackwood." You stared at the familiar face. "Oh please, Sarah. No need to be formal with me." He smiled charmingly. "Besides, miss Y/n and I have met before."

"Well, thats wonderful! You two talk- I have to find my troublesome grandsons before they embarrass me!" Sarah left you with Henry.

"Congratulations on your wedding." He said with exaggerated joy, though his eyes expressed anything but that. "I'm sure he offered you a lot of money for putting up a show. I just wish you'd told me about it before."

"Excuse me?" You frowned. "I'm not putting up a show."

He raised a brow. "Really? You expect me to believe that a FitzGeorge wants to marry you? Out of the blue?" He throws a look to your gown. "That this wedding dress wasnt him trying to just convince the world that you're his wife?"

Your jaw ticked. "You're right. This dress is Silas's way telling everyone we're married. Because we were married on paper before, but I have an imam, 4 witnesses and a Nikkah document stating that Silas and I are married, both in the eyes of the law and God." You watched Henry's face fall. What use was it lying when he already heard of the rumours. Rolling your eyes, you turned to leave, only for him to reach out and grab your arm.

"Why are you doing this?" Henry asked you, looking for any signs of you lying. He didnt find any. "You know you dont belong with him-"

"Oh? I dont?" You snapped. "Who do I belong with? No, go on. Tell me."

He pulled you close, looking into your eyes. "Me. You belong to me. You know it, you felt it- we have something. We have-" He lowered his voice. "I can give you everything you want. Whatever you'd lost in my shop, I'll find it again. I'll travel the world for it, just- come to me. Leave Silas."

"That is the most pathetic thing I've heard come out of a man's mouth." You yanked your hand out of his grasp, walking away from him. The next time you saw him, he was busy talking with Victoria's heir- Prince Edward VII.

"Sweetheart, there you are!" Silas grabbed you, pulling you along. "I was just telling her majesty about how we met. You remember, love?" He shot you a knowing look.

You nodded, remembering what you two had practised. "Yes. We met at the ballet theatre near Oxford. It was love at first sight-"

"Ballet theatre?" Victoria's voice was sharp. Your heart dropped as you tried to follow up on your lie. See, this is why you two should've discussed this because its hard to lie on the spot!

"She's an amazing ballerina! Ah! I was immediately charmed by her art! She bewitched me!" Silas said cheekily and you wanted to smack him for saying "bewitched" because this is still Victorian era and sure, they dont have witch trials anymore, but why would he risk even the accusation when it is literally the queen's ancestors who had a major part in burning up "witches" in the 1600s!

Look, people back then were dumb and evil, which is a really bad combination.

"Is she now?" Victoria looked at you now, with those piercing eyes. "I would love to attend a show of yours. See what these FitzGeorges fancy so much."

Oh she knows. You can see it, hear it in her monotonous voice that she knows Silas is lying.

And yet this dumbass continues to lie. "Of course! We'll host you for... Christmas eve?"

As Victoria left, you glared at Silas. "Why would you say that?! I'm not a ballerina and you invited her to watch me dance? Do you want to get caught?!"

Silas tutted at you. "You worry too much. Its not that hard, you know. Besides, you have my grandmother to teach you. Ah yes, nana will love it-"

"Silas!" You stopped him. "I cant learn ballet in a month!"

"Not with that attitude-"

"We will get caught. You will be caught, and I will be embarrassed and- and- I wont let anyone make a fool out of me, Silas!" He pulled you into his chest, shushing you.

"I wont let anyone make a fool out of you either, Y/n." He pulled your head back to look at you with those deceptively charming eyes. "You carry my name next to yours now. You're my wife now, and by association, your dignity is my dignity now. I wont let anyone make a mockery of us, Y/n."

You looked up at him and you believed him. How could you not, when lying comes so easily to Silas?

He watched Sarah console you, promising to help you learn. Silas his his smile as he picked up his glass, enjoying his plan falling into place.

Ah, it would be a pity to see your heart break when the entire theatre laughs at you.

Thoughts????

#time traveller au #yandere x darling #yandere #yandere male #male yandere #yandere boyfriend #soft yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere x y/n #silas my oc

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cherishloved · 21 days ago

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심재윤 SICK MORNINGS .

. ݁ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 : bf jake taking care of you when you're sick . 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 : fluffy fluff fluff . 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 : bf!jake x fem!reader 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 : writing is all in lowercase , petnames , vomiting , etc .

𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘥 — this is so sweet omg .

𓈒 ⠀ 𓂃⠀ ⠀˖⠀ ♥︎̼̻ ⠀ ˖⠀⠀ 𓂃 ⠀ 𓈒

the sun hit your face as you stirred in your bed, opening your eyes. you take a deep breath to relieve yourself. for some reason, you feel all mushy. what is going on? you gently tap your boyfriend on the shoulder, silently saying that you need to say something. he slowly turns around to look at you, rubbing his eyes.

"what's wrong, princess?" jake whined, still holding onto your arm, refusing to let go.

"i think i'm sick.." you sighed, laying the back of your hand onto your forehead.

"what?!" jake replied, jumping up to properly look at you.

"baby, don't worry, hm?" you reassured him. "it's probably just a cold or something."

he puts his hands onto your cheeks, giving you a small peck on the lips. "just a cold? are you sure..?" he questions again, starting to worry about you.

"yes, i'm completely sure baby. it's probably because of the change of weather recently."

he looks at you with his unresistable puppy eyes, lips slowly turning into a pout. "you really really really sure?"

a giggle leaves your mouth, opening your arms to hug him. "yes jake i'm sure.." you say while giving him a kiss on the head.

"fine then.. let's go to sleep angel, it's pretty early."

you nod your head as you and jake lay down together, still in your embrace. you carefully start running your fingers through his hair, as he starts winding down.

a few hours later, your eyes shot open from the sharp cramp in your stomach. your hands are still in jake's hair, from a few hours ago. you slowly take your fingers out, trying not to hurt him, even though he's asleep. you run to the bathroom as quick as you can, catching your breath. you feel a sense of vomit building up in your throat. you quickly kneel down near the toilet, sweeping your hair to the back. jake runs as quick as he can to the bathroom, knowing something has happened.

"princess, you gonna vomit?" he quietly asks, completely confused.

you nod, and he quickly kneels down to hold your hair from getting yucky vomit on it. as you vomit, he looks at you worried. where these really just the symptoms for a cold?

as you finish letting all of the waste out of your stomach, you can barely even breathe. you turn around looking at jake, saying that you need water.

"water, baby? yes okay, stay here, i'm coming back." jake says as he starts filling up a glass of water in the kitchen.

you feel much more better now, letting the waste out of you. jake comes back with the glass of water he filled up in the kitchen and starts making you sip some, one by one.

"you're okay now princess, right?" his voice trembling a bit.

"yes baby, don't worry." you reply, a soft smile appearing on your face.

"that's my girl."

he kisses your forehead as you continue taking slow sips of the water. he helps you get up, pulling you into a tight embrace. layla walks into the bathroom, circling the both of you.

"hi my baby!" you coo at layla, trying your best to pet her, while jake is still hugging you like a giant teddy bear.

"oh my gosh." jake says, staring into blank space.

"hm?" you reply, unsure what he's doing.

"baby.. do you want buldak?"

"YES??" you reply, squeezing him tighter, "you know how much i LOVE that shit??"

"i thought you were sick?"

"not anymore i'm not! okay come on baby we're going to 7/11!! and you're buying me the whole buldak section okay love you!"

jake just looked at you weird, but what could you do? you were his sick girlfriend, and he would do anything to make you happy.

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xanasaurusrex · 1 year ago

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clarisse being touchy clarisse la rue x reader (no godly parent specified) a/n: this randomly came to me while rewatching the second episode and i decided to write it. it's 11:30pm at the time of starting this, so idk how coherent this is gonna be, but it's gonna be cute, so strap in and enjoy the ride! taglist: @asvterias @lvrue @thewritingbarbie @kroumi @ravisinghs-wife

you were used to seeing a touchy clarisse. the two often found ways to be alone, to be just the two of you alone together. this was when clarisse got out all of her touchiness on you. whenever the two of you were in your little world, she never let go of you.

but the past few days had been busy. there had been lots of different types of incidents, and the two of you hadn't been able to get together just the two of you.

so when some of the other camp counsellors announced that they were holding a counselor-only bonfire, the two of you jumped at the opportunity.

at the beginning of the bonfire, clarisse was just holding your hand. you would occasionally lean your head on her shoulder, and she would lay her cheek on the top of your head. a few times, she pressed a kiss to your hair as well.

nobody really blinked at that, since those were things that the two of you already did. it was a bit of a shock at first, clarisse acting anything but hostile towards another person, but at this point, after the two of you dating for over a year, everyone was used to it.

as the night wore on, however, clarisse's restraint dissolved. she wanted so desperately to hold you, to grab onto you and never let you go.

she started following you around wherever you were, refusing to let go of your hands. when you told her that you needed your hands to get s'more stuff, she decided to just curl her arm around your waist, and refuse to let that go.

after a while, you wandered off while she was talking to someone from her cabin. she realized two seconds too late that you had extricated her hand from your waist, and she whirled around, freaking out.

she caught sight of you just a few seconds later, sitting in a camping chair roasting a marshmallow. her eyebrows knitted together as she walked up behind you.

she gently laid her hands on your shoulders, startling you slightly. you turned your head sharply, but smiled when you caught sight of her. "hi!" you said cheerily.

clarisse's mouth turned down into a sad frown as she gave you her puppy dog eyes.

"what?" you asked, turning around further in the chair to be more head on with her.

clarisse blew out a sad breath, and made eye contact with you as she asked, "why did you leave me?"

"oh my gods," you let out a laugh as you sagged against the camping chair. "you're so dramatic," you said.

clarisse scoffed. "i looked away for one second! one second, and you were gone! i thought a monster got you," she huffed.

"no you didn't!" you started cackling as you took hold of her hand that was rested on the top of the camping chair. you gave it a gentle kiss and looked up at clarisse through your lashes, giving her your own puppy dog eyes, the ones that were famous for getting clarisse to do literally anything you want. she wavers, but does her best to remain composed. "do you wanna come sit with me?"

and that was it.

clarisse immediately walked around the camping chair, and grabbed your hands to pull you up. she sat down in the chair, and then pulled you to sit in her lap.

this was something that clarisse loved, something the two of you did quite a lot. there was just something about having you, the most important person in her life, on her lap. she was able to wrap her arms around your waist and pull you closer to her. she was also able to lay her head on your shoulder, and she really loved that.

as soon as you were sat securely on her lap, she pulled the two of you closer, and laid her head on your shoulder, closing her eyes with a small smile on her face. she laid her hand in the crook of your elbow, gently stroking your arm as you roasted your marshmallow.

it was times like this that you and clarisse absolutely shocked everyone else at camp.

clarisse was a daughter of ares, and she really fit the bill. she was known for being ruthless in combat, absolutely terrifying with her magic spear. she hunted fearlessly in her neck of the woods during capture the flag, and it was so renowned that everybody avoided those woods as best they could during the games.

suffice to say, clarisse was known for being scary.

but she was different when she was with you. it was like you flicked a switch somewhere inside of her, made her different. you softened her edges, made her less scratchy. well, with you at least. she was still just as scratchy with everyone else, so to speak.

right at this very moment, luke, chris, and a few other counselors were looking at the two of you in complete awe and confusion.

"it's so weird to see her like that still," chris says, looking at the two in confusion.

luke nodded in agreement. "i agree," he watched as clarisse nuzzled against your neck, and sent you a beaming smile as you looked down at her with one of your own. she pecked your lips softly, and luke turned back to the group he was with. "it's crazy to see the switch. literally five minutes ago she was like, scolding me for taking too many chips,"

one of the other counselors laughed. "the other day, i accidentally put a sword back in the wrong spot, and she yelled at me for a solid five minutes. right as i was about to burst into tears, y/n walked in, and clarisse immediately melted,"

"she's so whipped," luke laughed, and the others laughed along with him.

clarisse knew she was whipped, she was very much so aware of that. but she was also, very much so okay with that.

she had never loved anyone as much as she loved y/n.

#clarisse la rue #clarisse larue #clarisse la rue x reader #clarisse la rue drabble #clarisse la rue x you #clarisse la rue x yn #clarisse la rue x y/n #clarisse la rue fluff #percy jackson #dior goodjohn #❛ xanasaurusrex ༉‧₊˚#heroes of olympus #percy jackson and the olympians #pjo #hoo

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luvhughes43 · 1 month ago

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BIRTHDAY | QUINN HUGHES

[MASTERLIST]

request: can you write an angsty one for quinn where he forgets your birthday because he’s busy with hockey and you fight about it and then you give him the silent treatment the next day and he tries to make it up it up you

note: i changed it a little bit!

word count: 1.2k words

you waited all day with baited breath, wondering when your boyfriend of three years would acknowledge your birthday. usually, depending on both of your work schedules, quinn would take you to your favourite cafe for breakfast and then later in the day he would cook one of your favourite dishes for dinner. In between meals, you’d spend the day doing whatever you wanted, which usually just meant going for a walk and maybe to the mall.

you woke up early and got yourself dressed and ready for the day. quinn was already gone to the gym which wasn’t unusual, so you scrolled through your emails while you waited for him to come home.

quinn didn't come home till noon.

“hey babe,” quinn greeted you quickly, pecking your cheek before he rushed into your shared bedroom. you swivel around on the bar stool you were sitting on, eyes following quinn as he jogged from your bedroom and into the bathroom.

when he reemerged from the room, bag in hand, you frown. “what are you doing?”

“the guys are going to this new place.. some new gym downtown”

“oh,” you deflate, “weren’t you just at the gym tho?”

“yeah but babe, this one has an ice bath!” quinn explains enthusiastically, as if the addition of an ice bath should outweigh the excitement that was your 24th birthday.

“right…”

“we're not working out or anything. just checking the place out. It's good for team building” he adds.

you stare blankly at him, wishing that this is just some elaborate joke and that he has a plan for your birthday.

“right well, i’ll see you later!” quinn flashes a quick smile as he leans down to kiss your cheek again.

“bye…?”

quinny: going out for dinner! so sorry we didn't get to spend any time together today. wanna do dinner tomorrow night?

quinny: the teams really getting on good! I think we’ve got a close group here

it was 6pm, you were alone, and in approximately 10 minutes you would officially be 24. how great is this? you thought sarcastically. you were about to be 24, in a too nice apartment, with a boyfriend who completely forgot about you.

you pulled your cookies out of the oven, dropping the tray on top of the stove with a clatter. tears sprung to your eyes as you pulled out a small pack of glittering candles. you didn't even get an invite to quinns dinner tonight.

you watched your candles go out slowly while you imagine how you should've spent the day. Happy birthday to me…

“hey baby, what did you do all day?” quinn asked as he slipped into bed next to you. his alarm clock had blinded you with the time, 11:24, lit up in a cutting shade of red. he tried to hold your gaze, but you turned over. he had actually forgotten.

quinn grabbed at your shoulder, but you shrugged him off. “I’m tired,” you whispered through the ball in your throat. if quinn talked about his day, you might actually cry.

“what's wrong?” quinn asked, genuinely concerned. he sat up in bed, reaching over and flicking his lamp on.

“I’m not talking about this tonight”

“well, no. if you're going to say something then say it. what did i do wrong this time?” you rolled around to face him just as he finished his sentence with an eyeroll.

“excuse me?” you were seeing red.

“just tell me what i did wrong so i can fix it. did i leave a sock on the floor?” he jokes, quickly surveying the room and noticing that you cleaned earlier.

you sat up in bed. “you're such an asshole! you know that right?”

“woah! no need to get angry! i just wanted to go to bed. Its late.”

“yeah well, i wanted to celebrate my birthday with my boyfriend today so i guess we don't always get what we want, huh?” your voice is venomous as you climb out of bed. you rip your pillow off the bed with every intention to sleep in the guest room.

quinns shocked expression was almost comical. his eyes wide, eyebrows raised, and mouth slightly agape as he finally realized what was bothering you. with how busy his new schedule was due to being captain, he had completely forgotten about you.

“y/n don't go! I’m so sorry!” quinn kicks the comforter away from him as follows you down the hallway.

“I don't want to talk to you right now,”

“baby, please! I swear I didn’t mean to forget-” quinn started but you abruptly cut him off.

“i don't want to hear it! I waited for you all day! I shouldn't have to remind you when my birthday is! We talked about it literally last week!”

“I’m sorry! I’ll make it up to you!” quinns words fell on deaf ears as you slammed the guest bedroom door in his face.

as soon as the door was locked, you let all your emotions of the day out. your sad uber eats delivery, raw cookies, the moping around… quinn.

quinn stood on the other side of the door, face in between his hands as he listened to you cry.

the next morning, quinn was on good boyfriend behaviour. he had bought you a bouquet of your favourite flowers, made you breakfast, and had a birthday card waiting at the table for you.

you rubbed at your eyes tiredly as you made your way into the kitchen. you had gotten absolutely no sleep last night, and you were still upset at quinn.

quinn watched you in silence as he set the last piece of french toast in his pan. you glanced up at him before averting your gaze towards your gifts.

To Y/n,

Happy 24th Birthday. I love you beyond words.

Quinn

“Quinn,” you sighed as you set the card back on the table.

“It’s a shitty card I know,” you can’t help the small smile that graces your lips . “I’m so sorry. I called in sick today.. we can do something or you can do whatever, its up to you! I just really want you to know that i’m sorry” he sets the fresh piece of french toast onto a plate before sliding it over to you.

“I know you're sorry,” you say, stepping over and into quinns open arms. you stand there for a minute, quinn softly rubbing your back while you lay your head on his shoulder. “I just felt really awful”

quinn hums to acknowledge what you were saying. “I know. I don't know what was wrong with me”

“you have new responsibilities q. you're going to be busy with the team” you put his thoughts into words and it was his time to sigh.

“Still. There’s no excuse” quinn hugs you tighter. “I love you”

“I love you too” you whisper into the side of his neck, arms tightening around him.

It wasn't okay that he had forgotten, but at least he was making an effort to fix it.

#quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes blurb #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes fic #nhl x reader #nhl fanfiction #nhl blurb #nhl imagine

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kyupidos · 3 months ago

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pokepoke.. i saww that requests r opeenn:3 so can i request the housewards w m!reader whos super energetic and always happy,,, ball of aunshine (oor like emu:3!!) hcs pwease

04/11/25 — twisted wonderland <3

‘is meaning smile!’ — summary. ‘housewardens with an energetic and happy m!reader!’

characters ;; housewardens -malleus , tags ;; reader is male ( masculine terms like “boyfriend” ), reader may or may not be yuu ( up to the reader ), romantic fluff

a/n ( omg…gets poked…AAH it’s been MONTHS since this ask, my apologies..i got stuck a few times and really had to look deep into my heart to come up with ideas, but here it is! i mean i wrote it a long while ago when i first received the ask but things came up…like me working on getting a job,, i also ended up cutting out malleus, i’m sorry 😭 sunshine x gllooomyyy(..??) is such a common trope but i ended up having a hard time writing him. i think my bias in characters shows in writing length anyways.. ( also hope you don’t mind me testing formats here )

riddle rosehearts —

riddle is, quite usually, strict and hot headed—of course, that’s not to say things change. especially upon meeting you, who always seems to be so lax and free spirited. not only that, but very full of energy and enthusiastic, so he noticed. for quite a bit of time, he watched you from afar, in all honesty, in almost the smallest tinge of jealousy ( not that he’ll ever say it aloud, unless you manage to get him vulnerable enough ).

actually, he quite likes your attitude, from time to time, even if it, when you first met, would give him a migraine most of the time from your fits of energy and happiness. whenever he becomes upset about any sort of rule breaking, your energy and good spirit tends to bring the peace ( not to say he doesn’t still get pissed over ace and deuce..especially ace, cough. that’s a lost cause ). and it gave him pleasure to know that despite his..attitude, especially pre book 1, you seemed to be so chipper around him despite what he put you and the others through.

and to be honest, he can’t even begin to count the amount of times you’ve happily and willingly, he notes, listened to his rants and helped him calm his temper when necessary. not condescendingly or anything, just be there both for him and with him.

for some reason, despite the fact you’ve been together for some time now, he still lets out a hushed puff of surprise when you grab his hand, sat at a gazebo hidden within the rose maze—particularly to follow rule 339, for your post-meal beverage to drink some lemon tea with two sugar cubes together. quite usually, and especially prior to his overblot, this was a solemn act. but it’s as you squeeze his hand empathetically he comes to terms with the fact that “solemn” won’t be a phrase he’ll use to describe himself any time soon, from the very moment he met you.

“i hope you’re not too upset about the mess from earlier,” you laughed it off easily, and he’ll never understand how you manage to find it in you to be so cheerful, but he’ll never be truly upset about it. “i’m sure ace and the others didn’t mean it.”

“the fact ace always ends up mentioned by name should be enough to state how much of a trouble maker he is,” riddle huffed, but in all honesty, he stopped being mad the moment you stepped in to help out—at the very least, you covered most of the blow. ace definitely owes you after that one ( or so he promises ), but it’s not like you were doing it for selfish reasons anyway. “i’ll make sure he properly atones soon later.”

you laughed at that, but he already knew you weren’t doing it out of ill will. especially since he could feel the genuinity behind your smile from miles away. “yeah, i bet,” and your hand is still gently holding onto his, he noticed. he wasn’t a fan of pda, but honestly, he really loves this kind of attention. he never says it, but his content smile tells you all you need to know. and he adores his loving boyfriend more than you’ll ever think.

leona kingscholar —

he will, truly and honest to goodness, never understand how you do it. leona would even go as far as to say that your cheerful outlook on things even blinds him and forces him to close his eyes even when he isn’t about to go to sleep. and honestly, he’ll never be able to make sense of the way you always, whether literally or figuratively, always seem to extend your hand towards him so invitingly and with such genuine warmth. when you were only getting to know each other, in fact, he almost hated it. almost.

of course, he loves and worships you now. not so blindly, of course, he knows better than to be so ignorant when it comes to having this kind of relationship with someone. but that doesn’t change the fact he has a bias towards you, and it’s obvious ( ruggie had to corner you to make sure you weren’t stealing his money. ). at the beginning, your overwhelmingly positive attitude somehow put a damper on him. maybe it was jealousy, or the fact at the time he was convinced he would never get to have you, he’ll honestly never understand or recall what his thought process at the time was.

but now he does have you, and you have him, and his dreams most definitely are far better now. since he convinced you to start being his living pillow, actually, he’s been more content in his sleep, he noticed. makes it a little harder to wake him up, you’ve heard ruggie complain..but still, you think it’s nice he feels so safe to be off guard around you, the predator he prides himself to be. ( a lot of his dreams consist of you too, but he’ll never say that aloud given said pride ).

you were having one of those nice moments right now, actually, together in his dorm room as he draped himself over you, you smiling like an idiot ( or so he thinks so on a whim, but if he were to be more poetic, he’d say you were blessing him with a smile befitting to be worn by angels ) as you combed through his hair with your hands. his hand gently holding hours, with barely any force so you could still go on with your handiwork as he gazed up at you through his half lidded eyes.

“you don’t always need to be so loud during our spell drive games,” he muttered, almost like it was mostly just something he said to pass the time. “it gets embarrassing sometimes.” a half lie, he’s actually very proud of the attention you give him and will never not use an excuse to flaunt it. the teasing remarks from malleus and his goons ( as he calls them ) during spell drive games tends to get on his nerves though.

“huh? why wouldn’t i cheer on my boyfriend?” you questioned like it was obvious, in a way that almost makes him feel silly for even asking. of course that’s how you would respond. “isn’t that a boyfriend’s duty? i’ll love you forever, you know! i’ll show you off forever, you can trust me on that, leona.”

oh, by the way, if he ever had the chance, he would finally and definitely let you know he loves you just like that and 100x more. because just so you know, if he ignores the fact you are his sun, not even the explosion of the sun would be enough to get him away from you.

after all, you make a very comfortable pillow ( cough his way of saying he loves you ).

azul ashengrotto —

point blank and simple, when he first met you he assumed your cheerfulness and kind “act” ( he can’t believe someone would be so genuine with him ) was a ruse to extort something, anything, out of him. but it never happened. he was convinced you were playing the long game, and i’ll tell you, it took him a while to finally adjust to the fact that you’re not kidding when you say you’d rather blow the school up with a microwave mishap than do anything like that to him. i mean..it’s a little out there and oddly specific ( he’s actually worried you might’ve actually accidentally nearly done that once ), but floyd and jade have said worse so it’s fine.

actually, no matter what, he’ll never get used to how you seem to never expect anything in return. ‘it’s stupid’, he thinks, and he even goes as far to call it idiotic, ‘how does he even survive in this school?’ it stresses him out actually, because he always considers himself indebted to you whenever you do something for him that you keep telling him he didn’t need to pay you back for. he just couldn’t seem to get it out of his head that someone would do something for him out of the pure goodness of his heart.

that’s part of how the two of you grew closer, in fact..somehow. in his need to no longer owe you, he’d offer you little things like discounts at the mostro lounge or his help in certain subjects you were struggling with free of charge. slowly, these things turned into a genuine pleasure to be around you, and a way to no longer owe you slowly became an excuse to meet with you again and be greeted with your constant energy and affection. how long is takes for him to accept this and actually confess to you ( or maybe you just confess to him if you’re impatient enough ) is another story.

however it goes, he’s thankful it happened. after all, your cheerful and high spirited attitude, which you seem to always be able to tune and adjust to when the situation needs it ( he quickly realizes the more he spends time with you that you’re also much more perceptive of social interactions than he first gave you credit for, ) always seems to help destress him after long days of work at the mostro lounge.

“dear,” he starts carefully, “you don’t need to wait for me to finish my work like this. i suspect it may take me much longer than i initially expected it to…i’m sorry.” you perked up when he first spoke, but didn’t let him deter you. “i know i said we could go out today, but..”

you didn’t let him finish. instead, you got up carefully to hug him from behind, something he tensed at. not because he wasn’t used to your affection, he learned long ago how casual you were with it, though you understood when he didn’t want it ( albeit not often, he always seems to be vying for it ). rather, because he knows that’s how you like to tease him.

you gave him a light kiss on the cheek, one which he sighed in content at as he slowly raised one arm to hold onto yours, which still seemed to be holding him. “you think i’d just leave you by yourself knowing that?” you teased, and he hummed in response as if he already knew the answer. “plus, if that’s the case, i think i have the solution.”

he tilted his head up now to look at you in curiosity, “is that so?”

he was quite sure at first you only said it on a whim given your usual spurts of energy and unbotheredness at the unfortunate turn of events, but he quickly came to terms with it as you took a chair to sit right beside him, though you leaned against him as though the chair rests dividing the two of you never existed at all.

“i’ll just stay here with you!”

he wanted to refuse, at first. the work pile was enough that he would likely have to pull an all nighter for it, as embarrassing as it was to say, which was probably why he left that tid bit out in the first place. but as you gleamed in happiness at the idea as you usually do, so unbothered by these sorts of things as usual, he couldn’t help but be a little selfish.

“alright then, dear,” he sighed, although in a dramatized way for you to know he wasn’t truly upset by the turn of events, “stay here with me.”

kalim al-asim —

a kindred spirit, in a way, and kalim can’t help but be delighted. it’s unusual for a guy to be in night raven so casually, so merry about their way and energetic on top of that, he knows and acknowledges that. consider him a babbling idiot all you like, he knows better than that, and you’re quite sure he knows more than anything he ever lets on.

actually, he approached you first. and when i tell you, he was in for a big, but lovely surprise when you returned the favor. two people whose energy and smiles could put out a hundred stars and more. truth be told, he was a little worried at first. he’d been in love with you since the moment he laid eyes on you, but for a few days, the idea you were so kind to him only to poison him for his family lineage, or worse, stuck in the back of his mind as if the idea itself was a poison. but only just a little, because you managed to wipe those worries away so easily with your sunshine attitude.

through your enthusiastic reassurance, he’s come to learn to trust and rely on you whenever he needs it, and you, of course, do so with him too. jamil finds himself feeling like if the two of you plan another party in the next three days then he’s going to get an aneurysm. you assure him he won’t, at least any time soon, but he’s a little unconvinced when you cheer on kalim to make this party “the most exciting one yet!” ( you’ve been proclaiming about that for at least nine prior hosted parties ).

“hahah…sorry you had to get stuck with cleaning with me, [y/n]!” kalim giggled nervously, rubbing the back of his head with his free palm before reverting back to sweeping the mess left on the floor from the party a few hours prior.

as it turned out jamil had taken your word when you reassured him he wouldn’t be getting a bad headache anytime soon, and scolded you both into cleaning the aftermath. not like you minded, you’re someone who keeps your word.

“you don’t need to apologize at all kalim,” you waved him off mindlessly, not too far from him as you collected the party streamers from under the tables, a smile still on your face despite it all. “even the boring things can be fun whenever i’m with you, you know!“

“hey, you’re right!! after this, wanna go on a magic carpet ride? we can make this into a game until then!”

“kalim.. i’d be delighted!”

vil schoenheit —

vil gets typecasted as a villain too constantly. as a result, oftentimes, he ends up to be considered intimidating and hard to approach, even by his peers. that in mind, he finds it refreshing to find a soul who can be so casual and friendly around him, not taking into mind his celebrity status.

originally, his thoughts were: ‘someone such as yourself would never survive in the acting industry’. whether you’re actually interested it or not, he can’t help but initially observe you for at least a hot second as if you were a rival of his. he lets go of the thought soon though, allowing his conscience to relax the longer he spends time with you. he finds himself relaxed and pleased by your upbeat attitude.

it’s winter time—naturally, vil needs makeup to compensate for that change in temperature, no big deal. of course, things always seem to be fun whenever you decide to tag along, no? rook seemed to be busy dealing with “hunting for the winter season” or whatever anyways. you weren’t completely used to this high end kind of outside market, but that didn’t seem to stop you as you stayed beside him pointing out all the nice items you saw.

“wow…” you spoke awingly in a loud whisper, more than enough for vil to hear as you intertwined fingers, “the world of the rich and famous is totally no joke, isn’t it?!” vil never wasted an opportunity to spoil you in luxury ( though he doesn’t want you to take advantage, and you don’t, of course ), and yet you always still seemed to be caught off guard by whatever you came across.

“hm,” he hummed contentedly, “i suppose, though it’s nothing special for me.” not as though he intended to brag, it was more so fact and not any kind of attempt to put you down, and you could tell by his genuine smile at your excitement. “if there’s anything you like, i would be alright buying it for you.”

“what?! no way!” you perked up, looking around, almost overwhelmed by what you saw that interested you and had to choose from. “i’ll take you up on that, then!”

vil couldn’t help but allow himself to freely laugh in amusement, then, as he watched you scurry off to the different stalls to look around.

though, he grew to be surprised when you returned with something that, though he knew you were fond of, wasn’t exactly the type of thing you’d select out of everything you could have. now, if it was something that related to an interest the both of you shared…

“this is for the both of us!”

‘ah…of course.’

and, as he imagined, his solemn laugh away from you turned warmer once you had rejoined him and laughed alongside him.

idia shroud —

‘there’s no way he’s surviving here..’ that’s the first thing idia thinks when he first sees you. and then he quickly learned not to be fooled by you, as there’s always more to a person that meets the eye, no? even before formal introductions, he found himself entranced by you and your positive energy.

he would always feel warmer in your presence, but he could never quite tell if it was because he was envious or enraptured by your high spirits. ( of course, it wasn’t long before he found out it was the latter ). and ever since then, he can’t remember the last time his hand wasn’t so warmly clasped around yours.

you always indulged in his interests, just as much as he indulged in yours, even if he didn’t quite understand what the interests of someone completely opposite to him exactly entailed. he gets excited though, when it comes to the interests the two of you share, and he’s always ready to be there and join alongside you…so long as he can do it in the comfort of his room. he’s extremely thankful you’re not too hard on him about it, by the way.

today was one of those days he was even given the blessing of you joining him, casually laying on top of him, sitting on his lap in fact as you watched him engage in some open world rpg boss fights. you had yet to create an account to join him, as through a terrible stroke of unluck, your router was completely busted ( but don’t worry, ortho’s helping you out there ), but that didn’t deter you from joining him one way or another.

“y’know, [y/n],” he starts, and you have a feeling he’s starting one of his usual rambles when he gets in the zone during certain gaming sessions, “i know you love me..a-and, i love you! but…i was super shocked when you wanted to know what i liked, and stuff…”

every now and then he has these sorts of self deprecative rants—and you always let him know you were never one to judge, letting him express his feelings and reassuring him all the while. it was when he let out a little grunt to show he was done that you lifted your hand up to stroke his hair, him leaning into your touch, and gave him a response.

“of course, idia!” you expressed easily, like it was the most natural and correct response, subconsciously lightening his nerves as he got better at the game. “because you’re amazing…so don’t believe anyone who says otherwise!”

he felt a little bit better about himself after that. he hopes you know how much he likes you.

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christopherisfoive · 2 months ago

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Terms and Conditions (Changbin one-shot)

Roommate AU | Changbin x Reader | Comedy + Sugesstive | College Setting

word count: 1.3 k

a/n: last one shot before the requests start coming out. also i feel so warm that so many of you actually sent me requests. I was only expecting one or two. T-T makes me so happy that you guys want more of my writing. <3

You and Changbin were never supposed to be roommates.

You were supposed to live with Mina—your quiet, soft-spoken friend from chem lab who baked banana bread and cried during Pixar movies. Not with her extremely built, extremely loud best friend who apparently thinks 3AM is a perfectly reasonable time to blast a gym playlist and deadlift in the living room.

But Mina bailed after getting into a study abroad program in Europe.

And Changbin, who “just needed a place for the semester,” slid into her spot with a duffel bag, ten tubs of protein powder, and a megawatt smile like this was some kind of blessing.

You told yourself you could handle it.

Two months later, your self-control is hanging on by a thread, and you’re convinced the universe is laughing at you.

Especially when he walks around shirtless. All. The. Time.

Now, here you are—sitting in the cramped kitchen of your shared apartment at 11:48PM, watching him absolutely obliterate a tub of protein powder like it insulted his ancestors.

"That is not one scoop," you mutter, staring as he shovels another mound into his shaker bottle.

Changbin doesn’t look up. “It’s leg day tomorrow.”

“It was leg day yesterday.”

“And?”

“And you sound like a blender when you breathe after the gym.”

He finally glances up from his protein apocalypse, one eyebrow raised. His hair is damp from a shower, sticking to his forehead. He’s shirtless, obviously, because why wouldn’t he be? And the gray sweatpants aren’t helping. You’re only human.

“You have no idea how much I hold back just to be a tolerable roommate,” he says, shaking the bottle like he’s challenging it to a fight. “I could be doing protein shots in the bathroom at 3AM. Be grateful.”

“Oh, I am. Especially when you moan while drinking it.”

“I do not moan—”

“You do. Yesterday? You drank it like it was your last request on death row.”

His mouth twitches. “Sorry I enjoy my supplements. Some of us are dedicated.”

You roll your eyes and toss a popcorn kernel at him. It bounces off his shoulder.

He picks it up. Eats it.

“You’re lucky I’m not territorial angel,” he says, mouth full. “You keep stealing my stuff.”

“I borrowed one scoop of pre-workout.”

“For what? Running your mouth?”

Your jaw drops. “Wow.”

“Wow what?” He grins. “Wanna fight about it?”

You stand. “I’ll win.”

“You’re like half my size.”

“I have rage strength.”

“You have cartoon character energy.”

You’re in each other’s faces now, barely six inches apart. You hadn’t meant to close the distance, but the smirk on his lips dared you to, and now neither of you is backing down.

His eyes flicker down—just once—to your lips.

And there it is.

That quiet shift.

The silence between a joke and a mistake.

You swallow. “This is a really bad idea.”

Changbin’s voice drops. “What is?”

“Whatever this is.”

“We’re just talking,” he says, tone too low, too easy. “Having a little midnight bonding.”

Your heart is hammering. You want to step back. You really do.

But then he leans in, just a fraction, breath warm against your cheek.

“You gonna take more of my protein powder, baby?” he murmurs.

You blink. “What the hell.”

“Sorry,” he says quickly, laughing. “Slipped out.”

“Yeah, okay. Keep it in your pants, gym boy.”

“Can’t promise anything if you keep staring at me like that.”

“I’m not staring.”

“You’re absolutely staring.”

There’s another beat of silence.

Your voice comes out quieter. “You’re not as annoying when you’re quiet like this.”

He tilts his head, eyes never leaving yours. “You’re not as mean when your voice goes all soft like that.”

You stare at him.

He stares back.

It’s only a second.

But it lingers.

You finally clear your throat. “Goodnight, Changbin.”

You turn and walk off—quick, firm steps, refusing to let him see your expression.

You don’t see the smile tugging at his lips.

Or the way he whispers, “Yeah. Night, baby,” under his breath.

It’s 1:30AM, and you’re standing in the kitchen, hunting for something to snack on—because why not eat half your weight in chips when you're trying to avoid sleep?

The silence between you and Changbin has been stretched thin ever since your brief moment in the living room. It’s not that you’re avoiding each other—well, maybe you are—but it's mostly because you know if either of you opens your mouth, you're gonna say something ridiculous.

“Found them,” you mutter to yourself as you pull open a cupboard.

Suddenly, Changbin appears next to you, and you don’t even notice until your elbow accidentally jabs into his ribs.

“Ow—what the hell?” Changbin huffs, taking a step back, but in the process, his foot hits the trash can, sending it tumbling across the floor.

You panic. “No!” You scramble forward to catch it, but you’re too late—your hand shoots out, and in a clumsy attempt to steady yourself, you slam into him.

Changbin stumbles back, and you’re completely off balance now. His body collides with yours, and suddenly, your face is inches from his. Your hands fly to his chest, but he’s already got his arms around you to keep you from falling flat on your face.

And then—like the universe just decided to mess with you both—your lips land right on his.

It’s a full kiss. Not a light peck, not a brush of lips—no, you accidentally full-on kiss Changbin like it’s something you’ve been doing for years.

You freeze.

Changbin freezes.

The moment drags out for way too long, and you’re both too stunned to move.

You pull back first, but not before you notice the way his lips look swollen and the breath he’s holding in.

“Uh…” you clear your throat. “Sorry. That was—”

“Yeah, it was,” he says quickly, his voice rougher than usual.

“I didn’t mean to—”

He cuts you off with a smirk.

“Didn’t mean to kiss me like that?”

You roll your eyes. “I didn’t mean to kiss you at all, okay?”

He grins wider. “Mhm. I’m pretty sure that’s the second time you’ve said that.”

“I swear to god—”

“You’re so cute when you’re flustered,” he adds, watching you closely as you try to compose yourself. He leans closer, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Now, I’m curious, Y/N. What’s it feel like?”

You blink. “What’s what feel like?”

“Kissing me.”

Your face goes hot.

“You’re unbelievable,” you say, flustered and trying to get back to your bag of chips.

“Come on. You can’t just kiss me and not talk about it.” He steps in front of you, blocking the pantry. “You can’t get away with that.”

You shove at his chest lightly, but Changbin stays right there, a little too close for comfort.

“I wasn’t kissing you on purpose,” you protest, crossing your arms defensively.

Changbin grins, leaning in even closer, his voice dropping lower. “Really? Because it seemed pretty intentional to me. What’s it like to kiss someone this handsome?”

You’re about to smack him, but instead, you breathe out an exasperated laugh.

“I hate you sometimes.”

He smirks. “I know you don’t. You wouldn’t have kissed me if you did.”

You glare at him, trying to hide your smile, but it's impossible.

“You know,” he continues, eyes gleaming, “I think this whole ‘not being in a relationship’ thing is getting old.”

You narrow your eyes. “We live together. We’re basically in a relationship.”

“Hmm.” He raises an eyebrow. “So, when are you gonna kiss me again? Accidentally, of course.”

You groan. “I didn’t—”

He steps back, clearly satisfied. “Yeah, sure. Keep denying it.”

You walk past him to grab your chips, and Changbin calls after you.

“You know,” he says casually, “I’m just gonna say it. I think we should kiss again, but on purpose this time.”

You flip him off without turning around.

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wordstome · 2 years ago

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COD Men as Dream Daddy DILFs

Call of Duty single dads x gn!single parent reader

⤐Characters: 141 + König + Horangi + Keegan

⤐Premise: You just moved into a neighborhood with a high population of retired military personnel.

*glances at my 3-4 wips* let's talk about some dilfs, shall we? ...Don't look at me. I had a vision. (No relation to the actual characters from Dream Daddy, just a similar premise) Also a disclaimer: I'm writing these dads mostly in their late 30s to 40s, but don't think about their ages and the ages of their kids too much. This is all vibes. And sorry ahead of time if I gave one of the kids the same name as you 💀 Feel free to imagine the kid has a different name because the names really don't matter

p.s. I wanted to write more characters but I had to reel myself in. I could be persuaded to write a part 2 with Vaqueros, Nikolai, Valeria, Nikto, and other Ghosts tbh

Warning: this shit is LENGTHY. Strap yourself in.

Price: A post about DILFs and you expect me not to start with Captain John Price? Price is the lynchpin of this cul de sac. He's the one inviting everyone over to the barbecue, tries to get the dads to get along, and gives everyone advice. He has the quintessential dad energy. He 100% slaps his knees and says "well!" when he gets up. Price also has major girl dad energy. He's got three adorable little ladies, aged 3 (Clara), 9 (Brianna), and 11 (Alice). Yes, he did name his daughters in ABC order, I can see him doing that. Oh, he dotes on his girls, and they love their dad endlessly. He's the model father: recitals, sports, parent teacher conferences, you name it, he's there.

That's how the two of you meet: he comes up to you at one of the aforementioned events and gives you a firm handshake and apologizes profusely for not coming around to introduce himself earlier. It's not like him not to at least swing by, and he hopes you can forgive him the discourtesy. He hands you his number and says anything you need, just give him a call, or maybe swing by for a beer sometime. He gives you a wink that makes your knees weak, a wink that says he definitely noticed you checking out his muscled arms and broad shoulders. Maybe you will swing by for that beer sometime—and maybe get a little more than just a drink.

Ghost: I could see Simon having a one night stand kid. He certainly never saw himself starting a family after he lost his last one, but he was stressed and probably piss drunk as well. Years and years later, he's back from deployment and finds a social worker with a boy on his doorstep, and the rest is history. I love the idea of Simon with a moody 16 year old, but I actually see Simon and his son having the same dynamic as Mike and Abby Schmidt from the FNAF movie. Since Simon wasn't around for Caden's early childhood, they have a relationship that's undeniably father and son, but leaning towards casual and sibling-like. Simon's figuring his shit out, dealing with his PTSD and the various lasting health issues his time in special forces has left him with, and Caden's a quiet, sensitive 10 year old boy who thinks the world of his dad.

You meet Simon at the local bar. His Ghost days are long behind him, but the balaclava's a hard habit to kick. Besides, he doesn't need people staring at his scars. He's usually there with the 141, but today he's alone, and looks like he could use some company. You sit up at the bar close to him and order a drink, but you don't disturb him, and he visibly relaxes when he realizes you're not going to try to make small talk. It becomes a routine, the two of you: always sharing a quiet drink together at the bar, and then both of you wordlessly go home to your kids. You have a sort of silent conversation every time: Good to see you again. Yeah, you too. Neither of you actually speak a word to the other until Price introduces you to him at a gathering, and you finally hear his voice. "We've met before," he says, with a glint in his eye that suggests perhaps he'd like to be more than just a silent drinking buddy. That's fine with you: you're dying to see what's under the mask and dark hoodie.

Soap: JOCK ALERT. Johnny's basically Craig from Dream Daddy: total dreamboat who goes on runs around the neighborhood and gets all the appreciative looks from the local moms. He thrives on the attention in a way that definitely makes the 141 roll their eyes. He's got an older little girl named Elodie, and a lil baby boy Thomas that he takes everywhere with him. Obviously he's just being a responsible parent taking care of an infant, but secretly, Thomas is a great conversation starter with aforementioned local moms.

Conversely however, it's Johnny who makes the move on you first. Maybe in the grocery store, maybe at one of Price's get-togethers. Sidles up to you and introduces himself with a look in his eye that means trouble. Only the good kind of trouble, of course. If you reciprocate and he finds out you're single, you're not getting rid of him. But why would you want to, anyway? He's endlessly charming, attentive, and good with his hands. When he's fixing a leaky tap for you, of course—what did you think I meant?

Gaz: Kyle "Gaz" Garrick is a fucking heartthrob. I'm saying it right here, right now. He's a walks in with flowers, makes you dinner kind of partner. Also househusband vibes, because, surprise: Kyle is still married. This isn't a Joseph (Dream Daddy) situation, though: he and his wife, Emily, have known each other for a long time, a very high school sweethearts situation. Over the years, though, they drifted apart with Kyle in the military, and Emily eventually realized she's not actually into men. They're still married for coparenting purposes: they've got an older teenage girl named Violet, and a younger boy named Elliott. (Yes, I'm naming him after Elliot Knight, sue me.)

Honestly, I think it would be HILARIOUS if you met Kyle on a dating app and realized he's your next-door neighbor. But however you guys meet, Kyle is an old-school courter kind of guy. He is taking you on dinner dates, listening to you rant about your day, and is on your doorstep in a heartbeat when you call him in a panic because your kid's running a 105 fever (41 in Celsius) and you need a ride to the emergency room. (Not that the other dads wouldn't do the same, but I'm trying to convey "most reliable man in the world" vibes here.)

König: Y'all...you don't know how much fucken time I've spent thinking about this man as a dad. He's in the same boat as Ghost where he never saw himself living long enough to start a family, but here he is with the most precious little girl you've ever laid eyes on. Ava's got her father's curly hair and big green eyes, and she has her dad wrapped around her pinky finger. For König, Ava is living proof that he's capable of being more than just a tool for violence.

You meet König through Ava, of course. Your kids are the closest of friends, and the two of them are constantly going over to each other's houses. You're obviously delighted that your kid is making new friends and fitting in so well, but you'd be lying if your heart didn't skip a beat whenever you open your door to see Ava's six foot ten dad standing there with soft eyes and a sheepish smile. I have to stop here, because I've already written an extra paragraph for this man that I've cut out and pasted for safekeeping in my notes app, and if encouraged I will write more. (Please encourage me.)

Horangi: I know we already had a sort of Robert (Dream Daddy) figure with Ghost, but I think Horangi is a dad whose kid is an adult, much like Robert and Val. I also think that out of all the dads, Horangi is likely the one who's still doing some level of military work. Either that, or he has a very demanding job that takes up a lot of his time. He's ashamed of the way he let his gambling affect his family in the past, and is making up for it by being responsible and keeping his finances in order.

You don't meet him until you've lived in the neighborhood for quite a while, but he pops up at a gathering, talking quietly with König in a corner. You'd thought you had met every neighbor in the cul de sac, so you're intrigued by the newcomer. Someone, probably Price, tells you what Hong-jin's deal is, and ever since that you just can't keep your eyes off of him. You can't quite work up the nerve to talk to him, so you occupy yourself talking with the other parents. Some time later, you're at the food table grazing on the snacks when you look up and make eye contact with him. There's something intense in his gaze that makes you freeze, like a deer in headlights. He's definitely checking you out, you think. Your chest erupts into nervous butterflies when he starts walking towards you.

Keegan: Keegan is an adoptive father! I love his dynamic with the Walker boys, so I can see him being the kind of guy who adopts an older teenager so they have a home and a family instead of aging out of the system. Jason and Cecelia are high school age siblings who would have been separated otherwise, and consider Keegan their dad in every way that's important.

I think you and Keegan are definitely rivals in some way. Maybe it's a PTO thing, maybe he gets a little too boisterous at your kids' sports game. Whatever it is, you can't stand the man, but your annoyance whenever he's around only seems to amuse him. You have no problem saying to his face exactly what you think about him, but unfortunately, Keegan can see right through you. And hey, Cecelia could use some experience as a babysitter, so you won't have to worry about spending the night over at his place, will you?

As always, I wanna hear peoples' thoughts and feedback! If you want to hear more about these dads, drop me an ask <3

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softspiderling · 1 year ago

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illicit affairs - part eight | r.c

summary:

Do not come over here right now, you thought to yourself, pleaded to God even, but of course, JJ walked right over to your table, stopping in front of you to bow theatrically. You could basically see Rafe’s vein throbbing in anger.

“Boss, can I get you anything?”

“I wasn’t aware you’re on her payroll, Maybank,” Rafe snapped, falling into your words before you could even open your mouth, glaring up at JJ.

“Oh didn’t you hear? She’s the one who got me this job,” JJ said gleefully and you groaned internally as Rafe drew his arm back, raising his brows at you.

“You did what?”

OR; The Spring Fling is finally here. And of course, no event on Kildare goes off without a hitch

pairing: rafe cameron x reader

warnings: none except for one testosterone competition between Rafe and JJ lol

word count: 2,6k

author's note: hello don't ask what this is and don't yell at me bc i literally just wrote what the little people in my head told me to write (I think it's funny when you say that i'm making you insane, im telling you, im just equally as shook as im writing)

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

pt. eight: "and clandestine meetings and longing stares"

“When did you and Rafe start having sex?”

You nearly spat your mimosa all over the table, but opted for choking on it instead, coughing as the liquid went down the wrong pipe. Out of everything, Topper chose to ask you that question during brunch at the Spring Fling party, where you were surrounded by Kook families. But you should’ve known.

Topper’s mother was anything if not punctual and she had turned up not even a minute after 11. Rafe and Kelce were set to come later during the brunch, this was the perfect opportunity to ask something like that and Topper knew it.

Reaching for a napkin, you tried to keep your coughs to a minimum when your mother gave you a dirty look from her table. Consequently, you turned to Topper to give him an equally nasty look.

“Top, what the fuck?”

Topper only sent your mother a charming smile, raising his glass in her direction until she turned away with a headshake.

“Sorry, were the two of you trying to be discreet?” he then asked, glancing in your direction as he took a sip from his champagne. You let out a scoff, downing your mimosa in one go, your cheeks burning. Playing with the stem of the glass nervously, you took your time with an answer, knowing that Topper was sensible enough to not push you.

“How long have you known?”

Topper sighed, pushing his hair back at your evasive question. “Remember when we were hanging out at Rafe’s like three days ago? I left my wallet on the table and came back inside, just to hear the two of you going at it.”

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. Of course. You had told Rafe to wait after Topper and Kelce left. For ten minutes at least, just to be safe; but then he started kissing your neck and your self-control flew out of the window. Asshole.

Topper eyed you skeptically, and you didn’t say anything, except a thank you to the waiter when he placed a new mimosa in front of you. Topper played with the corner of the tablet cloth, waiting until the waiter left before he spoke again.

“So… You what? Just fuck around?” he asked, frowning. “You’re willing to risk your friendship for sex?”

“We’re not risking our friendship, Top. We’re adults and we can have sex without complicated feelings, and if it ever starts to get weird, we just stop,” you told him, ignoring the fact that you had been questioning your friendship just last week. Topper didn’t need to know that.

He only exhaled, taking another sip of his champagne. The silence between the two of you stretched so long, you started to believe he had dropped the topic.

“Maybe we should hook up too.”

You nearly choked on your mimosa again, but you managed to swallow it this time, before turning to stare at Topper with wide eyes, your forehead creased.

“Ew what?”

Topper raised a brow at you. “What?”

“Why would you even say that? We’ve been friends forever, don’t be gross.”

“So have you and Rafe but you don’t have any problem fucking him.”

You bristled at his choice of words, turning away from him, frowning into the distance, knowing exactly what point he was trying to make. You had always wondered if Topper ever suspected that you had feelings for Rafe, but chose not to ask you about it. Until now.

“What’s your point?” you finally griped.

Topper gave you an exasperated look. “Seriously precious? You know this isn’t gonna end well. And it won’t just affect you and Rafe, it’s gonna affect me and Kelce, too. How the fuck are we supposed to choose sides if both of you are our best friends?”

“What do you mean “choose sides”?” you huffed, throwing your hands up. “We’re adults, and we’re friends, best friends. Nothing is ever going to change that.”

“Do you really believe that?”

You sighed, rolling your eyes mostly to deflect. Topper had a point. This had potential to explode in all of your faces, have catastrophic consequences, and why? Because you were selfish? You’d risk your friendship with your best friend to have only a tiny more piece of Rafe, something that you weren’t entitled to? Clenching your jaw, you reached out to pat Topper’s hand gently, trying to find the right words, to take his worries away, but before you could, you saw Rafe arriving with Kelce and his family and you leaned back in your chair, glancing at Topper.

“Drop it,” you muttered under your breath, throwing him a warning glance, terrified that Rafe could overhear something.

The other half of your friend group approached your table, both of the boys kissing your cheek in greeting, before Kelce took a seat next to Topper, while Rafe sat down on the empty chair next to you.

“What did we miss?” Rafe asked, holding up two fingers to the waiter before turning to you, raising a brow.

Topper opened his mouth, no doubt to let out a stupid comment, but you stepped your foot on his, making sure that the heel only grazed the top of his shoe, warning him. Topper’s face contorted into pain, and he glared at you. Luckily, neither Kelce or Rafe noticed your squabble, as the waiter arrived with your drinks, placing four flutes of champagne and mimosas on the table.

“Just how precious over here stumbled over her words when she introduced her parents,” he said, making you roll your eyes. Kelce snickered and Rafe only smirked into his glass as he took a sip. Reaching for a new glass, you picked a glass by the stem, only to realize that Rafe had thrown his arm over your chair when you leaned back. You grew hot, which was stupid considering the fact that Rafe has always been touchy with you even before you two started having sex, but you couldn’t help but feel like you were showing your emotions all over your face. Throwing a glance over to Topper, you thought he’d show his disapproval, but he was engrossed in a discussion with Kelce over his new bike. If he had noticed, he hadn’t shown.

“Told you to practice, didn’t I precious?” Rafe muttered under his breath, the amusement clear in his voice. You only rolled your eyes, crossing your legs as you sipped on your mimosa. Things between you were… Almost normal. After the rather odd intimate moment you had in the shower and then in bed, it felt like Rafe had… Not exactly taken a step back when it came to sex, but you definitely felt like he was trying to show you how he valued your friendship more sex.

For example, when you were trying to come up with some sort of speech for the spring fling

“The way I recall it, I was practicing and you told me to “wing it” because “writing a speech is lame””, you said, quoting him.

Rafe snickered, taking a sip of his champagne. “You did a great job helping your parents pull this shit off,” he told you, his thumb drawing circles into your shoulder. You didn’t reply, swirling the mimosa in your glass around as Rafe glanced around the garden, before he did a double take, his eyes narrowing.

“What the fuck is JJ Maybank doing here?”

Three tables over, JJ was pouring Mr. Jones a glass of Champagne, the heavy bottle nearly slipping out of his fingers before he got a grip on it again. He only gave Mr. Jones a charming smile, you had no doubt he had some quip right on his tongue. You squirmed on your chair, finishing your mimosa in one go (was someone counting how many mimoas you’d had already?), shoving the empty glass on the table.

“Working, obviously,” you answered somewhat evasively. “Can’t you see that he’s wearing an uniform?”

“Obviously I can see that,” Rafe huffed, giving you a look. “I meant, how did he get a job here? I know for a fact that Kennedy hates his guts.”

Right, Kennedy the hostess.

“Why does Kennedy hate his guts again?”

“He said Carter’s name during sex,” Kelce suddenly chimed in, leaning over Topper to engage in the gossip session you were apparently having. You winced. Kennedy and Carter were sisters, you could see why Kennedy couldn’t stand JJ (anymore).

“To be fair, they’re twins, so I can understand how JJ mixed them up.”

“Why are you defending him?”

“I’m not!” you exclaimed. “I’m just saying, it’s an easy mistake to make.”

Rafe huffed, rolling his eyes with a headshake, clearly annoyed. You didn’t understand how he was so easily aggravated by pogues, especially JJ. Topper only gave you a look when you glanced over at him, while Kelce was too busy ogling JJ.

JJ, who had seemed to spot your group, judging by the way a smirk was growing on his lips. He leaned down to finish topping off the guests glasses, before departing from the table.

“Boss, can I get you anything?”

“I wasn’t aware you’re on her payroll, Maybank,” Rafe snapped, falling into your words before you could even open your mouth, glaring up at JJ.

“Oh didn’t you hear? She’s the one who got me this job,” JJ said gleefully and you groaned internally as Rafe drew his arm back, raising his brows at you.

“You did what?” he asked incredulously. You rolled your eyes at his tone. He made it sound like you just betrayed his trust.

“He needed a job, what’s the harm in helping him out?”

“He’s a pogue,” Rafe all but spit out. “When the fuck did you even talk to him?”

“Last week after you guys left, he kind of broke into my house.”

“Accidentally!” “Wait what?” “He did what?”

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Can we not make a big deal out of this?”

Rafe scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest, JJ only smirked in satisfaction, Kelce was staring at you with an open mouth and Topper looked like he’d rather be anywhere else.

“Well, if you gentlemen don’t need anything else,” JJ said, looking at you. “Another drink, princess?”

“Don’t call her that.”

Just as you thought you’d avoided a full blown fight, Rafe was glaring daggers at JJ again, who just seemed to enjoy getting a rise out of your best friend and using you to do it.

“I think she can tell me herself if she doesn’t want me to call her princess.”

Rafe got up so fast, you could barely react before he was all up in JJ’s space, a frown on his face.

“Who do you think you are, parading around our side of the island?” Rafe hissed into JJ’s face, but the blonde barely blinked at him, his smirk never leaving his face. Meanwhile, you wanted the ground to open up and swallow you whole, pressing yourself into your chair, hoping to disappear. You were just as angry as you were embarrassed, knowing how Rafe was causing a scene, making the other guests starting to look over; especially your mother, who was glaring at you as if you had instigated this.

“Guys,” Topper finally hissed. “This is not the right place for a pissing contest.”

Rafe took a step back, as if out of a trance. He flexed his hand, throwing JJ a dirty look. “Get lost, Maybank.”

Lucky for you, he did, but not without winking at you before he left. Rafe dropped back into his chair, and for a short second, you thought the whole party was ruined, but everyone quickly started chatting again, the incident forgotten.

“The nerve of that guy,” Rafe grunted, as if his behavior just now wasn’t insanely stupid. You only scoffed, shaking your head at him, and he glanced over at you, raising a brow.

“What?”

“You’re unbelievable,” you muttered under your breath, snatching your purse off the table, standing up quickly. Without excusing yourself, you left your friends at the table, heading straight to the bathroom to cool off. You exhaled slowly as you washed your hands, letting the cold water run over your wrists, not caring that you were getting your jewelry wet. When you finally deemed it enough, you turned the water off, drying your hands with paper towels. But you weren’t ready to go back out just yet, so you rummaged through your purse, trying to find your lipgloss to reapply. Just as you were about to put the small applicator on your lips, the door opened, and Rafe slid inside with a frown.

“Get out,” you said, even before the door shut properly.

“You can’t seriously be mad at me,” Rafe guffawed, his jaw slack. “That little shit was walking around like he owned the country club.”

You rolled your eyes at him so hard, you nearly gave yourself a migraine.

“So what? What does it matter to you, Rafe? Why can’t you just ignore him?”

“Why are you acting like this is my fault?! He started it!”

“You’re my best friend! You embarrassed me!”

“Embarr-” Rafe scoffed, breaking off with a headshake. “Did you hear how he was talking to you? He called you princess! He made you give him a job.”

“He made me?” you repeated, laughing dryly, finally lowering the lipgloss to look at him, your eyes sparkling with fury. “Do you realize who you’re talking to right now, Rafe? No one is making me do anything, least of all JJ. I’m not some damsel who needs saving, don’t use me to win whatever cock measuring contest you have going on with JJ.”

Rafe froze, and you let your words sink in, dropping your lipgloss back into your purse and zipping it back up. He finally sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, his lips pursed. You looked at him, unimpressed. “I don’t know why, but JJ just gets under my skin. And it just made it worse when he treated you like that.”

“Like what?” you said, blinking at him. “Like he treats every other girl on the island?”

Rafe scoffed, leaning against the wall behind him. “You’re not like every other girl on the island, precious.”

“Rafe, I can take care of myself.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

You let out a sigh, the remaining anger melting away and you stepped to him, stopping just in front of him.

“How about I tell JJ where to shove it, and you sit back and shut up?”

Rafe quirked a smile at you, rolling his eyes a little. “I can try.”

You gave him a look and he let out a loud, dramatic sigh.

“Fine, I won’t say anything, I’m leaving it to you.”

“Better,” you said with a nod, making a shooing motion with your hand. “Now get out before people are starting to think we’re hooking up in here.”

“Now that you brought it up-”

“Rafe, get out.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

author's note: not me being proud of Kennedy/Carter (guess what their parents (me) named them after)

#rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron #rafe x you #rafe x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron fanfic #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron angst #rafe cameron imagine #outer banks #obx #drew starkey

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noctunis · 8 months ago

Text

✧˖° - DESIDERIUM.

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹ - featuring ; satoru gojo x fem!reader, slight hints of suguru geto x fem!reader

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹ - synopsis ; “ for what is love if not brought back grief but just a little bit smaller? ” satoru wonders as he thinks about the time you got away from him, little does he know it’s eating you up inside everyday.

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹ word count ; 13.7k words, 74.2k characters

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹ cw ; sfw, fem!reader, fluff to angst with little comfort, canon au, not proofread, interchanging povs but for reader it’s always second person, technically need a pt2 but lmk if u guys want it, not proofread, mainly satoru x reader but hints of sashisu x reader for a while, spoilers / allusions / mentions of jjk 0 and later manga chapters ( after suguru’s left obv ), mentions and cameo from kenny later, canon character death, mentions of smoking, mentions of blood and typical canon violence, mature language, intended lowercase

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹ notes ; ( request linked here !!) wow so this has been sitting in my inbox for a few months now, this was actually requested but i forgot to link it to the post so this idea was brought to us by the wonderful @skypperlegacy — sobbing in my bed writing this i hope you all enjoy. ( edit: i wrote this note on 8/24 and i’m assuming i’m posting this AFTER my birthday, so take this as a little treat for not posting for my birthday ^.^ )

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹ notes (2) ; it is currently 10/26. i have not finished this yet either. what the hell is wrong with me

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹ notes (final) ; i did it. i finished it. 11/13 oh my days i finally completed this thing. i didn’t even flesh out the full idea so lmk if you guys want more of sad pathetic gojo and reader

i. sunlit hallways in 2005

your footsteps bounce off of the walls of the hallway, sun rays ricocheting off the floor and projecting onto your body as you make your way to your classroom. your eyes zip around in every direction as you tried to scan the room numbers to try and find the one yaga had referred you to. you grimace at his booming voice replaying in your memory talking about these two boys who were supposed to help you — idiots he referred to them as. ‘strong idiots’.

you assume you’d be heading into the classroom with the most noise in it, as the sound of muffled chattering pricks your ears from beyond the sliding door of the homeroom to your left. a long exhale leaves your lips, your shoulders rolling backwards in an attempt to try and alleviate the weird pressure that settled upon them before your fingers find the little slot that allowed it to open the door, cursing yourself as a loud squeak emits from your action.

you scrunch your eyes shut in a wincing manner, taking in the silence before peeking an eye open to see two boys — which you presume were the ones that yaga had mentioned to you. both of your eyes shoot open at the sound of a small laugh, seeing a boy with spectacles and snow white hair snickering to himself while his friend shook his head at him and instead greets you with a small smile.

you clear your throat. “are you suguru geto and satoru gojo?”

they nod, the dark-haired boy scooting out of his seat to get up and properly greet you while the other lazily grins at you, the cerulean lenses of his gracing his face and framing his teasing gaze behind a deep blue. “geto,” the former gestures to himself, “and this is gojo,” his hand waves over to the seemingly brash boy who stands beside him, giving a small wave as his hands come to intertwine behind his back.

you lean forward, ducking your head as you bow out of respect for your new classmates. hair falling in front of your face, you introduce yourself quietly as you hear small shuffles emerging towards you until sheen black shoes come into your peripheral.

lifting your head up a little further, you’re met with the bright face of ‘satoru gojo’, the name striking a familiar cord within your brain. gojo, you think, as in the gojo clan? however, you don’t get to ponder on that for too long before he chuckles at your expression — clearly somewhat impressed with his appearance. either that, or you’re completely freaked out. although, gojo’s pride would only let him choose the former.

“so,” the boy, gojo, begins, “are you the little shrimp yaga-sensei told us we’d be looking after?”

you press your lips together in a soft frown, before your eyebrows furrow with the small huff that left you as geto smacks the back of his palm against his friend’s chest. “‘m not a shrimp, you know — not even that much shorter than you.”

as if to further prove his point, you get an eyeful of white hair as he leans down to meet your eyes, just barely but enough to provide the message. “yeah?” he breathed. his grin makes you nauseous, pearly whites on display and dimmed with the backlit centered illumination giving him a frontal shadow. you tilt your nose up at him before holding his own gaze, his bright ceruleans on display as you replied with a passive-aggressive, “yeah.”

geto laughs, pressing his arm against his friend’s chest to get him to back away from you, the intense scent of cypress and a deep sea breeze no longer engulfing your senses. soft snickers instead fill your ears as gojo stuffs his hands into the pant pockets of his uniform before slipping past you with a hum. geto follows in suit.

you turn your head back to the open doorway, seeing the boys make their way out before gojo turns to you once more. “you coming or what, shrimp?”

you groan under your breath and he smiles at your reaction, now no longer in your sight as he turns the corner; struggling to hold back a grin at the quick footsteps that trail behind him with a hesitant, “hold— hold on a sec! i’m not a shrimp!”

“you are too.”

“are not,” you huff.

his eyes trail up towards the ceiling for a second, tapping his chin as he feigns a long, hard thought before cracking out into another smile. “are too.”

this game continues for a while, and you almost feel bad for geto — except the little game of chicken that you and his counterpart had going on was taking up more of your attention at the moment. with his obnoxiously long legs, gojo purposefully takes wide strides to try and tease you at least a little bit, having you make more of an effort to keep up — just because you’re new doesn’t mean that you should be let off the hook so easily, he thinks.

“are too—“

“these are the dorms,” suguru interjects, his tone clearly exasperated at this point. a few minutes of walking and the poor man felt like it was hours of meaningless boredom.

your eyes follow the direction of geto’s finger over the trail of doors that lay before you. he leans his head forward, the golden sunlight capturing his face as a few strands of raven hair from his bun slip out from their ties. “my dorm’s on the very end right there,” he gestures his head to the door at the corner, “satoru’s is two down to the left.”

speaking of him, gojo slings an arm around your shoulders; keeping a firm grip even with only his bicep as you try to squirm away. “don’t worry, i’m sure yaga’ll help you in no time. by the end of the day, you’ll be lazing around in a nice bed with your feet kicked up, thinking about how you met the most beautiful man ever today,” he says to you.

“don’t you think it’s a little weird to call your friend the most beautiful man ever?”

to gojo’s horror, geto snickers from behind him.

“you’re a sassy one, aren’t you. .” he mutters under his breath, a sigh escaping him as the warmth of his arm leaves your shoulders and is instead met with the cool air conditioning of the halls, only the sun’s peeking through the windows warming you up. he takes a step near his friend, hands stuffed in his pockets once again. “well, you can always stop by whenever you do get your dorm, i’ll always be here,” he singsongs. you fake gag at his playful wink.

geto steps towards you, leaning into you as he mumbles a little too loudly ( whether that was on purpose or not remained unknown ), “don’t worry, the girls’ wing is on the other side — luckily you won’t have to see that idiot all the time.” you laugh at your eyes trail to gojo’s small pout from behind the boy, his shoulders deflating instantly once he realized he was left out.

“hey, so like, can we not bully me for today? just once?” he chimes in, tilting his head to the side a bit in question. you and geto share one last glance and laugh together before he walks ahead of you again, gojo lagging behind so you’d walk next to him as well.

he couldn’t help but glance at you, noticing how you keep your eyes trained in front of you. only occasionally flitting to the window to admire the outside scenery. it wasn’t everyday that they got a new student, and if they did, they never lasted long. despite still only being a first year, geto and gojo adapted to the harsh environments of jujutsu society — fully aware of the consequences and what it would take to save non-sorcerers. which only made gojo all the more curious as to why you were here.

“pervert, quit staring at me.”

“hey, people would pay for these eyes on them — you’re a lucky girl, today,” he explains, bumping his shoulder with yours. you glare at him. his smile doesn’t falter.

“so do all new recruits get this treatment or what?” you chide, putting a hand on your hip comfortably as you walk. he hums for a moment. “nah,”. he decides, “you’re special,” his grin only widens the more you banter, bright blue eyes mimicking yours in a sharp narrowing. you hold his gaze for a bit, before ultimately deciding it wasn’t worth it — turning your head with a low, ‘tch’ as you keep your feet moving. gojo does the same.

they walk you around the campus, showing you the track field and the direction in which the girls’ wing is, telling you to report back to them once yaga had assigned you a room, gojo urging you to invite him over one day to which geto nudges the back of his leg with his shoe. and at the end of the day you’re left with a small wave goodbye to your new classmates, smiles on their faces as they walk off back into the dorms; leaving you to roam around with the new-known information.

you look back at the stone arch of the school’s entrance, the stone pathway beneath your feet as you squint from the brightness of the sun just beyond the horizon. a perfect point of which the ground and the sky meet.

you can feel the blocks of sunlight on your chest as you take one last look at it, face softening at the sight.

gojo takes one last look behind him to check on you, seeing your frame simply stand and soak up the golden skies. his lips only quirk the slightest bit upwards, geto quirking a brow beside him only to let an amused breath out at his best friend’s infatuation. “don’t start going all mushy on me now, satoru.”

said friend turns his head back ( geto notices how he takes one last quick glance back before fully rotating his head ) and scoffs, “no way.” geto merely hums and closes his eyes, a knowing feeling growing in his stomach. “she is kinda cute, you know,” gojo mumbles — closing his eyes when geto opens his own to look at the boy dubiously.

he, too, looks back at you only to find you walking off to another section of the high school; presumably to go and talk to yaga to find out where the hell your dorm would be. he chuckles. “don’t ruin another friendship for us by going a little too far with the flirting, this time.”

the snow-haired boy stays quiet at that, creating a small lull in the conversation only filled by the clacking of shoes against pavement. the sun on the nape of his neck slowly eases up with how it lowers beyond the skyline, small beads of sweat slowly seeping back into his skin before he huffs. “can you believe the way she talked to me?” geto looks over to him once more. “‘yeah’, who does she think she is talking to us like that?” gojo makes a dumb face as he mimics you, hands on his hips momentarily as he mocks the way you stood — it was surprising how he was the one saying this.

geto snickers. “you mean the way she talked to you.”

“whatever,” his classmate responds with a yawn, being able to crack a small smile at geto’s laughs of amusement at his frustration ( or how gojo would call it, his ‘suffering’ ). “you’ll learn to like her eventually,” he chides. his friend stays quiet at that once more.

gojo tilts his head up at the darkening sky. he swears he can feel the sun on his chest, too.

ii. the way the clouds shape us

“special grade? guess satoru was wrong about you being a shrimp,” the sound of geto’s laughter fills the air, thin fingers handing you back your student id as you pocketed the small, white card back in the pocket of your uniform.

“he doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” you shake your head, placid smile painted on your lips. geto leans against the tree, careful not to ruin his sleek hair against the chipped bark. he watched as you lifted your hands up to the sky. you extend your fingers and stretch them out — watching as the light blue of the sky above you illuminates your open-faced palm and casts a shadow for the rest of your arm.

gojo wasn’t wrong, you were definitely beautiful. even geto knew it, taking in the way your hair splayed out delicately against the vibrant grass, as he could hear the distant chatter of his other two best friends making their way towards you two. you had to thank gojo for this, considering he was the found who found this little safe haven in the first place.

over the past few months ( even if you joined a little later than halfway through the actual school year ), it became quite comfortable for you to chat with these newfound friends of yours. you quickly got along with ieiri, much to gojo’s dismay as he has discovered you two make the best team against him with your sharp words towards him. he’d savor the way you’d lean in and tell him you were never really serious afterwards ( even though he was well aware of that fact, he’d like knowing you still didn’t want to really hurt his feelings ). it really felt like home when you were with them, a sanctuary only for the four of you.

with your eyes flitting closed, geto finally tears his eyes from you to gaze at the duo approaching the two of you, gojo whining about something like usual as shoko barely humored him with the little tolerance she had left; a pale cigarette hanging from between her lips.

you relish in the sun on your skin, lessened from the months before that first day you came to tokyo’s jujutsu high as you’ve adapted. you must adapt in order to survive. you realize that now, which is why you indulge in the small moments you can get — even if it’s just silence with geto or the fact that suddenly, even behind closed eyelids, the sun was gone.

allowing your lashes to flutter open, you see a familiar brunette stand above you. a combination of the sweet, earthy tones emitting from the dewy grass below you and her perfume suddenly hit your nose, surprising but definitely not unpleasant. you hummed, eyebrows furrowed.

she laughs, “eh? you two are just out here without us?”

“sigh,” you roll your eyes at gojo who audibly says the word ‘sigh’, “so inconsiderate, you two.”

geto laughs, resting his hands upon his stomach as he closes his eyes — nose twitching with the leftover pollen floating along with the soft, spring breeze down from its habitat within the trees and the plants enclosing you all.

he doesn’t exactly fall asleep, especially in such an uncomfortable position. but he makes peace with this discomfort and instead seeks refuge in his own place of serenity, only him and his thoughts ( and the quiet chatter of you and shoko ganging up on your white-haired friend ).

you exhale smoothly through your nose, a breath of fresh air leaving your lungs as you stare up at your friend, a smirk threatening to unleash itself on her face even from behind the cancer stick. “those things kill, you know,” you playfully chastise her, watching as she chuckles before crouching down.

she slips the cigarette from past her mouth, the end stained glossy and pink from that one lip product you always forget the brand of, before offering the smoke to you between her two fingers. she hums as you take the tube, the material dry against your lips. “might as well while we’re still alive and young,” she says — and the morbidity of the question no longer bothers you like it would have a few months earlier. instead, you actually chuckle at her dry delivery. you struggle not to choke with your laid back position as you hold it before letting it escape you, a hot puff of smoke emitting in the air.

“so, what’re we doing today?” a pair of lanky, slack-clad legs come into your peripheral along with a familiar mop of snowy hair before it disappears, his voice trailing off as he sits next to geto. you prop yourself up on your elbows, squinting at the sudden bright light as shoko sits beside you inside.

you crack a small smile at the feeling of her fingertips messing with the ends of your hair, shaking out the small bits of grass that got stuck in the delicate strands. gojo, however, thinks you’re smiling at him so he grins in return before your smile is soon replaced with an unsure expression — almost like you’re gonna throw up just from looking at him. he still doesn’t falter.

“what do you think we should do?” you ask after a bit, thanking ieiri under your breath as she’s done helping you primp.

“what if we go to the convenience store for a bit and get some snacks? i was thinking—“

“boringg..” shoko’s thoughts are interrupted by gojo’s loud interruption, her face immediately dropping as she looks at him. “hey, you don’t have to show off in front of your girlfriend every day, y’know,” she shoots back.

he pouts at the brunette, his shoulders deflating as his hands come up to his face to mimic a fake tear rolling down his cheek. a nervous huff escapes you as you look between her, geto, and gojo before you start, “he’s not m—“

“how about we go to the arcade in shinjuku city? they close in like,” he checks the imaginary watch on his wrist ( whether he didn’t know he had interrupted you or he didn’t want you to finish your thought was something you didn’t understand ), “two hours, i guess.”

you roll your neck around on your shoulders, sighing at the low cracks that escape your aching bones. eager for some activity, you shrug. “hate to admit it, but that might be the greatest idea gojo’s ever had.”

to that, he beams. you hear a duet of groans come from your other two friends. “aw, c’mon. don’t give into him so easily,” geto chides playfully.

“not to brag—“

“—all you do is brag, gojo—“

“—but i, personally, think i have a ton of great ideas.”

geto tips head back and laughs. you see the way his eyelids twitch and scrunch with his soft smile, outer corners crinkling as the airy sound frees itself from him. he crosses his arms. “that’s why you personally think that, im afraid ‘s not a very common opinion,” he answered calmly. gojo sulks as he looks to shoko for help. she shrugs and puffs out another cloud of smoke between the small opening she’s created on the side of her mouth.

“we can always bully him some other time, i’m bored and i’m practically losing years off of my life just listening to him,” you mutter to her — perhaps a little too loud as you see gojo’s jaw drop open from your peripheral.

geto gets up, dusting the damp pieces of grass sticking to his pants and the back of his legs before taking a big stretch. you wrap your arm around the other, extending your elbow and mimicking his motions as you let out a sigh at the feeling of weary muscles ( which you can already tell that geto and gojo will use against you when you spar ).

“why don’t we go already then?” he inquires, causing gojo to shoot up as you already start to slowly walk back to the campus entrance. shoko snorted as she shook her head, trailing behind to walk and talk with the raven-haired man. your eyes scan over the perimeter of the horizon, spotting all the grass and the vast architecture of the highschool, squinting as you look for the way you came from.

feeling the air change from behind you and the soft sounds of quick footsteps on grass, you begin. “hey shoko, do you ever—“

then you see his stupid smile.

“oh,” you say. he scoffs, almost like he’s offended that you had such a tame reaction. gojo huffs a bit, still attempting to keep up with your pace. “just ‘oh’? you aren’t excited to talk to me at all?” he groans.

you shrug. “just thought you were shoko ‘s all.”

oh, you really shouldn’t have said that. you think — because once you see the way his face splits into a grin once more, you instantly grimace. “so you are excited to talk to me.”

“never said that.”

“you didn’t have to. i’m psychic.”

“that so? what am i thinking right now, then?” you ask, finally tearing your eyes away from the ground and tilting your head at gojo; who taps his chin and pretends to think ( although, you know that there’s a seventy percent chance that whatever comes out of his mouth will be bullshit considering the way he’s struggling to hold back a smile ).

your question evokes a long hum from him as he looks up to the sky, to the right, and then back to you before he answers, “how handsome i am?” your eyes narrow a bit, one of the rare moments where satoru gojo could render you speechless.

once your mouth drops open, void of sound, gojo’s almost ready to backtrack and apologize before you finally laugh. a nice, hearty laugh that makes your chest rumble in between every breath. and if that isn’t the biggest ego booster for the boy then you’re not sure what is. he couldn’t care of you were laughing at him or with him, all he knows is that he can’t help but chuckle along with you. his chest swells with pride as you lean on the stone archway as the cacophony of giggles slows down.

you wipe the corner of your eyes, looking back at geto and ieiri as they eye you in confusion — but nonetheless give you a pity snicker in response.

“you’re hilarious, gojo — keep it up,” you finally say.

he beams boyishly at you, a warm wave of something washes over him albeit he can’t figure out what. “nice to know i still got it,” he asserted, making you give one last eye roll before you looked back at the stone steps leading to the front entrance.

you skipped forward and turned your body a bit to look at your classmates. the usual scowl on your face no longer evident anymore for it was replaced by a soft smile, one so foreign even to shoko who’s company you more or less enjoyed the most. she pursed her lips around the tobacco stick in an uncharacteristic curiosity, wondering what that fool could’ve done now to make you genuinely laugh.

“i’m gonna grab something from my dorm real quick, ‘kay?” although you were probably saying it to the group as a whole, gojo nodded eagerly as he flashed you a thumbs-up with a small, ‘okay’ as well.

he turned to shoko and geto as you rushed up the stairs and into the building, running along to the girls’ wing as they glared at him. “what?” his voice was too innocent to be gojo, just the sound of his “oblivion” made them want to facepalm. geto held a thumbs up as he mocked his friend’s earlier face while shoko have a light huff, the sound somewhere in between sounding both exasperated and entertained.

“th’hell was that?” she asked, finally stubbing the cigarette out with her shoe ( still keeping a pack on here though, you never know when you might need one. especially when you’re friends with the biggest idiot in tokyo ).

“what?” he repeated.

“nothin’,” geto shrugged, the tiny front piece he kept loose from his bun swaying as he shook his head. he shares a look with shoko that definitely throws gojo off though. he narrows his eyes at them, spectacles somewhat hiding the oceans that are his irises.

gojo crosses his arms. “you guys are just jealous that i can make a pretty lady laugh.”

“you— you don’t think . .” shoko trails off, her forehead crinkling as she looks like she’s trying to decipher something. gojo quirks a brow even though she was thinking aloud or possibly talking to geto instead — he still waits for her to finish her sentence. “what?” he repeats only to be met with a dismissive shake of the head from her.

he opens his mouth to ask what they’re talking about before he hears hasty shoes against stone and looks behind him to see you, walking back down with a small pin clasped in your hand that shimmers in the sun when you hold your hand up.

gojo’s eyes take their own route as they fly away from your palm, down your arm until it reaches your face — a fond smile written on your face like you had been claimed victorious. it made his own smile quirk back up again.

you only spare him a glance before you lope to shoko. he watches as you hand the item over to her before she takes it, a faint half-smile twitching on her lips bemusedly.

“so you can keep your bangs to the side,” you answer — even when no one has asked why you gave that pin to her. “i got it from osaka on that mission last month — thought it’d look cute on you.” geto cocks his head as he tunes out your conversation before shrugging and walking back over to gojo, hands shoved in his pockets.

he chuckles, “no need to pout, satoru.”

“i’m not pouting,” he placed a hand on his hip. unbeknownst to him, he totally was; whether it was unintentional or not. “she’s just playing favorites over here when i’m the one who so graciously invited her to start hanging out with us,” he frowns.

a laugh and a rough pat on the back from geto interrupted him from entering his soon incoming villain arc as he walked back over to you and ieiri, pulling his dramatic friend along with him. gojo’s ears perked up at your voice in the conversation once more.

“oh, you know i don’t like all those weird hair clips ‘n’ stuff—“

“don’t worry,” you lean over, brushing some of her bangs out of her face as you clip them to the side. gojo watches afar as your thin fingers work to cover the small pin with another piece of shoko’s hair, successfully getting it out of her face and concealing the pin in the process. you grin, mission accomplished.

pulling back, you watch as shoko touches her hair — smirking when she realizes how useful it’d be. she pats your head and looks at you before her eyebrows furrow; only then do you realize what she was focused on behind you.

“uh, where’s my souvenir?” your face instantly drops as you feel gojo’s chin on your shoulder, words purred dangerously low next to your ear.

“up your ass.”

“mind fetching it for me?”

“you’re disgusting—!” you push him off as he chortles, his eyes crinkling softly as bouts of laughter overtake him at your exaggerated reaction.

“we’re not gonna make it to shinjuku if you guys keep bickering like children,” you both hear geto chide. you look over to the entrance, a small smile on his face as he teases the both of you.

you scoff, stuffing your own hands in your pockets as you walk over to the dark haired man. “he started it,” you mutter.

he gasps. “nu-uh!”

“yu-huh,” you retort. he sticks his tongue out at you in retaliation whilst shoko follows you and geto in return. gojo smirks as you huff and turn around, watching as his friend bumped hips with you on the way there, making mindless conversation.

the air wasn’t so bad, the light breeze felt more refreshing than over. he looked back over at shoko’s hair in thought.

perhaps he’d have to work harder at officially getting on your good side some other time, he thinks.

iii. the taste of blue raspberry

vibrant lights and loud video game chirps wasn’t exactly gojo’s scene despite how he always presented himself; extroverted and inherently obnoxious ( although, he’d prefer to use the word ‘comfortable’ rather than obnoxious whenever you’d refer to the latter ). all he could do was trail after you and shoko, geto following him as he observed the random teens and little kids accompanied with their parents that kept the arcade flowing.

cerulean eyes follow your movements in hopes that he’ll keep track of you. that he wont lose you in this crowd. he’ll occasionally look over at shoko and geto to make sure they’re still here, too.

“so, you chose a shitty arcade spot to hangout in? such poor taste,” he leans down over you, hoping that mild jabs and soft teasing will help keep his mind off of the fact that there’s snot nosed kids running around the already narrow spaces between the machines; their flat footsteps melding together with all the loud sounds as they become synchronized with the beat of the music.

your lips twist into a sneer at the sound of him, slowly turning your head to look behind you at the boy who grinned so slyly. gojo knew exactly what he was doing.

“would you rather have yaga put us to work and sweep the dorms?” you bat your eyelashes as he only smiles further, reveling in how you play along with his little game.

“i dunnooo.. wherever you go i go, i suppose.”

“such a flirt.”

“just being honest,” he puts his hands up defensively as he walks past you to a random machine that stands stationary in front of you, untouched with whirring, vibrant lights that glow brighter when he thumbs a few tokens in the slot at the bottom. as you hear the clinking of the coin hit against the curvature inside of the machine, the snow-haired boy turns to look at you with a boyish smile as he crouches down and points a finger to the blinking button saying, ‘play now!’

you have the urge to warn him about how the game is most likely rigged. you don’t. instead your parted lips close with a huff. gojo is said to be able to do anything, you remember, he’ll learn the hard way.

“you mind getting me a slush at the machines?” he says, lanky body extending to its full height as stands upright again.

“that’s so far — and scary,” you feign a pout. realistically, you were just too lazy to walk all the way over there and back for one item.

“take suguru with you,” he tips his head up to gesture in the direction of the dark haired friend, to whom you see looking out the glass doors at all the kids who run through the place.

so there you are, walking along with geto as you huff about how gojo could have gotten the drink himself. he hums occasionally, looking around and observing the environment to try and make sure you don’t run into anything during your chatter.

“he does care about you, though. you know that right?” his fingers sift through the yen in his palm, the coins clinking around as he grabs some and puts it into the thin slot of the slushee machine.

your lips press together as you hum almost dismissively, head cocked. the cup makes a soft thud against the metal as he puts the cup inside and closes the small glass opening. the machine whirs as he clicks the blue raspberry flavor almost like it’s muscle memory — the blue button lighting up with the white kana in front of it.

“you want something?” geto asks quietly, leaning down to interrupt your analysis.

the thought makes you crack a small smile as you think for a moment before turning to face him. “do you want something?” you inquire. “i’ll pay.”

he waves you off with a soft smile. “it’s alright, i’m not much into sweets.”

you grab gojo’s cup out of the dispenser, putting a clear lid and straw in it as you grab another disposable cup. if you were going to get a slushee, you weren’t going to let geto pay for it by himself. the whirring of machine’s drink being poured almost drowns out the loud, coinciding beeps and animated sounds of the nearby screens you both hear.

“then let me buy you something when we get out of here,” you smile at him.

you fail to notice the way his face softens at you when you’re too busy grabbing the cup, licking off the excess that spills over onto your thumb as you laugh. his smile falters a bit, before he walks with you back to go get shoko and gojo.

you scoff at the sight of the white haired man smirking at the pixelated screen, pointing it out to you and geto. the two of you lean over as you heard gojo sip on the drink while you roll your eyes at the big blue kanji in bold spelling out, ‘top score: satoru gojo’.

“thought you weren’t a fan of blue raspberry,” you hear from behind you.

already, you see the man in question leaning on geto as he looks at you with a quirked brow. you look down at your cup. ah, you think, guess you did. your expression must give something away because you hear shoko amusedly huff next to you.

you shrug. “guess i just wanted to try something new.”

clearly a mistake because his smile only widens as he slings an arm around your shoulder too. “nah, you know what i’m thinking?”

“you never think.” that earns you a flick to the forehead.

he leans down. “i think i’m rubbing off on you,” he laughs.

you try to push him off of you yet he manages to let his weight relax as you struggle to keep him up, “gojo, you ass,” you mutter.

he turns to look at you, his smile looks different. feels different. “call me satoru,” he beams.

iv. ‘the star plasma vessel?’

riko amanai is a pretty girl, you think. you have no idea why she wanted to be the star plasma vessel in the first place. you weren’t there when satoru and suguru went to go meet her, instead hearing her version of the story where they practically tortured her — and knowing the boys, you’re not quite sure that she wasn’t exaggerating.

she likes you, definitely favoring you a little more than tweedle-dee and tweedle-dum, you think as you pointedly look at the pair of friends, walking ahead of you.

you look down at riko’s arm interlocked with yours and smile. “so,” you whistle, “what do you think of those two?”

her green eyes dart up to yours before looking at suguru and satoru and squinting. “they’re interesting, that’s for sure,” she mumbles. her lips twist into a sneer-like pout just at the sight of them, evoking a lighthearted chuckle from you. you fail to notice the way satoru’s head turns to look at you ever so slightly at the sound.

it makes riko grin as you playfully bump your hip with hers. satoru had never seen you so lax. maybe because the young girl was easier to handle than himself. he didn’t mind seeing you like this, but he couldn’t deny that it was pretty fun to work you up, too.

he smiles at the thought of your puffed cheeks with furrowed brows, narrowed eyes burning holes into him as he would flick your forehead for the third time in a row.

“what’s gotten you all cheesy?” he hears suguru inquire from beside him, tearing his eyes away from the stone road beneath him to look at his snow-haired friend. “eh? just thinking about stuff,” satoru replies.

suguru hums, his hand still shoved in his uniform’s pocket. “you sure it has nothing to do with—“

“a-tat-tat-tat—!” satoru waves a hand in front his friends face, holding another finger up as a gesture for him to silence. “what’d we say about sharing private stuff in public, suguru?”

“i can’t help it, some ‘gossip’ is too hot,” he shrugs.

“that does not help me—“

“what gossip are you guys talking about?” riko chimes, crossing her arms as the two of them look at her. you quirk a brow yourself.

if he’d had known better, satoru would’ve flinched at the rough hand you had smacked down on his shoulder. his eyes flickered towards you, already spotting the sly smile on your face. fuck you for being so beautiful, he thinks.

“yeah, what gossip are you guys talking back?” you press. he scoffs, waving you off as he continues walking. your lips press into a pout as you cross your arms as well, mimicking riko’s motions as you two whisper about whatever. suguru laughs at the two of you — only a few days and you guys were already twins.

sometimes the thought made your smile falter ever so slightly, knowing that you had to escort her only in a day or two was saddening. but for now, you’ll enjoy the smiles and pats on the back — knowing you’d have to part soon was only so minuscule in a world drowned in familiarity.

you intertwine your fingers with hers instead and swing your arms back and forth before you turn your head to your aforementioned friend.

“hey suguru, what do you say we show riko-chan here that little coffee shop downtown?” you ask, watching as he turns his attention away from his small flip phone’s messaging system ( as he’s most likely texting shoko and making fun of satoru in the process ) before his eyebrows raise with a soft smile.

you hear satoru huff again as his head whips around to look at you. stifling a laugh, you take in his furrowed brows and jutted lip as he sulks.

“hey, why don’t i know about any secret coffee shop downtown?”

“we had just found it walking around one day,” suguru deflects.

“and you didn’t tell me about this super-cool-top-secret-no-satoru café?”

you beam before resting your hand on his shoulder. satoru swears electricity shoots through his nerves as he turns to look at you. he wouldn’t spoil it now, but he’s seventy percent sure that this is the first time you’ve touched him without pushing him ( or as he’d like to call it, abusing him ) away.

“don’t be so jealous, satoru,” he ignores the way you call of his name makes a pit settle in his stomach. you turn to riko, “we’ll share the spot, yeah?”

“if you say so,” suguru puts his hands up in playful submission. satoru only chuckles.

your laugh synchronizes with the sounds around you, like music to satoru’s ears whilst you skip ahead with riko and scan your perimeter. everything sounds clearer now; the birds outside zipping around trees, chairs and drinks clinking, a heavy pair of distant footsteps that you can only assume is the trailing of a few people on their way to the same place.

but none of that really matters, although you’re sure everything does. all these sounds are apart of you and you’re willing to make the most of it. you walk hand in hand with riko as the boys follow in suit.

you scoff at the way satoru pulls the chair out for you before sitting himself in his own and kicking his feet up. his brow quirks cockily at the sound. “ah, so you’re only nice to me when amanai is around?”

“someone’s still gotta keep you in your place, satoru.”

“yes, ma’am,” he laughs, tipping his head back lazily as his hands fold over his chest. suguru huffs and grabs his friend’s feet before shoving them back down onto the cement. “decency, satoru?”

“ehh,” he groans, only peeking an eye at suguru before closing them again and letting his body go lax. you shake your head and laugh, watching as riko eyes him in annoyance. they’ll warm up to each other eventually, you think — and you can tell suguru feels the same.

“this is so cool—!” you chuckle at the way the young girl gleams at the intricate details of the outdoor table and the faint music playing from inside the café. her green eyes shimmer in the light, you notice; perhaps maybe just curiosity glinting in them. she’s only fourteen.

your eyes flicker around your environment yourself, hearing the mindless chatter that riko and suguru partake in about, presumably about what they’re going to do next. you squint at the distance, seeing an unusually tall man towering over a few people as he looks in your direction. your lips purse as you narrow your eyes at him further before he tilts his head up and turns away.

you watch as he walks away, his toned back all you see before you hear a mumble of your name and a tap of your foot.

you look over to see satoru, who stares at you with an indecipherable expression — something between an uncharacteristic curiosity and a standoff-ish glow. your head tilts before you look back over at the front of the café. that man is gone.

you turn back to see satoru leaning over the table with a sly smile. “penny for your thoughts?”

you shake your head and dismiss him with a weary smile and a lazy shake of your hand. “just looking around,” you say — even if you know that you can’t fool satoru gojo, his eyebrows only pinch a bit before slightly rotating his head to look behind him a bit.

“you want a sweet?” you ask, tapping his side of the table to get his attention.

had his eyes always looked so piercing, you think to yourself, as you feel something move around in your chest. rearranging itself along with the soft onomatopoeic thumps of the organ that lays inside.

he hesitates. “nah, i’ll get something on the way back later.”

“who are you and what have you done with satoru?” you chuckle. he ignores the way the usage of his given name makes him feel, the way you say it — syllables still fresh on your tongue. instead, he laughs along with you while looking over to his friend. he doesn’t know what he expected, suguru was always observant; so why was he so surprised to see him looking at the two of you with a raised brow?

you look back at riko before gasping out a small laugh at her chubby cheeks, full of food as she eats it like it’s the last meal she’ll ever have. it only makes your grin grow wider when her eyes meet yours, like a deer in headlights whilst she stops chewing. you both take a pause, even when the boys turn to look at you as well — before you burst out into bouts of laughter. riko’s giggles are muffled by the parfait that’s swelled in her cheeks but she covers her mouth with a polite hand as she tries not to choke.

your cheeks feel warm with the way they stretch to curl into a smile. suguru and satoru exchange a look before satoru smiles right along with you. it wasn’t so bad, he thinks. if amanai made you act like this then maybe he didn’t mind her as much as he thought. his foot taps against the concrete underneath the table. he can feel something wriggling around in his chest.

v. deficit

riko amanai’s beauty, no longer will it be seen as the white sheet frames her features instead, you think.

the deafening sound of applause almost takes your mind off of satoru’s expression; only coldness lies within his features, now.

your hand clutches your side, even with the greatness of the stitches that shoko had blessed your wounds with — you could almost still feel his knife in your abdomen. the stinging never seemed to go away. the clapping doesn’t help, all of your senses are occupied on trying to focus on satoru.

with the close proximity of suguru next to you, you can feel the way his hand twitches against his side while he looks at riko, or more so, the sheet that covers her. you can feel his horror, too. just a couple of days ago, she was fourteen, trotting along tokyo with you

you’re almost upset you weren’t there for her death, you weren’t there to comfort her in her last moments or save her at all. you were only there for the aftermath, the same man who you saw at the coffee shop just days prior. you look at suguru to your right — who knows what he’s gone through, you think.

and yet throughout all the booms of cheers and applause, you can hear satoru’s voice and your head whirls back to him. you almost don’t recognize it when he utters, “i screwed up, it’s not your fault.”

your hand comes up to gently rest upon your mouth in a soft gasp as your eyes try not to trail down to where riko’s shoe clad feet swing with satoru’s steps, the only part of her that’s left unsheathed from the horror of what’s underneath the cover.

his next words come out muffled yet you know you couldn’t escape them even if you tried, so close yet so far to avoidance — but you know you heard him clearly.

he calls your name, then suguru’s. “should we kill these guys?” your stomach churns, the pain in your side gets worse — your head hurts and it feels like you don’t know where you are at one point. you start to question whether anything is real at this point. he adds, “i doubt i’d feel anything about it.”

his eyes don’t dart to yours like they had the few mornings prior, before you had gone to escort the young girl. he had smiled and slapped a comforting hand on your shoulder once you explained how you had a bad feeling. you still do. you wonder if there’s any other feelings you could have, anymore.

you hear suguru’s soft mutter next to you, the applause only simmering down as you try to hyper-focus on his voice. perhaps to ground you, or perhaps you couldn’t escape it; a reminder of what this world is really like. “no,” he says. “there wouldn’t be a point.”

your vision glosses over into a blur and you go to look at the light above you, florescent and blinding. your heart hurts and you do your best not to clutch it through the fabric of your uniform, you can’t be seen like this, you think. you can’t let them see what’s happening to you.

fingers digging into your palm, you tune the rest of suguru’s voice out; even though you can feel his eyes on you regardless. instead, the pair of your own follow satoru, seeing riko’s hand, partially crusted with the leftover pool of blood that had flowed beside her head, swing lifelessly as he walks past the two of you.

your brows knit closer together as you stare at him. everything clips in and out. the noise, the cheers, suguru’s voice slowly melding into satoru’s. “no point, huh?” he huffs. “does there need to be a point?”

“of course there does,” suguru snaps back. mauve irises are nothing but void now, his eyes only fixated on the ground a few feet in front of him. “especially for jujutsu sorcerers.”

your eyes burn with the way they’ve been mindlessly gazing at the snow-haired boy, the back of his head the only thing you can catch a glimpse of behind suguru’s dark hair. it doesn’t feel like they can close, only the sheen layer of oncoming tears coating them so they don’t entirely dry out. “satoru,” you breathe — and with the way things are going, you’re surprised to see cerulean eyes turn to meet yours.

suguru doesn’t bother to look at you since he can already anticipate the crumbling feeling of guilt when he sees your expression. it doesn’t matter anyway. it almost feels like nothing does.

glossed lips don’t part like how they’d usually do, they don’t even grace you with the smallest sight of a smirk like how satoru always would. you’re not quite sure why you whisper his name, what you’ll even say. maybe a mantra that only connects the two of you, something that’ll keep you sane.

he keeps his eyes locked on you for a second more before turning his head and walking away. your hand comes to grasp at your side. the stinging comes back.

vi. pinky promises (of two)

sentimentality was a privilege in a world of jujutsu — you learned, after riko. sensitivity wasn’t trained into sorcerers, in fact, you’d say it was actually trained out of them. it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing to be sensitive. although, surrounded by the strong, tears burned hot on your skin and your hand burned even harder when they’d come up to wipe them away.

the birds outside the encapsulated feeling of the trees chirp, showcasing what once looked golden now is tainted with a dull grey that seems to gloss over everything now. your eyes feel droopy, no longer laced with sleep but with the dread that’ll come with the rest of the day.

you wonder how satoru’s doing, how shoko’s doing. how suguru’s doing. his face looks thinner, you noticed as you think back from the recollection of your faded memories from two mornings ago. he won’t go out with you as often, you wonder how badly it fucked him up. you wonder if anything will be the same again.

you run a frustrated hand through your hair, cringing at the way oil meets your fingers. you know you have to wash your hair, but you can’t bring yourself to. it almost feels like a chore, combined along with your classes and being put on your ass every time when you try to spar with satoru.

(he always says he’ll go easy on you and let you win. you huff in annoyance — he never does.)

despite all the breaths of fresh air you try to take, your lungs can never feel free of the burden that they’re tainted with. you close your eyes and savor the heat of the bark against your palm, in hopes that it’ll finally soothe the ache in your chest like how it did all those weeks ago — at the beach in okinawa.

you remember the warmth of the sand against your skin, smacking your hands together when you’d sit upright to rid your skin of the small golden flecks. you remember seeing riko and gojo splashing each other in the water as you heard kuroi and suguru’s soft voices conversation from beside you. the feeling of your hair tied, the brightness of the sun drowning your skin. it’s so vivid in your mind, you wonder if everything was all a dream, sometimes.

a raspy voice breaks your reverie as it excuses itself before you move your propped leg and look down below you. a faint smile finds its way to your lips as you see a familiar brown bob accompanied by the scent of tobacco and rose body spray.

“so distant out here,” she cranes her neck up at you with pressed lips, you internally sigh in relief at the lack of a cigarette that’s usually rested between them. a small pout forms on your lips at her extended arm, looking down at her hand and then back up at her with a cocked head. “i’d say with more to do out here, i would understand why.”

you huff. “i was brutally injured not too long ago, and this is how you treat your favorite patient, let alone favorite friend?” shoko smirks with an entertained scoff.

“i don’t see utahime around here anywhere.”

“shoko!”

she snickers as she makes her way over to the grass, the plush dirt cold against her upper thighs as she unceremoniously plops down onto it. you begrudgingly ( but not really, as the lack of social interaction practically burns your throat ) hop down from the branches of the tree, the heat finally capturing you in all of its glory as you carefully sit down next to shoko.

“always reminiscing, huh?” she asks. you can see the way she fidgets with the turtleneck of her uniform, presumably from the antsy withdrawal of her cigs. you give a small hum — whether it’s an affirmation or not, you don’t know. all you know is that it’s a noise that escapes you, now only a rare sight for the people closest to you.

your tongue tingles with the longing of verbosity. eager to say something, except the brunette beats you to it first. “i get it,” she sighs. “it’s nice to be alone out here.”

“we can’t ever be alone with those two idiots,” you remind her playfully, a chuckle managing to slip past your lips as she groans at the mention of the two familiar boys.

“how’s satoru doing?” you ask softly, plucking at the dewy grass that lay beneath you. shoko looks at you quizzically from out of the corner of her eye before closing her eyes with a snorted laugh. your heads whips around to look at her as you see her head shaking fondly.

a small, contagious huff makes it way out of you at the sight before she looks back at you, honey eyes narrowing once she realizes that you’re genuinely asking. her smile never falters, though ( which is usually a bad sign considering of the sadistic streak you’ve seen her partake in ).

“have you got it for the satoru gojo?”

you gape. “i don’t—! i just,” lips pursed, you huff and tilt your chin up with crossed arms. “the escort was a bust, just wanted to see if his ego wasn’t too hurt.”

at your brash synopsis; your ears grow hot when you realize shoko definitely doesn’t believe you — especially with the way she hunches over a fit of silent snickers.

“shut up.”

“ah, i won’t bully you,” her lips twist into a grin. “for now.”

“shoko!” you throw your head upwards while you fall back and ragdoll, your back hitting the solid dirt beneath you as you put your arms over your head, blocking the sun’s view from your eyes.

all you can feel is the ache in your stomach, even with your friend’s reversed cursed technique, you can still feel the knife that once pierced the flesh linger on. your lips twist until you hear the shuffling of weeds and dirt swipe next to you. you turn your head, lifting your arm only to see the brunette scooting closer. she pauses, “what?”

“you don’t wanna lay down with me?” you feign a pout as you look up at her on propped elbows, the corner of your lip quirking up when you see how unenthusiastic she looks with your antics.

“you can get bugs on you,” she chimes before leaning against the bark of the tree.

“it’s nature, sho.”

“some of it’s pretty gross. you ever see tortoises fuck?”

“you’re so weird,” you laugh before rolling on your back again and looking back up at the sky; eyes gazing at the sun until when you look away, you see faded, floating shapes in your trajectory. she snickers too, looking up at the sky, too.

she’s starting to get eye bags, you notice — the fold of skin forming under her eyes along with faint, darkened circles that sit right under her splayed bottom lashes. unable to blame her, you simply lay there and stare. your eyes still pick up on the way she fiddles with her thumbs placed in her lap, pale yet irritated hands a stark contrast to the darkness of her uniform.

“y’know if it’s me you want instead of gojo, you can say so,” she laughs, interrupting your analysis with how hard you were staring. but this time, you don’t say anything. nothing at all, not even a small twitch of your lips in annoyance or a giggle to her joke, you simply keep staring at me.

she barely tilts her head yet it’s enough for you to notice. she finally asks, “something you’re thinking about?”

the words sit heavy on your tongue, laced with a bitterness you could only describe as filth. “do you ever wonder what’ll happen when we’re older?”

“what do you mean?”

“look at what happened, now.”

her brows relax. “oh.”

shoko’s lips pout out a little bit as she looks off into the horizon, where the school lays dormant with only few staff occasionally walking out or a few students walking out to their drivers to participate in another assignment.

your hands feel hollow with the way they’re too weak to even ball your fists, so you swallow the pit that forms in the hollow crevice of your throat and look back up at the sky.

“we’ll be together forever, right, shoko?”

you hold out your pinky to her — and despite her scoff, she interlocks hers with yours anyways.

vii. words left unsaid, words always heard

“you think it’ll get any better?”

your turn your head to the velvet voice emerging from the shadows, tensing in your spot atop the dorm balcony as you slowly look behind you. long hair is seen first; thick, ebony silk cascading down suguru’s thin t-shirt. you can’t count how many days you’ve seen him wearing that familiar white oversized tee, you wonder if it’s become a second skin for him at this point.

you hum at his presence, turning back to the dark sky that lay before you. looking at the exterior of the school that lay in the courtyard, painted with darkness as only the soft glimmer of moonlight embraces them, embraces you.

“you act like everything will go to shit.”

“i’m not saying that,” his tone is sharp — no longer smooth as how it used to be, he sounds on edge, like the rubber band inside of his throat will snap at any moment.

you hear a few small steps shuffle closer to you whilst you turn around and lean your body forward, the metal of the railing cool against the sweat of your arms. another nightmare, geto notes; from the way your hair is still frazzled and your breaths come out heavy with few quick intervals of inhalation.

you could feel his presence beside you, the aura of tensity thickening the air as you struggled not to say anything. you could feel his eyes on you, observing you. suguru was always observant somehow — you wonder how long he had been that way before you had found out. he was a very interesting boy, you learned early on.

“i never said you did,” your lips twisted like something sour fell damp in your mouth. “you’ve just changed, suguru.”

“have you not changed also?”

closing your eyes, you hope for one more breeze to pass through — for one opportunity, for one sign that’ll release you from this energy. it doesn’t.

“suguru—”

“don’t you ever wonder how the world would be,” a pregnant pause wriggles its way into the two of you, “without curses?”

you look at him only to see violet eyes focused straight ahead of him. he doesn’t glance at you nor even breathe in your direction, his shoulders don’t seem as tense though.

you shake your head with a breathy laugh. “yeah, i guess so.”

you lean further to try and alleviate the pain in your stomach, a churning inside of your gut that gives you a bad feeling just at the thought of it. sharing a look, your heads turn toward each other in the moonlight — he looks paler, you notice. sickly.

“hasn’t everybody? or at least hasn’t every jujutsu user?” you mumble.

( you notice suguru pauses, an uncharacteristic habit that he’s slowly developed — once always so sure and witty with his remarks, now wilted with the uncertainness that’s plagued him. )

“why do we exist?” he finally says.

your eyes dart around, stomach finally squeezing at the discomfort you feel at his question; yet you laugh it off anyway.

“philosophical, are we?” you meager a forced grin, although it only falters slightly once you feel him sigh out a breathy laugh. “a human’s purpose on earth is undefined, i don’t really know the answ—“

“i mean as a jujutsu sorcerer: what is our purpose?”

“i don’t know where you’re going with this,” you finally say. suguru takes a step back and stops resting against the railing. you look down at the high drop, then back at the sky — you wouldn’t want to jump to conclusions, but you can’t help but look at him out of the corner of your peripheral.

( at your absence of an answer, he fills in the quietude for you. )

“we fight curses, right? to protect civilians?” he runs a hand through his dark hair, the sweaty strands connecting with the callouses that lie embedded his fingertips.

you swallow. “uh-huh.”

“but who’s saving us?”

your lips twist into a small pout as you try to comprehend the underlying meaning of his words, you wonder what sort of plan he’s dancing around — why he can’t share it with you. he always shared everything with you.

( your mind mainly focuses on that one blanket that he would always hog when he was over, fleece and blue with white polka dots; now faded and worn, and you’re pretty sure it has one hole in it from when satoru tried pulling it towards him at the foot of the bed. )

“curses are created from human negative energy, the shit that stirs within non-sorcerers that finally manifests itself,” he spits. you don’t move.

“i know what you saw out there. about r—”

you cut him off. the topic ends at the beat of your heart.

suguru calls your name softly, looking back at you with furrowed brows and an inquisitive look upon his face. he seems like he’s genuinely considering this, you think.

a pause ensues, and all you hear are the distant chirps of crickets that inhabit the area. suguru doesn’t, he only looks at you — his ears drowning out any other noises besides the soft breathing exerted from him. he doesn’t seem fazed, he’s thought about this for a while — regardless of your answer, even though he knows it’ll hurt him either way.

“satoru,” you mutter.

“what about him?”

“he doesn’t know?”

“the burden he carries is unlike no other, and i have a feeling we can change that.” he places a soft hand on your shoulder, the warmth of his hand spreading along your arm and only furthering your nausea. “i think you know that, too.”

you turn on your heel, feet similar to lead as it takes everything within you to turn away and head back past the glass, trying to make it back to your dorm before a deft hand catches your wrist. it’s bordering tight, but your head whips around to see him nonetheless.

“promise, right?” his other hand holds out his pinky — almost ironic in a way. you can feel your eyelids heating with the oncoming wave of tears threatening to spill. you can’t though, not now.

it takes a second or two but you apprehensively bring your hand to interlock pinkies, a childish but fond gesture the four of you had always done.

soon, he will have coffee and crepes in the street. he’ll breathe in bliss. empty his cup of its grief, for the new life he will lead — you think.

“promise.”

viii. satoru gojo - the strongest

satoru gojo often feels like he’s not as strong as he can be.

how silly is that?

goodness, to him, is adjacent to a rock flowing slowly through the rapids. he’ll float there first. although, he knows it’ll follow him — he can only hope he’ll meet you in the river, up to his knees, both hands full of something good, like silverfish wriggling for the waters.

a bright, childlike grin on his face as it meets your sheepish one, as if when he were to meet you as a child — being your friend would be worth more than being the heir of the gojo clan. his yukata dirtied and muddy from the cross contaminated water, soaked and dripping once the two of you would make it onto the small rocks. he would’ve been punished by the elders for the mess he had created, but he wonders if it would have made a difference.

he wonders, if you had been there, whether you would have made a difference.

he knows you’ve made one now.

and when he hears the news from yaga, he can’t help but clench his fists like his heart had clenched alongside it. his head pounds with blood thumping through his veins as yaga’s voice muffles.

he doesn’t remember much — he remembers being told about you and suguru, he remembers yelling, he remembers the hot tears that welled up in his lashes as he walked away. he remembers going back to your dorm room, opening your door, and feeling his gut drop at the sight of it.

satoru remembers the lingering scent of your body spray and how it engulfed your room. the small scratches satoru had carved into your desk with a pencil once he had tried tutoring you (it ended horribly and you didn’t get anything done, a smile threatens to tug at his lips at the memory).

the small notes you used to pass in class with shoko folded neatly in an organizer. he picks one up and squints at the shaky kanji of shoko’s handwriting bunched up on the page compared to the way your characters floated on the small ripped piece of paper.

‘did you do #14?’ he read shoko’s.

yours read, ‘yep’.

he could almost laugh at her last response — which read, ‘nerd.’

he wonders how you’re doing with suguru — satoru wants to believe you had no part in the massacre he had inflicted on the village but there’s no way to no for sure, all they can tell is that they found one was suguru’s buttons on the scene. his fingers run along your sheets, neat and made from the days before you had left — he feels his breathing quicken at the sight of your fluffed pillows.

(you knew you were leaving, and that part hurts the most.)

his eyes dance around the decorations of your room, littered with cheery figurines and souvenirs from past missions in shibuya or sapporo, ones you’d always have to march back into satoru’s room for because you knew he had taken at least one.

he had never told you that the only reason he did that wasn’t to be obnoxious, but so that he could pull you into his room and coax you to stay a little longer — how he’d promise you wouldn’t get into trouble with yaga if you just went out for a plate of takoyaki in the middle of the night.

when he had seen suguru in shinjuku that day, all he could think about was that he wanted to tell you — how he wanted to just see you, even if it was only a glimpse; even if you hadn’t said anything to him. he just wanted to see you.

words lingered in his brain, suguru’s request burned into his head. because he didn’t come to fight, he didn’t come with aggression. he only requested that he saw his side, too. a part of him was relieved you weren’t there with him, because he was always weak to you — it would’ve made it so much harder, he thinks.

has he always felt this way about you? feeling what way? what the fuck is he thinking? he doesn't even know.

there's a big, hot, white ball of something within him — something wiry inside of his gut that cuts and scrapes at every edge inside his intestines. satoru doesn’t know what it is but he’s never felt this way before.

but he’ll go outside, and he’ll see shoko or wave to his classmates. he’ll hear the whispers float around in the halls, overshadowing the faint sound of soft laughs he used to hear when he’d bump hips with you when you would take your daily rounds — to help with the dreams you had, you said.

satoru gojo didn’t get nightmares, he just woke up with once again another weight on his shoulders the next morning, groggy with the idea of obligations that would only pile up on him. and although satoru never dared to dream when he was asleep ( nor did he know how to dream when he was awake ), he would only pretend to so that he could roam around at night in search of you.

and when he’d find your figure, shaky breaths escaping your lungs with disheveled hair and tear stained eyes — so beautifully illuminated by the celestial pearl in the sky, the only beacon of light suspended in velvet darkness. you’d look up at the moon, perhaps with a prayer in mind, as you’d only think about what to do next.

like always, he’d sneak up behind you. only this time, he wouldn’t startle you with a playful call of your name or tap your shoulder and be on the other side to confuse you. he’d merely slip behind you in silence, leaning against the railing of the open-view gap that’d let you view the outside of the high school. he’d feel you glance at him with a wobbly bottom lip, swollen from the chewing you’d had to do just to silence your cries.

satoru wouldn’t say anything. but you knew why he was there.

(or at least, why you thought he was there.)

your head would drop low with eyes screwed shut, and only satoru could hear the quaky breath you’d take as you’d try to compose yourself. azure eyes would rake across your figure with a furrowed brow, he never understood why you were so emotional — yet he’d lay a comforting hand on your back anyway. you’d savor the warmth of his palm with only more tears building up in your lashes.

he’s strong. he has to be — whether it’s for you, for suguru, for jujutsu society; doesn’t matter. that’s neither here nor there. for now, satoru will nurse the thought of your memory until it bleeds and stains the very bed he dreams of you in — knowing he’ll awake the next morning and jolt at your absence. he’ll then wash his face, hold his head high, and walk right back outside. the hurts only scabs over for the day before he opens it up again the same night.

ix. migration

“you— what?”

“i’m going to the states.”

geto’s lips quirk into a soft pout, one you’ve gotten accustomed to for the past few years.

“how come?” he asks softly, albeit you almost frown at his tone. a sound that had come to be so comforting — it tingles at your bones in small zaps and shivers. it makes you feel terrible, but you can’t help but indulge in the feeling.

“always wanted to go,” you shrug. your eyes glance to the girls’ bedroom; the two twins suguru had found in that small village that had come to be but a large pile of ash and dismay. hand still warm from tucking the two of them in, it fills you with bitter sweetness.

his eyes linger on your face — you can tell he doesn’t believe you because he always has this tell, where his lips will shift to the side momentarily as he presses them together, almost in thought. you’re not sure you believe yourself, either.

staying in japan does nothing for you but weigh you down with the slow, imminent guilt that swells your chest from the fact that you’re stuck here. of course, it wasn’t an involuntary choice to go with suguru — you felt you had no other choice but to escape the things you had seen at the place that had hurt you most.

although, you can’t help but think about the boy who’s hair lights up the room, who’s eyes can see right through you — it’s almost unsettling how much you remember the flecks of blue and detail within them, practically painting the sky in those colored irises. often times, you’ll lie awake at night; hands folded neatly over your chest as the external stimulus of the outside world provide you with a sense of security, realness.

the expensive eau de cologne of his lingers in your nose, the almost spice of the musk permanently altering your brain that’s only triggered when you walk past advertisers outside of the store trying to sell a similar scent.

you swear your eyes don’t water, even though no one’s presence is there but yours — so there’s really nothing to swear about. you just don’t want to seem like something you’re so foreign to; vulnerability. letting the tears flow down the curve of your cheekbones. you don’t wipe your eyes for it’s the only reminder you have left that that boy exists.

so the next morning, you’ll wake up. slumped over from the thing that eats at your bones, your cursed energy being the only thing you can feel running through you.

fingertips coated with the smallest bit of dust, the leather cover of the suitcase is practically unused save for the few times you’d use it when you’d be sent to the outskirts of japan for certain missions. you almost smile at the faint memories that cloud your brain around that time; shoko’s quiet laughs while utahime and you would whine at small inconveniences on the trip. stopping by certain food stalls that weren’t available in tokyo, trying new things — it makes you miss it.

but you know you can’t go back now.

you pretend not to notice the watery eyes of nanako and mimiko once they see you walking out of the door, nor do you notice suguru watching you walk out the door all the same; the robes clinging onto his figure disfiguring him into a man you no longer knew.

the soft smile that once lied on his young face now replaced by one of feigned amicability; like a customer service smile. you’ve known him over a decade and yet it seems like the two of you’ve only been roommate faintly acquainted with each other. it makes your heart thump a little harder.

you pretend not to feel the way your throat closes up as a single tear courses down your skin; leaving a residue that coats the linear path trickling down your cheek — this time, you wipe your eyes.

x. (not so) divine intervention

tongue sticking heavy in your mouth, any form of noise that you could’ve possibly made dying on your throat. your hands feel a surge of pressure through them, fingers twitching along as the gears in your head turn.

you look different, he takes note of. your hairs parted a little different, a few inches of extra length added on as well. a smile tugs at his lips; one full of mirth and almost jocularity. you look so clean, healthy — strong. there’s potential, he realizes, as he searches suguru’s memory bank of you; your face making a constant reoccurrence throughout his mind. the day you left, you cooking for the girls next to him, you lying next to him, your tears that night.

his half-smile only grows wider.

he cocks a brow before he holds his hand up in salutations. he says your name, but it’s not how he would usually say it. it’s almost raspier, lower. your lips press together as you examine him, your eyes keep flitting back up to his head — intricate stitches wrapping around the width of his forehead.

“hey,” geto looks you up and down. “shrimp.”

tilting your head up, you roll your eyes at the nickname before continuing to walk forward. you don’t know what you expected because he follows you anyway, hands clasped together under the warmth of the sleeves of his robes.

his soft footsteps easily match your quick ones, stern and at least trying to flee. you don’t wanna look at him, whether that’s because you know you’ll crumble or because you’re so upset, you don’t know. all you know is that you can’t look at him now. even when he observes the bustling streets of and makes passing comments about the citizens of tokyo.

“i wasn’t sure that you had gotten back — how come you didn’t find me?” he asks, and you know it’s only because he’s fishing.

you spare him a glance out of your peripheral. you frown softly, it doesn’t even look like suguru anymore. paler skin, thinner cheekbones, lips now a lighter shade of pink with small cracks lining them. an angry, irritated color begins to form around his forehead where the stitches lay, the thread sunken so deep in his skin that it makes your own head hurt at the probable tightness.

you quietly exhale, but you know he can hear the shaky breath that comes along with it. “didn’t know if you were busy.”

“you know i can always manage some time for you,” he smiles bittersweetly. tilting his head up, he looks up at the tall buildings that surround you, admiring the straying leaves falling from the trees. one floats down and makes its way onto your head — your eye twitches as he plucks its off your hair before holding it up to his view.

you take your time to look at it, too. it’s starting to brown with the oncoming seasonal change, an amorphous combination of a golden crisp and veranda green.

“i’ve been meaning to ask your help with something,” he doesn’t look at you, still trained on the leaf. “only if you’re ready to be my partner in crime, again." he smiles at you, one that seems more like suguru. it’s confident and teasing, and with the way he leans a little more forward brings you memories of his old demeanor back in high school, the way him and—

you pause, because for a moment, you swear you could’ve seen a glimpse of white hair behind him. it’s almost concerning how quickly your blood runs cold at the thought. it’s not out of dissent nor is it out of a manifest of obscureness to which you’ve rendered him to.

but once you hear geto speak of his name — it’s like you crumble all over again. your hands going soft and clammy, your chest surging with an almost sort of giddiness at the thought of him again. just like a wishful coin in a pond, it’s beautiful to know that there are still glimmers of this feeling. even this deep in.

“suguru?” you tilt your head back, meeting his relaxed gaze as he halts his movements.

“hm?”

“what are those?” you gesture to your own forehead, keeping your eyes locked on your head as you talk about the stitches on his own. you don’t get a reply.

after that, you don’t pay attention half-way through his explanation, stopping him again with a closer step forward as he talks about some sort of plan. really, the only thing you listen to is the small glimpses you hear of satoru’s name. he talks about something going on in shibuya, he talks about jujutsu high — and you would be lying if you said that the mention of the school didn’t make you a little sad.

you wonder what satoru’s doing, you wonder what shoko’s doing. hopefully, you’ll see them soon — even if it’s just in passing. you know nothing will be the same as it was before, but you can help but wonder what they’re doing now.

you won’t know her now — but as she puffs the remaining tobacco through the small opening of her swollen lips, shoko shakes her head and looks down at her pinky. she wonders if that promise had gone down the drain like you had. she swears she can feel the corners of her eyes dampen a little.

and you won’t know it either — but satoru can’t help but see you everywhere he looks. when he sees the first years walking back home from the mission, he trails behind them just to get the view of them lined up together; yuuji bumping hips with megumi while all he gets is a glare in return. nobara looks up on the sky and drags her feet out of boredom, spewing off mindless bits of chitchat about how she totally ‘did that’.

his neck will crane up to the horizon as his lips only recite your nothings. all he is sees is sunset, yet he’s scarred with the melancholy he carries. he’ll try to close his eyes, your hands coming up to his collarbones before you press down. until he’s bruised with incompetence; until his shame has configured the astronomical.

and satoru will smile, a slew of memories seeping back into the curves of his brain as he thinks back to those times of you — of suguru, shoko, nanami. he never stopped hurting that day, but he can’t help but smile at the sight of something begun anew.

oh well, satoru thinks — he can only wonder to what you’re doing now. something inside him hopes for a day where he’ll see you soon. he’ll wait for the day where he’ll see you soon.

𐙚 holy shit i did it

𐙚 comment to join taglist ; @kasumitenbaz @sad-darksoul @seternic @kalulakunundrum @2ukika @sugimvra

𐙚 requests are open — november thirteenth, 2024

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starrihan · 6 months ago

Note

hard thought i can't get out of my mind is loser nerd!beomgyu who is pretty unpopular getting with reader who think he's cute and knows that he's a virgin so she doesn't expect much from him but it turns out he's a big freak with wild fantasies and he's so excited to finally live them~♡

Oh em gee my first ask ever!!! Thank you nonnie for sending in this delicious ask 😋I feel so honored writing this! I hope you like this as much as I enjoyed writing it 🫶🏽

-> Genre: smut, reader degrades beomgyu, switch! beomgyu, virgin! beomgyu, beomgyu is a perverted loser nerd, panty stealing and sniffing, premature ejaculation (beomgyu), unprotected sex (always use protection)

-> word count: 602

-> Notes (02/11/2025): me being a stupid dummy and forgetting to link part 2 to this 😔🤦🏽‍♀️

-> Here's a link to all my other masterlists!

༄ ༄ ༄

Loser nerd! Beomgyu who’s also the biggest loser you know. He’s known as the weirdly loud kid that always tries to be funny. Sometimes his jokes land but more often than not, they don’t. But he’s never discouraged from being himself, even if he’s not very popular for it.

You on the other hand, the popular smart girl who’s also head of the student gov and on the school’s volleyball team, just so happen to have a little crush on Beomgyu, finding him adorable.

Loser nerd! Beomgyu who doesn't even need to try to get your attention, as your eyes are always on him, always making him blush and look away.

Loser nerd! Beomgyu who always looks down your shirt whenever your cleavage is exposed and always attends your volleyball games to see your tiny shorts ride up your thighs.

Loser nerd! Beomgyu who sneaks into the locker room during one of your games, taking one of your used panties during practice and stuffing it in his pocket to sniff and use later when he masturbates to thought of you, imagining your pussy sliding up and down his cock instead of your panties.

Loser nerd! Beomgyu whose actually a big pervert, always sneaking pictures of your exposed legs and cleavage whenever he can, not knowing that you do it on purpose so you can one day catch him taking photos of you.

Loser nerd! Beomgyu who you trap in the utilities closet of one of the academic buildings when you catch him taking photos of you, telling him how bad he is for taking pictures without your consent.

Loser nerd! Beomgyu who loves being degraded by you as you call him pathetic for never approaching you, instead being a coward and resorting to cheap methods to get himself off

Loser nerd! Beomgyu who is on his knees before you as you spit into his mouth, instructing him to take your pants off for you and make up for all the pictures hes taken without your knowledge

Loser nerd! Beomgyu who takes a whiff of your panties and moans before putting his mouth to your clothes clit, dick straining against his pants as you call him disgusting while shoving his face into your pussy

Loser nerd! Beomgyu who tries to take off his glasses, only to be reprimanded by you tugging his hair, telling him to keep them on, who cares if they get dirty?

Loser nerd! Beomgyu who eats you out in the utility closet, rutting against his jeans and cumming in his pants before you come on his face because he's a virgin who can't control himself before you

Loser nerd! Beomgyu who can't stand not being in you any longer, pulling himself up and discarding his pants, slamming into your wet hole despite the overstimulation he's feeling

Loser nerd! Beomgyu who takes control of you now, calling you a dirty slut for letting a pervert virgin like him use you for his own pleasure

Loser nerd! Beomgyu who bites down on your neck and grabs your hips roughly, bruising them as he fights back cumming so quickly again, waiting for you to cum first

Loser nerd! Beomgyu who can't pull out on time, accidentally cumming in you a bit before pulling out and cumming on your thighs

Loser nerd! Beomgyu who is surprised when you kiss him, sloppily kissing back while trying to catch his breath, dazed after his first time having sex

Loser nerd! Beomgyu who is left to clean himself up after you leave, slipping him your phone number and telling him "we should do this again sometime"

༄ ༄ ༄

-> Here's a link to all my other masterlists!

#starrihan #txt #tomorrow by together #tomorrow x together #txt smut #tomorrow by together smut #tomorrow x together smut #beomgyu #beomgyu smut #choi beomgyu #choi beomgyu smut

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carlos-in-glasses · 10 months ago

Text

Rhythms

124k, 17 chapters, E, complete and on Ao3.

TK swoons when he discovers a sentimental scrapbook full of notes he and Carlos have left for each other – but he also unearths a book of poems that closeted teen-Carlos wrote about his struggles, including a few dedicated to his high school crush. An adorably mortified Carlos recalls the stir he caused when he was published anonymously in the high school paper, and everything he went through to write his wedding vows for TK years later. With TK as a hype-man, maybe Carlos can embrace his creative side again.

Read on Ao3

Chapter 1 - Love Heart: The day after TK and Carlos’ first wedding anniversary, TK is sent home from work sick. Back at the loft unexpectedly, he makes a surprising discovery about Carlos.

Chapter 2 - Club Can't Handle Me: In 2011, sixteen-year-old Carlos is both in the closet and in his high school’s wrestling team – and it’s all a bit too much. Perhaps against his better judgment, he turns to poetry and makes a decision that will change his life.

Chapter 3 - Crossroads: Daydreaming about his wedding vows mid-drive, Carlos gets pulled over for a traffic violation – and Gabriel isn’t happy. Reunited with TK, Carlos might be lost for words, but he finds another way to express his love and desire.

Chapter 4 - The Wrestler: Carlos’ poems are published – and he quickly learns there’s no putting the genie back into the bottle.

Chapter 5 - A Gay Fantasia: In the aftermath of being abducted by a serial killer, Carlos reflects on recent events and resumes work on his wedding vows.

Chapter 6 - La Tormenta: Carlos is devastated when Scott gets a girlfriend, and he finds himself in another snowballing situation.

Chapter 7 - Soulmates: When TK has a Huntington’s disease scare, Carlos finds he knows exactly what to say. But will it help him with his writer’s block when it comes to his wedding vows?

Chapter 8 - Man of Mystery: It’s the day of the Lake View High School Talent Show – and will the real Shadow Poet please stand up?

Chapter 9 - Crush: In 2011, it’s make or break for sixteen year old Carlos at the talent show. In 2024, TK becomes the hype man Carlos had needed over a decade ago.

Chapter 10 - From Behind: A couple of weeks before the wedding, Carlos is still working on his vows when a deeper rift develops between him and his dad. In 2012, seventeen year-old Carlos is spiraling after coming out to his parents.

Chapter 11 - The Other Wrestler: TK decides to lift Carlos’ spirits by learning how to wrestle.

Chapter 12 - Carlos Reyes Will Be Okay: At Gabriel’s funeral, Carlos regrets saying no to reading a poem in tribute – but during the wake, he finds himself under a whole new pressure. Later that night, he realizes the vows he’s worked so hard on for TK cannot be spoken yet.

Chapter 13 - The Closet: Despite some good news, Carlos ends up in the doghouse with his mom and with TK.

Chapter 14 - Once in a Blue Moon: Reeling from his confrontation with Andrea, Carlos seeks advice and admits a secret.

Chapter 15 - Raining on Prom Night: In May 2012, chaos erupts at Carlos’ senior prom.

Chapter 16 - Tyler Kennedy Strand: The wedding day arrives, and Carlos finally gets to recite his vows to TK.

Chapter 17 - Shadow Poet: Carlos attends his poetry reading with TK by his side and some important people in the audience – but will he actually perform this time?

“I was just remembering–” Carlos says, “The first time you stayed for a while after one of our hookups. It was, like, the third time we hooked up, I think. I asked if you wanted tea and cookies and you looked at me like I’d said the weirdest thing ever.”

TK’s exhausted, puffy face breaks into a dazzling grin. “You were being such a Boy Scout.”

“But then you said yes and you ate half the cookie jar.”

“You called me the Cookie Monster.”

“That was the first time I really made you laugh.”

“Tea came out my nose.”

“It was beautiful,” Carlos says, pausing then to qualify: “Your laugh.”

TK gazes up at him, his clear green eyes large and shining. “I can’t believe you remember that.”

“The first time you made me laugh was when we were dancing at the honky-tonk.”

“Hey!” TK swats his arm. “I was trying my best!”

“You were so goofy,” Carlos chides. “I just loved it. I loved you.”

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#Tarlos #Tarlos fic #Tarlos fanfic #911 lone star #gay fanfiction #Rhythms #poet fic #cig fic #my fic #Thank you so much for reading! I'm so excited about this fic!

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moody-alcoholic · 6 months ago

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On a Wing and a Prayer

Part 11 - Epilogue

CW: nightmares.

AN: I have had so much fun writing this. It was such a breath of fresh air to take a break from my main series and write a quick 'mini fic'. I have other ideas for more 'mini fic's' in the future. For now I thought I should wrap this up. Thank you for everyone who liked commented and shared this around, even for people who just read it and enjoyed it, thank you so much and I hope you had as much fun reading it as I did writing it.

Previous parts - masterlist

As soon as Simon is discharged you all fly back to the UK.

You end up at the house with Simon on bed rest. Not that he listens, he’s worse than Johnny was. You stay in the house with them, sleeping in the bed with Simon so you can help him when he needs to pee in the middle of the night.

John has been busy cleaning up the mess from the base as well as making sure Simon doesn’t get discharged. Him and Kyle usually spend their days out at a base somewhere leaving you Johnny and Simon at the house. You don’t mind, you’ll spend as much time as you can with them.

Johnny cooks and cleans, Simon jokes he’s turning into a housewife. When you offer to help none of them will have it, doting on you almost as much as Simon.

“You don’t have to feel guilty. I can do things for myself.” You remind them.

“Don’t even think about it. What did you want? A sandwich?” Johnny asks and sticks his head out from round the kitchen.

“Cheese and pickle.” You smile. Simon’s hands grip your waist pulling you back up against him.

“And a packet of quavers.” He whispers in your ear.

“And a packet of quavers.” You call. You lay back against him and he kisses your head.

“You’re one tough cookie, you know that.” He says after a few minutes of silence. You turn to look up at him, frowning.

“What Graves put you through. What I-” He chokes on the words. You break away from his embrace.

“Stop. We don’t have to talk about this.” You say bringing your hand up to stroke his cheek. You sigh watching his eyes drop.

“Simon.” You stop, you're not sure what you want to say. You pick up one of his hands. “It’s okay, I spent months in therapy, It’s part of the job. You were just doing your job.”

He hangs his head and sighs. “It’s not fair, we shoulda waited, you deserve better.” You lean over and kiss him. Deep pressing your tongue in his mouth, you wrap one of your hands round the back of his neck. You pull away from the kiss put keep your forehead on his.

“You don’t get to feel guilty Simon Riley. I forgive you. I love you.” You sit back on your knees looking at him, squeezing his hand, you smile.

“I love you too.” He says. You rub his cheek again then turn to lay back in his arms. As soon as his arm has come round your chest, he plants a kiss on your head and Johnny comes in with a plate of food. Simon leans over picking up the packet of quavers.

“Nothing else till later you’ll spoil yer tea, John’s bringing fish n' chips.” Johnny says walking out the room. You smile and reach over for your plate.

…

You must have fallen asleep in Simon’s arms because the slamming of the front door jumps you out of what was starting to feel like an overly realistic dream. The smell of fish and chip fat fills your nose as John and Kyle walk into the living room.

“Have you two been sat their all day?” Kyle asks, kicking his shoes off.

“Mother won’t let us leave.” You say, your voice grumbles with sleep. Simon starts to sit up and you do the same yawning and stretching your arms and legs. John has gone out into the kitchen while Kyle opens the bags of food on the coffee table.

“Got cod, chips, peas and scraps. What do you want?” Kyle asks, John comes back with plates. Kyle serves Simon as John comes over to kiss the top of your head. You look up at him smiling.

“Busy day?” You ask as he strokes your chin with his thumb.

“Always busy when we’re around.” John says going over to the other sofa. As Kyle piles a plate high with chips and fish for him, then passes it to him with a fork.

“Heard back from the medical board yet?” Johnny asks as he comes into the room with a bottle of pop and glasses.

“As a matter of fact-” John starts as he rests the plate on his lap reaching over to his bag next to the sofa. He rummages through muttering to himself until he pulls out a piece of paper. He hands it out to Simon. “Expect to see you back for duty in a month, Lieutenant.” John smiles. Johnny’s giddy snatching the paper out John's hand and reading it like he almost doesn’t believe it.

“Fuck you got a whole 2 months off. I only got a month.” He says reaching over to hand it to Simon. “I even had one of those lung things.” He says, shaking his head, clicking his fingers at you.

“A lung resection.” You say leaning over Simon's shoulder to look at the letter.

“Took half me bloody lung out! I’ll never smoke again.” He says sitting down on the sofa next to John. You look at Kyle chuckling and scooting back on the floor to sit between John's legs.

“You don’t smoke Johnny.” You say looking back over at him. John is fishing through his bag for something else. He reaches out to you. It’s folded up in an envelope.

“Transfer papers. For you to sign. That is if you really do want to come back.” There’s silence in the room, the only noise coming from the low volume of the TV, everyone is looking at you as you reach out to take the papers. You smile nodding then sit back on the sofa opening them up.

You hear Johnny and Kyle start up a conversation as you read over the standard legal jargon of the contract. You do want to join 141 again, you just hope nothing has changed.

…

You dream a lot about your torture, thats normal thats to be expected. When it’s a good day it’s Graves and his faceless shadows. When it’s a bad day its John and Simon, Simon never has his mask on unlike your actual torture.

He didn’t do it, Ghost did. That's what you tell yourself when you wake in a pool of sweat panting, feeling like someone is sitting on your chest. Your legs and arms tingle.

Yesterday was a good day, but you dreamt it was John. You look over in the bed trying to slow your breathing. Simon’s back is turned to you, you can hear him snoring softly. You turn over in bed sitting up. Your transfer papers sit on your bedside table, illuminated by the crack in the curtains.

You get up and sneak out the room trying to be as quiet as you can so you don’t wake Simon. You step over the hall to John’s room. When you push the door open you see him and Kyle lying in bed. Suddenly you want to go back, leave them be.

You can’t, you want to be with them. You slowly crawl on the bottom of the bed, Kyle has his back pressed up against John, as soon as he feels you start to wiggle between him he snaps awake.

“Hey love, you okay?” Kyle asks making room so you can crawl in.

“Yeah.” You whisper shuffling under the sheets. John turns around in the bed his arm coming over you to reach Kyle. A second later he seems to notice you in the bed, his hand comes up to brush your face.

“Something wrong, you’ve been crying love?” He says his voice deep from sleep. You didn’t even realise that.

“I just missed you,” You say, turning to face him. His thumb brushes your cheeks, your eyes have adjusted to the light and you can see his eyes shining in the dark.

“We’re all here.” Kyle says shifting up behind you pulling your shoulder slightly so you lay against him. You smile.

“I know, I know you are.” You say, closing your eyes. Kyle kisses the top of your head and John moves closer to you pulling the duvet up to your neck. He kisses you, a soft peck on your lips, you feel the tickle of his beard. His arm rests on your waist, rubbing your side as he breaks away from the kiss.

You close your eyes letting them hold you in their arms, the sound of their breathing lulls you back to sleep.

…

You’re up early the next morning slipping out the bed before anyone else is up. You’re sat at the kitchen island with a cup of tea in your hands when John makes his way over to the coffee machine.

“Mornin’” he says, turning it on.

“You going to the base today?” You ask taking a sip as he takes a mug down from the cupboard.

“Yeah, still got a bunch of intel to go through on the Makarov leads.” he says, turning to look at you while the coffee machine warms up. You slide the envelope over to him.

“Think I can help?” You ask, smiling. He comes round to you, throwing his arms around you before you have a chance to stop him. He buries his nose into your neck and you hug him back.

“You know for a second I was worried you changed your mind.” He breaks from the hug cupping your cheeks.

“I love you.” You say. He kisses you.

“I love you too.” You smile the biggest smile at him as you hear the coffee machine beep.

“Mornin’ lass sleep well?” Johnny asks, his hand landing on your back. John gets up going back to the coffee machine.

“Yeah. I did.” You smile going to take another sip of your tea.

You sleep well that night too, squished between Johnny and Simon. There are no more bad day or good day dreams. Nightmares come sometimes but it’s always Graves and his faceless shadows, and when you do wake in a panic someone is always there. John or Simon, Kyle or Johnny. They’re always by your side.

You stick by their side too, besides someone has to pull the bullets out of them.

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damn-stark · 2 months ago

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Chapter 11 Eternal eclipse

Chapter 11 of Tragedy at the Miller’s

A/N- This chapter was an emotional one to write, more than the previous one

Warning- ANGST, talks of violence and death, thoughts of suicide, spoilers for season 2, Remember this is a rewrite not an AU, so the major stuff that happens in the show will happen here :)

Pairing- Joel Miller x daughter!reader (platonic of course :), OC x Fem!reader

Episode- 2x03

(If you want to be tagged let me know!)

————

What sweet escape is there from the deafening echoes of your father’s screams torturing your every waking second?

What mercy will erase the violent memories of him getting violently beaten to death?

What trick can you play on fate so it can cut your life line and stop you from hearing your father's last words repeating again and again, adding to that merciless torture?

“Don't look…baby.”

What is the answer to all your loaded questions? If it was not Abby, then what?

You look around the clinic bathroom for a quick answer, something that will let you join him quickly, but you find nothing until…you look past your reflection. There in the depths of that steaming bath water is your answer…

Nothing can be as painful as the torture you went through, and will go through from here on out, so there’s no hesitation or fear. You were supposed to undress and wait, but you dip in the bath, getting quickly enveloped by the steaming water, and seeing darkness when you close your eyes.

A part of you expects all that grief and trauma to follow you, but there’s a peaceful abyss in the darkness, so you sink under and wait to finally be complete with your family.

It’s the only way to know peace again. It’s the only way to end the pain that awaits you. It’s…the only way to be with him again…

Yet…you can almost muster a laugh when you hear the door open, letting in fate’s intervention. Your husband, Apollo.

Said man sees you completely sunken in and reaches in to pat your shoulder, making you rise from the water and not care to wipe the water off your eyes when you open them. You just sit there with your eyes downcast and dark, with the horror still clinging to you.

“I told you to wait for me,” he says the same way he’s been speaking to you since you reunited in the middle of the street; softly and like he’s afraid that if he speaks any louder, he’ll hurt you in some way.

“At least you helped by loosening up that dry blood,” he adds so he knows he’s not scolding you, he’s just reminding you kindly of what he told you—“I'm going to start with your face, okay, my love?”

You don’t respond or acknowledge him, you simply sit still as he rubs soap on the rag and then gently touches your face to gently and slowly scrub your father’s blood off your face.

“Maria and Tommy will be back, they just have to take care of other things around town,” Apollo fills the morbid silence. “Our friends will come visit soon, and my dad will take Teddy home later. If not, Maria said he can spend the night with her.”

Finally, after a long silence, you shake your head, letting him know without a need for words that you want Teddy to be home, and he doesn’t argue against it, not in your state.

Apollo would actually not dare to try and upset you at all, thanks to Maria and Jesse, he knows why you returned home in such a disarray. He doesn’t know what exactly happened or how exactly you got hurt, but he knows enough to ask for time off work to be with you and be extremely gentle with his words and actions.

He wants to know how you ended up getting hurt, but he can’t bring himself to ask, so he has no choice but to wait to read the reports. Until then, he just washes the blood off your face, and when there’s no trace of red left, he moves onto your hands, skipping your throat because the nurses had cleared that area when they tended to your wounds. However, when he starts scrubbing your hands, he notices how filed down your nails are, and the cuts on all ten of your fingertips, almost as if you had scraped your fingers until they bled.

Once again, he doesn’t ask; he just tends to you quietly until finally you lift your eyes off the water and pull one hand away to start signing.

Now, he doesn’t know as much as you do, but he knows the alphabet, so he understands when you sign, “ELLIE.”

“Oh,” he gasps and lets his hand hang over the bathtub to give you the answer you seek. “She had some broken ribs. They’re tending to her now by the best doctor, Mia,” he lets you know with a smile in hopes you’ll mirror it, but you just express faint relief and a light nod.

“She’ll need to stay here until she heals,” Apollo continues to share. “Which is good knowing her. She’d probably try and get back to work tomorrow.”

You nod again in agreement and then pull yourself closer to the edge of the tub to ask after someone else.

“DINA,” you sign, making Apollo continue scrubbing your hand.

“She’ll be fine. The drugs have worn off, and they'll tend to that frostbite on her hand,” he lets you know, making you let out a short and deep breath of relief before you continue to look down at the water.

“And you,” he adds sweetly and with another sweet smile. “Will get to go home today. There’s no need to stay with a bruised throat. I think you’ll be more comfortable at home anyway.”

Home…

It’s supposed to bring you peace. It’s meant to be an escape from the everyday commotion of work and this apocalyptic life. You hoped with every fiber of your being that it would be an eternal escape anyway, and in some way, it is some escape. Home does offer some peace, but only because it offers sanctuary from the outside world.

You don’t fear that the infected will roam the streets, that’s not why you don’t leave home when you step foot in it. Home doesn’t keep the violent and painful memories away; no, you have those every day and every night.

When you close your eyes the first night at home, you think you’ll be in that peaceful abyss once again, but you end up back in that lodge, seeing your dad slowly slip away right in front of you.

Every single night it’s like you’re being tortured, feeling every raw ounce of grief and crippling pain. It reaches the point that Theo needs to start sleeping in his own room so he wouldn’t be startled awake by your screaming. You had advised Apollo to do the same, but he refused to, so every night, like clockwork, he wakes up to you screaming and offers you the comfort of his soothing embrace.

Apollo is the sweet reminder that you’re not there again, so you keep him close. Being near him or in his embrace eases your pain and makes days easier to navigate, but he’s not enough to ward away your paranoia. It’s why you don’t leave home for three months, because home is a sanctuary. Home keeps you from failing your dad again, it keeps you from being taken back to that lodge again and watching him get beaten to death.

Albeit eventually, sometime throughout those three months, Apollo has to return to work. He’s the head of the construction unit now, you see, because the previous one died, so who else can fill his shoes but the man he mentored?

Yet you’re not alone. You’re never alone when he’s gone. If it’s not your Uncle Tommy, it’s Maria, or Mia. Even Dina is around sometimes, but you’re never at home alone.

That would annoy anyone; it would annoy you when it hit a certain point, but why would a corpse be annoyed?

That’s what you are. A shell of a person who has a beating heart, working lungs, but no soul. It was sucked right out of you, leaving you roaming the earth like a corpse.

You do eat, but hardly. You take care of your son, but every achievement he makes passes over your head. You listen to Apollo, your Uncle Tommy, Maria, your friends, and Dina talk, but you never respond to anyone besides mindless nods and blinks.

Life just passes by. The snow melts, the bitter coldness begins to leave, and day by day spring slowly takes over the earth, but everything might as well be bitter, dull, and lifeless because you don’t bother to care.

It comes to a point where everyone who loves you, except for Ellie and Jesse, meet up at your house to talk about you, thinking you’re busy putting Theo to sleep. Albeit he's quick to fall under the spell, so you overhear everything that is said.

“It’s been 3 months, Mia,” you hear Uncle Tommy raise his voice at your friend. “If something is wrong with her, you need to tell us.”

“N-No,” Mia argues. “Nothing is wrong with her. Her wounds have healed. She should be able to talk now.”

“Then?” Your uncle quips with worry.

Mia sighs, and there’s a moment of silence before you hear Gail, Mia’s adopted mom, speak up for her daughter. “It's a trauma response. She may not be doing it on purpose. It’s her mind's reaction to everything that happened that day, but now it all depends on her. You can’t force her to speak. She needs to decide on her own.”

“And if she never does?” Maria asks with the same concern that everyone in that living room carries.

“Then she never does,” Gail puts it bluntly. “But either way, I’m going to start her therapy tomorrow. That's what you still want, Apollo?”

A second of silence passes before you hear your husband speak. “Yeah. We've been putting it off for long enough, and I…I don’t know how to help her anymore. Her nightmares don’t stop, and I…I don’t want her to suffer anymore. She doesn’t sleep. She doesn’t eat. I…don’t want this to take her. So please. Come.”

Tears slip from your eyes, and you rest your head against the wall as you take in his words and think about everyone gathered in your home, worried about you.

You don’t want them to be worried. You don’t want to be a burden. It’s all just…impossible.

Life…without him…

If you make a sweet escape, no one will worry. You’ll be no one’s burden, and most importantly, you’ll be with them again; Sarah and your mother, whom you never got to meet but was your dad's great love, according to your Uncle. Most importantly, you’ll be with your dad again. You crave that sweet afterlife so dearly…

An end to the pain…

However, one of the reasons you don’t take that path suddenly stirs awake and looks up at you with his father's sweet eyes, making you wipe your tears off your cheeks and muster a soft smile.

——

*THE NEXT DAY*

And then, in the silence of the day is an interruption. A disturbance in your day-to-day life.

Yet even though you were broken from the spell you were under, you don’t move to open the door after a visitor rapped their fist on the wooden door. You don’t pretend to be busy, you remain seated in your rocking chair with your blanket covering your legs and your crocheting project in the same state it’s been for the past three months, just a square.

The visitor, on the other hand, walks into the living room trailing after your Uncle Tommy, revealing themselves to be Gail. As predicted.

“Hello,” she greets as she walks past your Uncle to stand at his side and face your pathetic state, and since you can’t speak, you just offer her a tight-lipped smile before you look down at your crochet square and pick up the needles to pretend to be busy.

“Well, make yourself at home. I’ll be close by,” your Uncle Tommy interjects in the awkward silence, taking no time to turn away and walk off, leaving you alone with Gail and her intentions, you really don’t plan to entertain.

“Well, you can put that shit down, we both know you weren’t doing it before I got here anyway,” she says bluntly, making you pause and wait a moment before you drop the needles and keep looking away.

“We’re also not going to pretend that you don’t know why I’m here. You’re smarter than that, so get up and come with me.”

You draw out a deep breath and slowly raise your head to face her with a glum look, making her think you’re going to give her a hard time, but you pull the blanket off your lap and toss it on the couch before you rise off your seat.

“Good,” she praises you and doesn’t fret to walk off. You follow after her at a normal pace, not giving much thought to her grabbing a bag next to the doorframe, and not asking questions about where she’s taking you. You follow her until you notice that she’s heading to the backyard. That's when you stop in front of the back door, hoping that the door will close behind her, securing you inside, but Gail is quick to notice that your footsteps are not trailing after her, so she turns and manages to catch the door before it closes.

“Come,” she beckons you outside. “Just to your backyard.”

You step back, telling her that you refuse to follow along now, but she takes a step past the door as she keeps it open, and hardens her gaze.

“There’s no point in making you,” she argues. “But if you want to be difficult, I will be difficult right back. Come. Outside. I need you to see something.”

You think about her threat and know she means it, but what is her persistence compared to what she wants to show you?

You have an idea as to what she may want to show you after all, and even the thought of it makes you want to cry.

“Ellie gets out of the clinic in a week,” she then cuts through the silence to share that bit of information about a girl you haven’t gone to see in three months.

“Do you want her to see you the way you are? Is that the example you want to give your sister?” She cuts deep, forcing you to think about what she said and come up with an answer, which is no. You don’t want her to see you the way you are. That’s not the image you want her to have of you after she gets out of the hospital.

You want her to see someone…handling her grief. An example of strength so she can be so and know that it will be okay. Yet how can you be the very picture of that with the way you look now?

Thus, you drag out a deep breath and step forward, making Gail offer you a tight-lipped smile before she continues her path outside.

This time, you trail after her, and the moment you step outside, you gasp deeply as you’re hit with the simple touch of fresh air. You then immediately shield your eyes from the sun’s rays breaking through the branches of the great oak trees that live around your backyard, and duck your head whilst your shoulders tense up as you’re offended by all the noise that travels through the sky.

When you finally manage to catch up to Gail by the garden of wildflowers, your discomfort slowly washes away. The sun still slightly burns your skin and bothers your eyes, and the noise is just as annoying, but you don’t let it drive you inside. You let it all be as you keep your eyes on the vivid green leaves that decorate the oak tree.

“Look down here and tell me what this garden means to you,” she gets right to business with a strict and professional voice.

You remain defiant though and let your eyes wander the trees, feeling the sun stop burning and start feeling warm and kind against your skin.

“Look,” she presses with her voice raised, and so you proceed to blink and drag your eyes down, but you keep every feeling, thought, and memory at bay.

“So?” Gail probes.

You simply shrug, making her sigh and crouch to study the little yellow rue flowers that take part in the great wild garden.

“I think these Rue flowers are lovely,” Gail shares her thoughts, making you cross your arms over your chest. “When did you plant these?”

You don’t say anything, of course and since she already knows the answer, she continues for you.

“Was it after you came back five years ago? They’re very pretty.”

You bite your lip and glance away.

“These purple ones are really nice too,” she adds, and so you grip onto your arms and keep your eyes averted.

“Everything is just so lovely. I think there’s a purity to flowers. Grace. A resilience and a rather dependable beauty in this new life. You know? Infected roam the earth, bad people live amongst us, but this…these flowers are something you can always count on when you want to see something so perfectly beautiful. Furthermore, when you can’t see them, at least you know they’re still here, growing tall even through it all.”

You look down and see the picture she paints with the flowers. You can understand everything she says, but every personal meaning you have connected to all that’s beautiful is still kept away.

You meant to lock it away in the dark corner of your mind, but you weren’t strong enough, so it came rushing down. The only thing keeping it from completely crushing you is your fight to keep it at bay.

“Oh, ok,” Gail sighs and pushes herself to her feet before she pulls out something small from her bag that fits in her balled hand.

“If this doesn’t mean anything, then you won't mind if I torch it, right?” She says and catches all your attention.

“Tell me,” she huffs and reveals a match and a striker as she opens her hand. “What does this wildflower garden mean to you?”

You watch her pull out a match and hold it up between her and you.

“The yellow flowers are Rue flowers. You planted them with your dad in memory of your mother. Am I right?” She asks, and since she doesn’t get an immediate answer, she answers for you. “Yes, I am right.”

You swallow thickly and drop your arms to your sides to ball your hands tightly in defiance of what she threatens to bring out.

“The rest of these beautiful flowers are a reminder of who you’ve lost, right? Right.” She nods. “But mostly your sister. The one you and your dad adored. The one who looked after the both of you. The one you would spend breakfasts with just before she had to go to school and your dad had to go to work—”

You shake your head, and your eyes begin to sting along with your throat as your mind slowly gives signs of pain.

“These flowers aren’t just a reminder of her. But of that life with her and him. They’re the reminder that no matter what, your sister and now your dad will always be with you. Even if the flowers themselves aren’t showing, you know that they’re still here, underground, in the same way your dad is and will always be here. With you. Even if he’s not alive, he’s still here…with you. So what if I torch it?”

She won’t do it.

She won’t dare to, so you don’t give her what she wants or what she threatens to set free.

You remain defiant, so she chuckles maliciously and lights the match before she holds it up between you and her again.

“You think I won’t do it?” She reads your mind and smirks at you before she tilts her hand down to let the match dangle between her fingertips.

“Watch me,” she snaps, and you see her loosen her grip, making your heart begin to race with fear.

“I won’t let it burn my fingers,” she adds and looks down at the match before, in the blink of an eye, she lets the match go, causing your eyes to widen, and a breath to catch in your throat seconds before you reach over with the attempt to catch it.

Albeit you’re too slow, the match hits the ground, and the flames don’t hesitate to start wanting to consume everything in its path. So before they can kill the beautiful wild garden that holds everything sweet and hopeful, you quickly stomp out the fire and look at her bewildered and with tears welling in your eyes.

“Tell me,” she insists softer, and this time, after she almost took it all away, you feel it break like a weak dam.

Everything you tried so hard to keep away comes bursting out like a cascade of water, and when that happens, there’s no way of trying to put it all back in. It’s too late and impossible. Everything comes apart.

Every attempt to keep every feeling back washes away. The memories of the day you lost your dad are loud, and his last words are even louder, but it’s every single memory where he wasn’t being tortured, where you were happy, and when he was simply alive, that consume you completely, dragging you under the surface where you can’t breathe because of the emotions that come rushing up your throat, and where you can’t see because of the tears that cover your eyes.

The only way to breathe is by coming up for air, so you do. You surface and take that breath, and when you do, you can’t help it, you start to let out a mighty, painful wail like never before as if you had been holding everything back and only now were able to let it out.

It hurts. It really fucking hurts. It’s like every part of you is on fire, but you can’t stop. You let it all out and continue to wail for the father you loved and lost.

You lose your balance and fall on your knees. You almost fall on your hands, but there to catch you is none other than your Uncle Tommy, who had been on standby by Gail’s instructions.

“It’s okay, baby girl. It’s okay.” He whispers as he cradles you. “I’m here.”

You grip onto him and part your lips to utter your first words in months. “He’s…he’s gone,” you say hoarsely and wail again before you bury your face in his chest and sob like the day he died.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “He is, but never forgotten.” He whispers, and you cherish it as you weep and continue to weep. The pain of grief and loss doesn’t wash away with all your tears, nor does it just go away when you muster the will to speak again. Maybe grief will be a long companion, but the wildflowers are vivid with color, the sky is a sweet hue of blue, and the sun is brightly yellow.

“I think…these flowers will look just perfect in your garden.” Your Uncle says after Gail left, and you were able to stop crying, and able to pull yourself away. “Don’t you think?” He asks and pulls out a couple of lovely blue Irises still connected to its root, begging for it to be part of the dirt so as to not die.

“Gail brought them for you to plant,” he says, giving you the answer as to why Gail was carrying a bag that she left here.

“Where should we put them?” Your Uncle asks and brings the flowers down to a spot already occupied by many a flower. “Here?”

You scoff and remark at him hoarsely. “Are you jokin’?”

He sniffles and flashes you a sly grin before he gets on his feet, making you mirror his actions.

“There,” you point out and lead him to the spot to give your new flowers a place to thrive.

After a while. After you planted the Irises and spent time in your wildflower garden, basking in the sun your body has lacked for three months. Apollo comes home from work, finding you and your uncle sitting on the bench swing.

“Hey,” he says with an air of disbelief and hope as he sees you outside for the first time in months.

“Hey, Apollo,” your uncle greets your husband as he walks over to join you by the bench swing.

“Hi,” you still can’t get your voice to sound clear, but it’s not like it matters to Apollo; he still looks at you with shock, pride, and a twinkle in his eyes.

“Oh my god,” he gasps and quickens his pace to reach you faster, making you get off the bench swing to let him embrace you and undoubtedly hug him back.

“I’m so proud of you, sweetheart,” he coos as he holds the back of your neck with one hand and rubs your back with the other.

“Teddy?” You ask for your one-year-old.

“He was sleeping, so I put him to bed.”

You hum before you hug Apollo tighter, not saying it then, but demonstrating how much you love him.

You can’t even begin to fathom how alone he must’ve felt in the time you didn’t talk, and you were there physically, but mentally, you just weren’t there.

He could’ve given up or not been so patient, but he never complained or turned his back. He held you every time you woke up screaming and when you’d cry in the middle of the day.

“Well,” your uncle breaks you and Apollo apart, but you don’t stray from one another. He keeps his arm around your waist and you tuck your hand in his coat pocket—“I’m going to head out now. You’ll be okay?”

You sigh shakily and nod ever so lightly. “Yeah. Tell Maria not to come tomorrow. I…don’t know what I’m going to do, but I know I don’t need to be looked after anymore. Thank you.”

Your uncle scoffs. “Of course, Sunny. Don’t mention it, but how about dinner, then? At our place? It’s okay, don't bring anything with you.”

Without needing it to be discussed, you nod to give your uncle the okay, making him smile before he begins to head out.

However, before he can leave, you break away from Apollo to catch your Uncle in an embrace. “Thank you, Uncle Tommy,” you whisper shakily.

“You don’t have to mention it okay?” He assures you. “It was nothing. We’re family. Always.”

You nod, and he holds you closer before he interjects.

“You remember where we put your dad to rest, yes?” He asks.

“Yeah. I remember,” you let him know and then pull back. “Get home safe.”

He scoffs and nods before he waves Apollo goodbye and then leaves, leaving you and Apollo alone in the garden where you look at the flowers and think of everything you need to tell him. Everything he needs to hear after three months of you being…not here.

“Apollo,” you don’t hesitate to say, and look away from the flowers to meet his already attentive gaze. “I—”

“Don’t say it,” he cuts you off and closes the gap to be face to face with nothing but an inch of space left between you—“it was really nothing and we made a promise to each other the day we got married. For better or for worse,” he repeats those sacred vows. “I meant them and I live by them not only because you’re my best friend, but because I am in love with you and I couldn’t abandon you when you needed me most.”

You move in, leaving no gap left to be able to grab his hand and be physically connected. “But that’s it, you didn’t abandon me, and for that I will always be grateful. So thank you…I don’t think I’ll ever be able to repay you.”

He shakes his head and brings his other hand up to cradle your cheek with his warm palm. “And you don’t have to. Ever so don’t look at it that way because you’d never want me to see it that way. Right?”

“No.” You shake your head right away, making him flash you a smile before he lets your hand fall to hold your face with both hands and keep your eyes on his so as not to stray even an inch.

“Tell me, what do you feel now?” He asks.

You cup his hands and sigh. “Like I’m here…my heart was beating and my lungs were drawing in air before, but I was never here. My body was only an empty shell. But now…now I’m here and it hurts so much worse, but,” your voice trembles. “I want to try and…make it hurt less. I want to keep talking to Gail.”

Apollo sighs with relief and then caresses your cheeks. “I’m glad to hear it,” he says. “Really. I’m proud of you.”

You draw in a shaky breath before you drop your head on his shoulder, letting him press a gentle kiss on top of your head before he wraps his arms around you once again.

“I’m here,” he whispers.

“Me too,” you whisper back and let a silence linger before you break it with a desire. “I want to go pay my respects. I want to see my dad's grave.”

“Of course. We can go whenever you want.”

“Now,” you blurt and pull away to find his gaze. “Please.”

Once again, Apollo is too kind, he gives in. “Okay. Let me just let our friends know. They want to accompany you, if that’s okay?”

You nod. “Yes, of course. I’ll get Teddy ready and we can go.”

He hums, and without delay, you do as you agreed upon. You wait for Teddy to wake up first, and then after he’s ready, you gather your friends, ride out of town, and find yourselves in Jackson’s cemetery occupied by all of the loved ones everyone’s lost.

You have never had to come until now, but you find no trouble in finding your father. You wish you had struggled to find his grave to have time to process the fact that he’s buried here and that you’ll never get to see him again, but you find his name amongst the row of other dead and instead linger behind to take time to process the fact that he won’t be waiting for you, or meeting up with you. You have to walk to his tomb placed where he’ll be forever. Even when you’re nothing but bones as well.

No one rushes you, though. They let you take your time and wait with you until you’re finally able to approach the tomb.

“Hi Daddy,” you greet, and for the first time in thirty years, you cast a shadow over him. “I know…it’s been a while. I know I wasn’t here when they buried you, but…I’m here,” you cry and crouch down, reading the words carved on the wooden tomb.

‘Joel Miller’

‘09-26-1967 - 01-01-2029’

‘Beloved Brother and Father’

“I’m sorry,” you blurt after you read the carved letters. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you. I,” you stammer. “I did try. I’m sorry.”

Footsteps close in on you before a shadow casts over your figure, swallowing your shadow before you feel a warm hand on your shoulder as they crouch down by your side, revealing themselves to be Apollo and Theo in his arms.

Apollo doesn’t proceed to say anything; he just stays by your side with his hand on your shoulder, stopping you from saying everything else you had to say, everything that was already written out in your mind after months of thinking about it, and leaving you with that weight on your chest.

“Teddy, why don’t you put the flowers down for your grandpa,” Apollo tells Theo, who’s already come to visit your dad with your Uncle Tommy and Maria.

“Just there,” Apollo instructs your son before letting him go, making you hand him a bunch of yellow Rue flowers that Teddy places down without a struggle.

“Good job, Teddy,” Apollo praises him, making the boy turn to smile with glee, and causing you to clap for him and his great achievement.

“Good job, baby,” you follow up by saying as you wipe the tears off your cheeks and offer him a sweet smile, making the boy get the idea to walk over to you to hook his arms around your neck and cling onto you instead of his dad.

“You did good,” you whisper to him and cradle the back of his head, remembering at that moment the first time your dad saw Theo and held him.

He was so happy that you thought his heart would give out with joy. He also struggled to hand Theo back, so you thought he’d leave with him.

Now…your son will grow up and not even remember him. He’ll know him by all the things you’ll tell him. Other than that, he’s too young to remember how much your dad absolutely loved him, all because…

You drop your head and hold Theo close as if seeking that embrace from your father in someone who’s a part of him. You know it will never be the same, but a part of your dad lives in your son.

“Why,” you pause and clear your throat of that ball of emotions caught in your throat. “Why don’t you say hi to Grandpa?”

Theo pulls away, but keeps one hand around you as he turns to face the tomb. “Ha,” he tries his best to say. “Ha!”

You giggle and kiss his cheek before you stand up with your son in arms, causing Apollo’s hand to slip off your shoulder before he slowly mirrors you and stays by your side.

“I will follow you,” Atlas breaks his silence as he sees you on your feet. “If you want to get justice for what those bastards did, I will follow you.”

“I will too,” Mia proclaims, abandoning her mother-like role in your friend group and showing a fierce and dangerous devotion. “I follow you too. It wasn’t right what they did.”

You keep your eyes on your dad's tomb and hear Mia’s husband chime in next.

“I know I joined your friend group because of Mia, but you’re special to me now too. All of you. And Joel was a good man. I will follow you too.” He pledges and all their words warm your heart. They make you happy, and they let you know that even if you’ve been a bad friend for the past three months, you can still rely on them like before.

Yet as touched as you feel, you know revenge is not what you want.

“Thank you,” you interject and pull your eyes off your dad's tomb. “Thank you, all of you, for your support. I appreciate it more than you know. I do.” You nod and then sigh deeply. “But,” you pause and look at each and every one of them. “That’s not who we are. I’m angry. Sad beyond measure, but I’m not going to gain anything going after the woman who…killed my dad. That’s not going to make my pain any less, and that’s not what I want Teddy to know either.” You express yourself with confidence because no matter what you feel, you know that’s not the path you want to take. That’s not who you are.

“Thank you, though. It really means a lot,” you add softly and look back at your dad's tomb, feeling that weight on your chest push down so heavily that you feel it pushing on your heart.

You don’t like the feeling, but you can’t find a way to get rid of it. Not even finishing what you were sharing before you got interrupted would have been the solution. They were just a manifestation of what you feel and have been feeling, so you don't know what the cure is.

It’s not revenge.

Is it time?

Or…

——

*THE NEXT DAY*

“You don’t think she’ll be mad at me, huh, Teddy Bear?” You ask your son rhetorically, but he looks over at you and blinks as if processing what you asked.

Teddy ultimately doesn’t respond, so you don’t prolong the moment; you secure the bag of goodies around your shoulder and then knock on the door and wait.

Moments later, there’s a response from the other side of the hospital room.

“Come in.”

You open the door and slowly push it open, revealing to Ellie, the patient, that it’s you. After three long months, it’s finally you.

“Holy shit,” Ellie gasps as she sits up straighter and looks at you with her eyes wide. “I thought you were dead. Or completely forgot about me.”

You close the door behind you after you walk in and then respond to her absurd comments. Which are reasonable, but it’s still absurd.

“No,” you argue with your voice still a hint hoarse. “I just…”

“Lost your voice,” Ellie cuts you off more seriously now. “Yeah, I know.”

You set Teddy down and he doesn’t hesitate to roam, taking advantage that he’s not being held, whilst you approach Ellie with your lips drooped and your eyes dull out of guilt and shame.

“It’s not only that,” you share. “It’s…I…felt guilty,” you confess and rob Ellie of her smile and make her slowly frown. “You shouldn’t have walked in seeing that and me on the floor not being able to…uhm,” you pause and clear your throat to avoid crying more than you already have. “Well…stop her. I should’ve,” you pause again and put down your bag of goodies as you stop at the edge of her bed. “I should’ve stopped her even if it had gotten me hurt or killed.”

Ellie stares at you hard for a moment, with the wheels behind her eyes churning fast as different thoughts form.

“For that, I’m sorry,” you finish saying and drop your eyes to try and fight back the tears that well in your eyes, regardless of your attempts.

“I think Joel would have died with you if you died saving him,” Ellie says softly, pulling your eyes off the ground to look at her with sadness—“and,” she continues. “It was a tough situation, so don’t apologize. Besides, he wasn’t my dad. He was yours. I should be the one who’s sorry.”

You take in her words and take a seat beside her to hold her hand.

Ellie looks down at your touch with surprise, expecting an estrangement now that your dad wasn’t alive to keep you talking to her, or expecting anything else but your touch.

“You loved him,” you argue with a small and wobbly smile. “And he loved you. There’s nothing to be sorry about. You lost him too.”

Ellie’s eyes flicker down to your interlaced hands before she meets your watery gaze and breathes out shakily as if dropping a mask that hurt her so much to carry. After that, for the first time, she moves in and surprises you with an embrace.

There’s no awkwardness. Just vulnerability that she lets you see, just like that time after David.

Yet it’s that same vulnerability that makes a different kind of guilt creep in. Yet, you don’t let it affect you at this moment. You hold her tightly, feeling a spark of bliss in your heart that only she was able to make you feel.

“You know…” you pause as you sniff her. “You smell like sweat.”

You pull back and study her face, catching a sheet of sweat glistening over her face, proving that what you smelt was right.

“I hope you haven’t been doing something you’re not supposed to,” you manage to tease her. “My best friend is the doctor of this clinic.”

Ellie scoffs and shakes her face with an obvious lying expression. “Nope, I’ve been sitting here…all day. Every day.”

You know she’s lying, but you’re not annoying about it. Instead, you pick up your bag of goodies and then place it over her legs.

“That’s for you,” you let her know with a happy little smile. “Before the outbreak, if you were in this situation, people would’ve brought balloons and stuffed animals, but this is now, and you get out in a week, so,” you breathe out and pat the bag. “I brought you a bag with foods you like and things to keep you entertained. This last week will be hell, so I think it’ll help make the days pass by faster.”

Ellie groans as she grabs the bag to rummage through it, causing Teddy to walk over with curiosity. “Wouldn’t your doctor let me go now? I feel so much better.” She says.

“Sorry.” You offer her a pitiful frown. “But that’s something I cannot make her do. Trust me. Unless you want her pestering you for a week.”

“No,” she grumbles. “They already check on me more than they should.”

You look over your shoulder to make sure no one is coming and then look at Ellie again as you pick Teddy off the ground and sit him on the bed. “I’m sorry about Dina,” you finally address the situation you’ve overheard Dina ramble about the times she’d visit. “I can maybe start giving her the cold shoulder,” you offer. “Albeit she did visit me and stay with me so…maybe I can keep it strictly professional.”

Ellie scoffs as she pulls out a brownie and breaks it in half to share with Teddy as he grows ever so curious. “Nah, I…learned not to be bothered by what she did. It’s Dina. I assumed she’d forget about it. It’s okay. However, I am sorry she visited you.” She says with a teasing look.

You shrug. “Well, I was out of it, but it was nice. We…share a memory that will always keep us connected, so I’m quite touched she went. It’s Jesse whom I haven’t seen. Has he come to visit you?”

Ellie nods with her mouth full, thus making crumbs fall out of her mouth just like Teddy. “Yeah,” she says with her mouth full. “Plenty of times.”

You hum and wonder again why he didn’t visit you. It’s not like you were impossible to reach, you never left your house.

But alas, you push it aside for now and face her with a faint smile. “After you’re out of the hospital, you are welcome to come stay at my place if going back home is difficult.”

Ellie swallows her snack and slowly lifts her gaze to find yours with nothing to say. She just sighs as her face grows serious and glum.

“Thank you,” she offers you, with no say if she’s going to accept your offer or not.

You don’t pester her about it as long as she knows that’s an option.

“Have you gone to his house?” She asks and looks at Teddy as he asks for more of her brownies.

“Uh,” you swallow thickly. “No. Not yet. I thought about going after this, but I-I don’t know. Maybe...”

She hums and grabs another brownie to share with Teddy.

From there on, you can’t think about anything else but stopping by at your dad's house. You argue with yourself between wanting to go and waiting for a different day.

Gail says it’s okay to take things slow. You’re talking again and no longer trapped in your trauma, so you shouldn’t want to do everything at once, but it’s been three months. That’s what you keep telling yourself until you decide not to go.

You’ll go on a different day, maybe when Ellie goes.

Alas, after the hospital, you find yourself in your dad's street, slowly walking up to his house, fully expecting to see him sitting on his porch enjoying the warm sun until you reach his house and see old and new flowers, drawings, and notes in front of his house in his stead.

The porch is abandoned and has a cold shadow covering the wooden chair where he liked to sit and where you found him for the last time, just at the start of the New Year.

Maybe if you walked to the front door and knocked he’d answer, you thought foolishly until you once again noticed the dozen of notes and bouquets left in memory of him, becoming a cruel reminder that no one would answer the door. No one would sit on that porch again to play the guitar in the sun, or try to fight his sleep as he tried to read.

Maybe if you went inside, you’d feel like a part of him was still there. All of his stuff has gone untouched after all, but when you approach the end of that driveway to prepare to walk to the front door, you come to a sudden stop.

No matter how much you wanted to move, your grief would not let you take a step forward because you knew he would not be there. You knew that you’d no longer have dinners at his house or have movie nights. You'll no longer come and find him and Teddy asleep on the couch, and you’ll no longer have someone to share a cup of coffee.

His house will be alone and a harsher reminder of what you won’t have anymore, so instead of going in, you hang around the fence to read everything everyone wrote and let Teddy see and touch all the things that call his attention.

There’s things that make you smile, but there are more things that make you cry as you read how much he impacted everyone who lived in Jackson.

It all brings you close to finding the strength to walk inside, but alas, you still can’t, so you linger where you are for a moment. When you get ready to leave, you hear someone walk over, so you stop and pretend you don’t hear.

That is until you hear Jesse say your name, causing you to turn and face him with Teddy in your arms.

“Jesse,” you greet with a hint of joy and the hint of a smile, but it’s a blink and you’ll miss it type of smile.

“Were you just coming out of your dad's house?” He asks as he glances over.

“No.” You shake your head and steal a glance at the house before you look at all the things and then at him. “I…couldn’t…you know? But it’s okay, Gail says it’s okay to take my time.”

Jesse nods in comprehension and gulps before he glances at the ground and doesn’t prolong the moment. “I saw you walking out of the clinic, and I thought I’d follow you to uh, tell you first, I’m sorry that I haven’t gone to visit you.”

You watch him and hang onto every word, but wonder why someone usually so confident is struggling to speak.

“And two…I’m sorry,” he says in a quieter voice than the one you’re used to hearing. “I should’ve gotten there sooner. Maybe that would’ve made a difference. Maybe he would still be here and you would have your dad, but I didn’t even catch the ones who did it. For that, I’m so deeply sorry,” he shares what’s kept him away with genuine guilt and shame.

“Oh, Jesse,” you whisper and close the gap between you to grab his shoulder so he can at last look you in the eyes—“you did nothing wrong. Nor do you have anything to be sorry about. Maybe if you had been there you would have gotten hurt too, or worse. What happened that day happened for a reason. So please know that I have never blamed you. I actually wondered where you’ve been.”

He scoffs. “Trying to think of the right thing to say,” he shares. “I just couldn’t bring myself to face you. We are patrol partners after all. Friends too. I just…felt ashamed I let my friend down.”

You smile softly and gently shake his shoulder. “Well, as your friend I want to tell you that there’s nothin’ to be ashamed about. Ok?”

Without making things hard, he nods in comprehension, so you offer him one last smile before you let him go and bring up a question. “You workin’?”

“I have some time until my next shift,” he says, so you nod and then share what you have in mind.

“Okay, cool, come over. I was just thinkin’ about gettin’ some lunch.”

——

*A WEEK LATER*

“You need to take that goat back to the barn,” your uncle tells you for the…third time. Not like you’ll listen or consider it. “It’s goin’ to get attached to ya…more than it already has.”

“What should I name it?” You ignore him as you look at the 1 week old baby goat who was ignored by his mama. “You know that some people believe goats are the devil,” your uncle tries to spook you so you'll leave the goat be, but you get a bright idea for a name.

“Ha, Lucifer!” You snap your fingers. “Isn’t that such a good name?” You tell the baby goat over your shoulder, as it doesn’t fall behind.

“Don't worry,” you now address your uncle as you glance at him trailing at your side. “It’s just until it’s weaned and just while I’m here working on the farm.”

Your uncle sighs since he knows better.

“It seems you're slowly getting your color back,” your Uncle points out as he smoothly changes the subject. “You feelin’ stronger?”

You nod softly. “Yeah. The sun doesn’t bother me anymore, and I’ve been trying to push myself when I’m doing my work.”

“Ok, but as long as you’re not straining yourself,” he warns. “Continue to take things slowly. You’re in no rush. You ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

You huff and flash him a smile, leaving a short silence as you approach the area you’re working at to fix the chicken coop.

Albeit when your eyes land on the area, there in the fenced area between the cows and the chickens are Dina and Ellie.

“Maybe you should give that same advice to someone else,” you whisper to your uncle as you both know that they’re up to something since Ellie is here just after she got out of the clinic after three months.

“If she asks what I’m guessing she’s going to ask, then I will,” he responds before you reach the area and acknowledge both girls.

“Hey Dina,” you greet as you open the fence door and walk in with the goat trailing behind you and your uncle trailing behind the goat.

“Hey…aw! Hello there, goat!” Dina says back with more enthusiasm for the goat than you.

“Ellie, I’m glad to see you’re out and about after just getting out of the clinic,” you direct at her, causing her to offer you a feigned smile.

“They said I should get fresh air,” she quips, making you feign a laugh.

“Girls,” your Uncle greets them. “What brings you out here on your day off? And on your first day out of the clinic, Ellie. Weren’t we all gatherin’ at Sunny’s house later to welcome you?”

She nods faintly. “Yeah,” she brushes him off. “But later I won’t get the chance to share what I just learned, so thankfully you’re both here so I can save some breath.”

You and your uncle share nervous looks before Ellie spills what brought her to the farm while you and your Uncle are working. And it’s nothing good.

It seems Dina finally told her about the girl and her friends who killed your dad, and now Ellie is requesting what you were afraid she’d want. Revenge.

That’s why you haven’t told her about what you know and why you told her you forgot, blaming everything on the trauma of the day. Yet it seems Dina doesn’t have the same precaution in mind. She doesn’t seem to know Ellie like you know Ellie, or else she would’ve never told her.

Alas…Ellie knows, and now she’s here telling your uncle and you to go with her to Seattle, so maybe Ellie doesn’t know you.

Yet you don’t turn her down right away and tell her that. Nor does your uncle turn her down either. Whereas Ellie makes your uncle genuinely ponder, you walk away to grab more wire and pretend to be thinking about the plan when, in reality, you just need time to breathe and gather your thoughts as memories of that day threaten to flood your mind.

You think about Abby, Owen, Mel, Nora, and Manny too. You see their faces every day, but you don’t see red like Ellie. You see betrayal, guilt, a deep aching pain, and a great sadness that threatens to take you down by adding to that unbearable weight that gets closer and closer to crushing your heart.

You hurt differently than it hurts Ellie, and that’s the only reason why you return to where they are to listen, but not even consider it.

“Well?” Ellie questions you and your uncle after you come back, making you put the wire down and take a seat next to your uncle before you bend down to pick the goat off the ground and cradle it in your arms.

“I gotta think about this,” your uncle breaks the silence, saying what you were going to lie about, so you end up being quiet and let Ellie retort.

“Think about what? Let’s fucking get these guys.”

Your Uncle glances over at you as you keep your eyes on the goat, as you try your hardest to fight your emotions.

“Ellie,” your Uncle argues and looks away. “It ain’t that simple. The town is still recovering. So are you.”

“Uh, we get where you’re coming from—” Dina interjects, but gets caught off by Ellie countering with annoyance.

“No, we don’t get where you’re coming from, I don’t get where you’re coming from.”

You clench your jaw and start to caress the baby goat while also slowly starting to rub your thigh.

“If it had been you, or her,” Ellie refers to you too. “Joel would be halfway to Seattle before the sun came up.” She argues, but she argues wrong. She argues completely wrong in your dad's defense. He might’ve been an angry man. He might’ve had a reputation, but he…wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t take a path toward revenge. He only got defensive.

“He’d be halfway to Seattle to save our lives,” your Uncle counters correctly. “But when we lost people, no. It would just break him like it was his fault. I saw that time and time again. And don’t talk to me like I didn’t know him. He was my brother.”

There’s a silence where you finally pick your head up to look over at Ellie, catching her sigh and averting her gaze, which in turn makes your uncle continue more gentler and understanding.

“Listen, I’m not sayin’ you shouldn’t do this. But if we’re gonna put a posse together, we gotta do it right, which means taking it to Maria.”

Ellie’s jaw drops as she’s about to argue against your Uncle, but your Uncle beats her to talking, knowing what she had to say. “Yes, it’s fuckin’ necessary…”

You scoff softly and smirk in amusement.

“She’s gonna want a council meeting,” your Uncle continues. “Open it up to the town. Everyone who wants to get heard gets heard.”

“But you two will back us, right?” Ellie asks, and you catch the hope in her eyes.

Yet even that doesn’t change your mind. Albeit, you still lie and nod so she doesn’t argue with you.

“Of course, I will,” your Uncle gives his genuine response, releasing some tension off Ellie.

“Come here,” your Uncle says as he gets up to wrap her in an embrace that she seems to be tense in for a few seconds before you see her ease.

“And you,” your uncle directs at Dina, keeping to herself in the distance. “You hold out information on me again, you got rendering detail for a month.” He warns her as he and Ellie let go, making Dina scrunch her nose.

“Alright,” your Uncle puts an end to the matter, making Ellie and Dina walk away with the attempt to leave, albeit your Uncle stops Ellie before she can walk past the gate.

“Ellie. We buried our dead ten miles south of town. If you want to visit him.”

You let the goat go and continue doing your job.

“When we're on our way to Seattle,” she says and then leaves after Dina, leaving your Uncle with much to think about.

“You’re actually considering it?” You ask after you made sure Ellie wasn’t near anymore.

Your Uncle pushes himself off the fence and then answers. “‘Course. I’m not thrilled that she wants to pursue revenge, but if she wants to ask the council for permission, I’ll give it to her…will you?”

“I don’t have a say,” you deadpan, making your uncle sigh.

“No, but Apollo does, and what you say goes,” he says what you know and what you were pretending to be dumb about—“Will you tell him to accept?”

You don’t stop working, you keep going and give him a simple answer. “You want the truth? No. It’s not good for her to go down this path. It will get her hurt or worse.”

“Yes,” your uncle quickly argues as he approaches you now. “But if we deny her, she'll find a way to do it behind our backs. It doesn’t end well when you try to forbid the young ones from doin’ something. You were the same, and Teddy and any other kids you might have will be the same.”

You finally stop what you’re doing and look back at him. “I heard her out,” you quip. “I was about to walk away, but I heard her out. I will continue to hear her out when she speaks to the council, but my answer won’t change. She won’t like it, but it’s something I’m more than glad to risk…and it’s because I love her. Now, can we talk about something else and finish this?”

Without any more arguments, your uncle keeps his thoughts to himself to respect your choice.

Later that day, when everyone gathers in your house for the get-together you threw for Ellie, she asks Apollo the same thing she asked you, and he gives her hope since you hadn’t discussed it with him, but your Uncle is right, what you say goes. Your voice is heard one way or another through your husband, and he makes sure to ask for your opinion the next day when you’re lying in bed before you have to start the day.

“I want you to vote no,” you don’t hesitate to share without a doubt. “Whatever she might say, vote no.”

Apollo takes in your words and debates them himself only because Ellie is trusting him with this important decision that may or may not depend on him, and saying no feels like hurting her in some way.

“What if she gets the votes regardless,” Apollo brings up, so you drag yourself back, causing his leg to slip off yours, and feeling a hint of coldness as you pull your head away from his chest to face him with your gaze pointed.

“Then she gets them, but at least I’ll know I tried to put my foot down,” you rebuttal and look into his eyes, catching his doubt, so you sigh deeply and argue in your defense.

“What will getting revenge do?” You ask him. “It's not going to heal her grief. It’s not going to bring him back either. She’s just going to get hurt or worse. I get that she’s angry, I am too, but that’s why we handle it. We don’t chase people across the country for something that can’t be undone.”

Apollo sighs deeply and nods stiffly. “I understand,” he mutters. “She’s just putting her trust in me, you know?”

You swallow thickly and nod. “Yeah, I know. She’s putting her trust in me, too, but we’re the ones looking after her now, Apollo. We have to watch over her and make sure she doesn’t get herself killed. She deserves a good and long life. She won’t get that if she leaves.”

Apollo’s eyes linger on you, letting you see his resolve over the matter, but making you feel bad that he also has to go against her.

“Thank you,” you whisper and cup his cheek before you stroke your hand back to cradle the side of his head, making him smile a loving smile as he strokes your chin and then grabs the back of your head, letting you take that as a sign to nuzzle against him again.

“Will you go today?” He asks with worry. “You don’t have to, I’ll vote no.”

“Mia and Atlas are going to sit with me,” you let him know. “And either way, I’m there to support Ellie. I’ll hear what she has to say.”

He hums, and you go quiet to enjoy the little time you have left in silence before you have to get up. After that, you start your day, and the council meeting approaches soon thereafter, meaning you don’t have to handle your nerves all day. Thankfully.

Yet the same topic Ellie brought up the day before with your Uncle Tommy is brought up again, and you get uncomfortable as violent memories threaten to overwhelm you. You almost get up to leave, but you muster the strength to fight them off because your friends are with you to remind you that you’re not in that lodge, and your dad is no longer suffering.

You’re okay, and he’s…dead…

“Which is why I keep saying we need to invest more in turkeys and less in chickens,” Scott, a Jackson Hole resident and speaker for today's council meeting gets off topic, which you kind of enjoy so the matter can be delayed and your decision along with it—“and that brings me back to my earlier point about corn. Corn, some of you have heard me say, is not the easiest crop to grow, but it’s among the fastest. You can plot a graph that shows ease and resources versus time to harvest and get a li—”

“Scott,” your Uncle cuts his rambling off. “I’m sorry, but we gotta keep you on target here.”

“But it’s an open meeting. The bylaws say that—”

“Maybe we should stick to what everyone else came here to discuss,” Maria interjects now.

“I don’t really have an opinion on the Seattle thing,” Scott inputs now, ending the matter once and for all.

“Okay. Thank you,” Maria says and moves down the list of speakers. “So, that was Scott. Next is Rachel.”

You shift in your seat and keep focused, but as murmuring goes around the room and a baby goes fussy, you can’t catch a word that’s said. If it even was said.

“Can’t hear you!” Someone shouts for the entire crowd, making people go quiet and causing some shifting to happen before you finally hear Rachel’s voice.

“I said that Joel meant so much to so many of us. But he wasn’t the only one.”

You blink repeatedly and drop your eyes to your hands clasped on your lap.

“I-I lost my sister that day,” Rachel continues to say. “A lot of people in here buried family. And now, you wanna send, what are you saying, 16 of our best? Well, while they’re gone, who’s gonna be on the wall if Raiders come? A wall that’s barely mended. And none of you up there can promise us that all 16 will come back. So my heart is with you,” she says and says your name along with Tommy and Ellie’s before she finishes sharing her opinion.

“We are too hurt, and it is too soon.”

You sigh and lift your head to look at Jesse, Apollo, your Uncle, and Maria, all up on that platform as Maria brings an end to Rachel’s time.

“Thank you, Rachel. Next is Carlisle,” she moves on, making the old man stand from his seat to address the crowd.

“I’ll be quick,” he clears his throat. “‘Cause this one’s simple to me. People came and killed Joel. So, why wouldn’t we wanna take our vengeance?”

You clench your jaw and sigh deeply with distress caused by the worry that he’s going to encourage the request.

“Well, because we’re not supposed to.”

You peer over your shoulder and look at the man as he’s caught you by surprise.

“Forgive and be forgiven. No grudges. No revenge. And I’m not even a Christian. I’ve always seen the wisdom in that. That’s what separates us from the Raiders, and the murderers. Our capacity for mercy.”

You take in his words with relief, hoping that his honest and wise words will sway the council to vote no.

Yet your relief is then turned to anxiety when Seth, of all people, cuts in.

“Those sons of bitches don’t deserve our mercy.”

You clench your hands into fists and gain Apollo’s surprised and worried gaze from his place on that platform, so you end up holding in what threatens to break you and express the same surprise, but also share your anxiety on the matter.

“Well, of course they don’t deserve it,” Carlisle argues in between all of the crowds murmuring. “That’s what makes it mercy.”

“Well, to hell with that,” Seth exclaims as he gets up. “And to hell with you for saying it, Carlisle.”

“Seth, sit down,” Maria tries to bring an end to the interruption, but Seth becomes a pain in the ass and holds his ground.

“No.”

“You’re not on the list.”

“No!” He screams louder, causing you to drop your head and exhale deeply.

“What the hell are we all talking about here?” Seth continues. “Boo-hoo, it’s not fair. What, we gotta forgive everybody when they show up and piss in our eye? They came into our house. They took one of ours. My God, somebody shoots your brother, you wanna take the locks off your doors? Grow up!”

You begin to nervously rub your thigh, to the point that Atlas notices and tries his best to try and reassure you by putting his hand over yours.

When you feel his touch you look at him and offer him a faint thankful smile before you wrap your hand around his to keep clinging onto that support as Seth goes on.

“You idiots, they’ll come back. They’ll come back because we didn’t make ‘em pay. And when they come back, they’ll be laughing. And you’ll all deserve it. Bunch of goddamn victims.”

The old man sits down, bringing down an awkward silence that you almost want to leave, but you hold on and listen to the last speaker, Ellie.

After Maria finally gives her the floor, she makes the room go silent for a minute before she gets up and pulls out a paper that she reads off of. Surprisingly enough.

“I normally don’t write things down,” Ellie starts off by saying. “Because I normally don’t think before I talk, which has gotten me in trouble before, a lot.”

Oh? She’s rhyming?

“And it’s cost me in ways that sometimes couldn’t be undone. But I can’t afford that right now because I know what I’m asking is a lot. I’m asking us to risk more people and resources, and at the worst possible time. And I want everyone to know, it’s not because I want revenge.”

Oh?

“It’s not,” Ellie tries to make her lie clear, but she’s not fooling you—“what I want is what you used to give people. I want justice. Because it’s either that, or we do nothing. That’s what everyone else out there is going to do for us. Nothing,” she says with more passion. “A whole world of people who won’t lift a finger if something bad happens to me or you. We have a word for these people. They’re called strangers.”

Atlas snorts quietly over Ellie’s words, so you let his hand go and slowly glare at him, making him go serious right away.

“Well, I don’t think that we’re strangers to each other,” you hear Ellie continue. “And I want to know that I can count on you. And I swear, if someone hurts any of you or the people you love, you can count on me...”

You take this time to smile in amusement at Ellie’s complete bullshit attempt to sway the council's vote.

“…that's what holds all this together. Not potluck dinners or New Year’s Eve dances. Definitely not a wall, because that thing got busted through. But Jackson is still here. I’ll accept whatever the council decides. But I’m asking you, please…do what it takes to see that justice is done. Not for me. Not even for Joel. I am asking you, please do it for us,” she finishes her letter in an emotional ending that she even adds tears to. Whether the tears are genuine or not you don’t know, they probably are but that won't change the fact that it’s all still bullshit.

“Thank you,” Maria tells her, bringing an end to the discussion to finally move on to the voting—“The council will now vote on the proposal to send a party of 16 citizens to Seattle to find the people who killed Joel and execute them.”

As the voting begins, Apollo steals a glance at you, and you steal a glance at him and trust he’ll do what you asked, but it’s the others that make you nervous and make you sit at the edge of your seat as if that would help. It only makes you more anxious.

Either way, like watching a clock, the process seems to move more slowly than anticipated. A couple of minutes drag on, and you almost can’t take it, but alas, all the votes are given to Amy-Beth, the one person who will share the votes with the crowd without fear that she’ll lie.

“Amy-Beth?” Maria encourages, and so said girl starts.

“Yes.”

You swallow thickly and sit up straighter.

“No. Yes. No. No. Yes. No, no. No. No. No.”

You let out a shaky, relieved breath and sit back without that fear clinging onto you a moment longer.

“The vote is 8 to 3,” Amy-Beth clarifies. “The proposal is rejected.”

Murmurs spread around the room, but no one interjects this time because the word is officially given now. There’s no do-overs, just disappointment from only a handful of people. The only one you care about, you don’t look at though. Not yet.

“Adjourned,” Maria releases the meeting, making people not linger back. Everyone but the council and you get up, causing a cluster of people as they all want to leave at the same time. That’s why you finally drift your gaze to Ellie, so your gaze won't be detected as she's leaving.

Alas, when you look at the other side of the room where she had been sitting at, you actually end up catching Ellie’s gaze.

You try not to read too much into it. You don’t want to catch the betrayal she feels because, instead of getting at least 4 definite votes in support of her, she only got three, and it was obvious to guess that you lied and voted against her. You haven’t been able to look at her all day. All you greeted her with was a quick good morning, and you sat at the other side of the room with your best friends at your sides.

You lied and made Apollo vote against Ellie’s request. Against the one thing she desperately wanted. The one significant matter that required your support more than anything, and the one matter that she trusted you to have her back on, but you lied and turned your back on her and that hurt and betrayal is plain to see because of the dark shadow that cast over her face as if intentional so you won't miss a thing.

Alas, as ashamed as you feel. You feel no regrets. You’re determined to stand your ground, and that’s obvious to Ellie as the sun keeps basking your face as if…intentional.

——

*LATER*

After the council meeting, you had purposely stayed behind, welcoming people’s pity and sweet consolations to avoid facing Ellie’s disappointment and anger, but you can’t hide forever, and when you return home, sitting on your porch steps is Ellie waiting for you.

She makes herself easy to see and makes sure you know that she’s not here for pleasantries. She knows you know why she’s here, so you hand Teddy to Apollo and usher them inside.

Once the front door is closed, leaving the porch just to you and Ellie, she is quick to get to the point. “Why did you do it?”

You draw in a deep breath and turn away from the door to face her and exhale deeply before you respond. Or at least you try to, because just as you part your lips, she cuts in abruptly.

“You said you would support me, and you had Apollo vote no, why?” She asks as you see her teeter over an edge where her balance all depends on what you’re going to say.

“Because I don’t want you to go down that path,” you say, and manage to keep her from falling into a pit of anger. “I know it was messed up to lie, but it’s not like you would change your mind if I said no that day you asked.”

“No,” she interjects before you keep going.

“Exactly—”

“But you still lied,” she cuts you off with a narrowed glare. “You said I would get your vote to go get justice for Joel, and instead you want me to, what? Sit idly by?”

You shake your head. “No. I want you to grieve the right way, Ellie. I need you to open yourself up to letting yourself grieve.”

Ellie scoffs and shakes her head before she snaps, causing her grip to loosen. “So what? So I can turn to you and be depressed and pathetic for three months?!”

You blink repeatedly in disbelief and feel her words stab your heart.

“Do you not get what I’m trying to do?” Ellie continues to argue, raising her voice with the anger that seeps through. “I’m trying to get justice! You were there! You saw them! We have to make them pay!” She exclaims almost desperately.

“I was there,” you interject this time before she keeps ranting. “I know! I live through that day of my life every day and every night. I see their faces and see him die over and over again. I,” you pause and sigh to collect yourself and try to explain your reasoning behind your protest.

“I miss him too,” you say instead. “But what you want to do won’t get him back. Nothing you do will get him back, so why risk your life? Why risk anyone else’s life over it? Revenge won’t make you feel better, Ellie.”

Said girl holds your gaze with annoyance before she shakes her head and retorts. “That’s a whole bunch of bullshit and you’re a liar. If you really loved Joel, you would have voted yes,” she doesn’t hesitate from saying, making you gasp softly and feel your eyes immediately well with tears as you feel a sharp heartache.

Yet you don’t dare and use such harsh words like she did. You keep your head up and watch her give you her back.

“I’m going to do this with or without you. I don’t care,” she grumbles and walks off the porch, expecting no response, but before she can leave, you blurt.

“What about all the risks my dad took for you to be here? Will you just make that go to waste? Because if you go, there’s no chance you’re coming back. You will get hurt, or worse, so what will make those sacrifices he took to save you?”

Ellie stops in her tracks and keeps her back turned to you for a tense silence that seemed to drag on for hours, when it's only been a few seconds where you unknowingly lose her in that pit of anger.

“You know,” she mutters before she slowly turns to face you with her face contorted with rage and her eyes oozing with that terrible and blinding feeling.

“You know why he made those sacrifices,” she continues sneering as she strides back to you. However, you don’t let her make it all the way to the porch because you meet her halfway.

“Why did those people kill him?” She suddenly asks something she’s never hinted at wanting to know. She asks for the first time, letting you see a flicker of sadness in her eyes this time.

“The truth,” she blurts as her eyes well with tears, and you gulp and falter.

“They were…after revenge,” you put it simply because you’re sure there’s no shortage of people your dad pissed off. “Just like you’re after revenge, that’s why—”

“Oh shut up,” she hisses and steps forward while she keeps holding your eyes with her watery gaze and pinched eyebrows. “They were from Salt Lake…right?” She asks as she begins to slowly uncover the truth you never got to share, and the truth that threatens to unveil something else you kept a secret

“Right?!” Ellie snaps, making you blink and lower your gaze to nod stiffly and hope she doesn’t probe about the other matter.

“They killed him because of what he did, right?” She asks, getting closer to that secret.

“Right,” you answer, and look at her so she doesn’t catch anything suspicious.

Nevertheless, your attempts are futile.

“And you knew what he did?” She probes as she narrows her gaze to a glowering glare. “You knew and you lied, right? That’s why you were never mad at him, and you…” she scoffs and holds her chest. “And you told me you didn’t know. You let me believe that I could trust you. Right?!” She exclaims, causing you to let out a shaky breath and nod.

“Right,” you whisper shakily before you step toward her and grab her hands to try and make her understand. “But I need you to understand that I did it for you. I was too late to stop him, I wanted to, I really did, but I was too late, so why would I mortify you even more by telling you the truth? So I kept it from you so you could have a good life. Ellie…you deserve a good life. Please—”

“You were too late,” she repeats and nods stiffly before she huffs and spats hurtful words. “It seems you’re always too late. Always too weak. That’s why Henry is dead,” she hisses quietly, making you slowly let her hands go as you're hit with disbelief.

“And that’s why Joel is dead,” she hurts you with those last words, feeling as if the knife in your heart got twisted for something you already blame yourself for. All because you tried to stop her from walking away, and all because you brought up your dad's sacrifices to have her be here.

You unknowingly opened a can of worms, and now you’re the one hurt because of it.

“I won’t sit by like you,” she spats and points her finger at you as tears finally break out of her eyes and roll down her cheeks. “I will make them pay, and I will hate you,” she sneers. “I will hate you for the rest of my life.”

She turns around swiftly and storms away, leaving you more hurt by those words than what she said before, because it feels like another great loss.

A/N- Seattle anyone?

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