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peppertoastuniverse · 4 months ago

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more than a late night snack – gojo satoru chapter 8: strawberry shortcake

contents: gojo satoru x reader, geto suguru & reader, ieri shoko & reader, extreme friendship, swearing, fluff, gojo just being a brat, jealous!gojo, gojo calls you babe.

summary: when gojo finds that he’s surprisingly irritated observing your growing friendship with geto, ieri has some advice for him. wc: 6.2k

“but seriously next time I get to choose the movie – “ “oh big talk coming from the guy who chose the movie where we both instantly fell asleep.” gojo raises an eyebrow, falling asleep together? was there something that suguru wasn’t telling him? he told gojo everything, what would there be to hide – unless.. and you, the playfulness in your tone – he’s never heard you like this before.

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gojo sighs heavily, his lonely footsteps echoing down the dark hallway. a week long mission alone? pfff easy – it was a mere grade 2 but the real difficulty lay in fighting the never ending boredom. if someone – shoko or suguru or you – were there with him it would’ve been way more fun. he wouldn’t have had to rely on watching shitty hotel tv or playing snake on his phone for the hundredth time. gojo was restless, he wanted something to do, someone to talk to, someone to bother. a specific someone.

reaching in to his pocket for his phone, he feels the cool beads of his matching phone charm. and he thinks about you.

would you be up right now? maybe he should go see you, say hi, hear your voice again - no, no – it’s too late, you must be trying to sleep.

lately, gojo realises that he easily found you in almost everything. while he was on his mission his thoughts often wandered to you: how would’ve enjoyed the oden he had at that small booth in takayama. when he took a photo of his meal and sent it to you, he couldn’t help his satisfied smile when you uncharacteristically responded quickly, asking where he got it from. he made a mental note to remember the stall to bring you one day. he thought about you when he passed the ads in town of the sequel to that sci-fi movie you mentioned last week, maybe you would watch it with him. he thought that time when he carried you to bed as he lathered his hands with the hotel room soap, lavender in the air – another reminder of you.

over the past couple of weeks, gojo was happy to see that you were returning to your usual self. he wasn’t sure what changed but he was happy that you had that light in your eyes return. you smiled when you talked to ieri in class again, laugh loudly when you would tease geto again and playfully roll your eyes and scoff at his comments again. he was even more pleased that you started responding to his texts more often, sure there were usually only a few words in response – but it was still something.

opening his flip phone, he checks his messages hopefully:

gojo: b <3 what u doingggg (2:31pm) omg so boring here (2:34pm) hehe look at this looks like a butt [image] (2:31pm) ♡ grumpy lil babe ♡ gross gojo (3:45pm) gojo: ( • ᴖ • ｡) wyddddd (3:47pm)

♡ grumpy lil babe ♡ reading (3:50pm) gojo: what r u reading (4:15pm) do u miss me yet??? (4:23pm) dw im heading home soon (˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧ (4:23pm) ♡ grumpy lil babe ♡: be safe (4:30pm) gojo: dw b, im the strongest ( ◡̀_◡́)ᕤ im the best the most handsome (4:25pm) ♡ grumpy lil babe ♡: stop gojo (4:30pm)

a reverberating thud followed by a familiar muffled laugh interrupts his thoughts, bringing him back to the dark hallway.

what was that?

“suguruuuu! stop – i swear to god, i’m going to murder–“ a playful muffled voice.

eh? it was definitely coming from next door. was that.. was that you and suguru?

your door promptly opens, warm light spilling out into the darkness of the hallway. gojo sees the surprising sight of his best friend exiting your room/

what was he doing there at this hour? usually you’d be trying to sleep at this time.

why were you up?

“but seriously next time I get to choose the movie – “

“oh big talk coming from the guy who chose the movie where we both instantly fell asleep.”

gojo raises an eyebrow, falling asleep together? was there something that suguru wasn’t telling him? he told gojo everything, what would there be to hide – unless.. and you, the playfulness in your tone – he’s never heard you like this before.

“oh really? if I can recall, you said quote “that was the best nap ever, suguru!!” when you woke up.” geto’s smug voice light with laughter, pitched up playfully mimicking your intonation.

gojo moves closer to source of the lively chatter, finding geto stalling by the threshold of your room, dressed down in comfortable clothes, loose hair, with a soft smile on his face.

gojo would’ve laughed at his strangely accurate impression of you if he didn’t feel his blood pressure rising, sourness coating his stomach, acidic and fuming. what were you and suguru doing in there? were you - “i didn’t say it like that, dumbass!” you scoff “that was only because I had just come back from yokohama but you have no excuse –" "dude you were snoring so lou –“, he hears the shuffle of your feet as you move closer to pinch geto’s arm before stopping, noticing him. “ouch! don’t pinch me – oh hey satoru!” geto turns to greets him, rubbing his arm, eyes shooting you a bemused eyebrow quirk. geto’s methodical amethyst eyes quickly sweep over gojo’s tall frame, a smile adorns his face as he confirms that his best friend is predictably unharmed.

your head pops out of side of your door, dressed in comfortable pajamas, hair messy and tousled falling over your eyes.

“oh hi, gojo.” you say nonchalantly, eyes flickering to his face before quickly looking back at geto, “sugu, next time don’t forget the snacks,” you say with a slight pout.

“okay, okay. I wont next time, promise.” geto says shaking his head with a smile, “how was the mission, satoru? simple?” he conversationally adds, smacking gojo’s shoulder.

“easy as usual … and what were you guys up to tonight?” his eyebrows wiggle, “ha babe, if we’re going to share – I want suguru on monday to –“

“pfff gojo, he’s not a child of divorce.”

gojo doesn’t miss the way you dodge his question.

he whines your name, “do we need to take this to court?”

a cheeky smirk dances on your lips, “you just want suguru to call you daddy.”

geto snorts before meeting your eyes in a shared mischievous glee that gojo doesn’t miss to his annoyance.

gojo’s eyes twinkle in return easily matching your mischief, “oooh babe, does that mean you’re momm–“

“good night, suguru.” you deadpan, rolling your eyes in gojo’s direction. he feels his geto’s eyes burning a hole through the side of his face, his smug smile is a bit too knowing for gojo’s liking, prompting a questioning look from latter.

“whaaaaaat?” he says exasperatedly. here we go again. suguru with his bullshit.

gojo hates it when he gets like this, all high and mighty like geto was privy to a secret. “you’re an idiot you know that?”

“sugu, just out with it.” he sighs, hands weaving through his hair.

“y’know satoru, there’s easier ways to get their attention without being annoying.” geto says tilting his head.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, dude.“ slender arms crossing his chest as gojo glances at your closed door.

geto rolls his eyes at his best friend’s stubbornness. for someone blessed with the six eyes, he was really blind.

“i’m just saying, man.” geto says smacking gojo’s shoulder as he passes, heading into his room to the right of gojo’s.

narrowed blue eyes follow geto’s receding figure before turning the doorknob to his own entrance way and strolls in, huffing as he walks in. what did suguru know anyway?

you sighed as you opened your door, tossing your school bag on your desk without a care. you stretched with a groan, rolling your shoulder to ease the tension that your fatigued body carried throughout the day. it was nearing the end of a long week – extra practices and lessons coupled with the shorter days of the autumn left you feeling more fatigued that usual. but despite the creeping darkness of the day, you felt lighter. you were sleeping better than ever – you were thankful that you didn’t have as many nightmares as before. perhaps it had to do with the growing comfortability you felt with ieri, geto and gojo. you remember the conversation you had with gojo: he was right, it was weird having friends. it still surprised you when geto would call you out of the blue or when ieri would get an extra coffee just for you. when you didn’t have anyone you had more time, more peace –loneliness cushioning your pounding thoughts. but recently you found that you were busier than ever. ieri would want you to accompany her into town because she wanted your opinion on the new lipsticks that just came out. you’d laugh when she bought both anyway. geto would gently knock on your door asking if you wanted to go for a walk with him on the school grounds, listening intently as you told him about your day. gojo would constantly text you sending you photos of anything that he thought would make you laugh or he would pop by whenever he pleased, moaning about being bored or wanting a cuddle with bun bun. you always had someone to talk to, voices in your head being replaced with boisterous laughter.

stretching out on your bed, you stared at the ceiling wondering what ieri was up to. maybe you’d call her to see if she wanted to do something.

you flip open your phone to check your messages, unconsciously playing with the black beads of your phone charm. on your screen you hum as you see the usual messages from gojo which you ignore in favour for the one from ieri.

ieri shoko: come w us to that café I was talking about at break (5:04pm) btw us is satoru, sugu, me n u come, don’t b boring (5:15pm)

ah. right. she mentioned to you that she wanted to try that cozy café in shibuya that she saw, the one with the cute lights and the pretty drinks.

you: what time? (5:17pm) ieri shoko: in 30 (5:18pm)

getting up with a groan you begin to get ready, the promise of a matcha latte energizing you.

after appropriately layering up to match the fall weather, you hear your doorknob turn -

“heyyyy, y’ready or what?” your head whips to the tall white haired disturbance.

“would it kill you to knock, gojo?” you snap, your hands buttoning up your coat.

“I did! but you were taking too long!” gojo grins, moving into your room, swinging his arms, rocking back and forth on his feet.

“what if I was changing or something?”

he smiles brashly, “heh, then that’d be even better– “

you roll your eyes. “don’t you dare finish that sentence, gojo, ugh.” lips pursing.

his slender hands up in defense, “im just joking, babe – really! how low is your opinion of me” he pouts, his whole body drooping at your expression, “I wouldn’t do that to you, I swear.’ he hastily says trying to rectify of your unmoving frown and unimpressed stare.

“…you forgot this, by the way. “ ah, that’s where it went. he gently holds out your scarf bundled up in his left hand, caressing as if it was a secret shared between the two of you.

“you uh, left it on my desk the last time..” he mutters, moving closer to you, he takes the scarf in his hands and drapes the soft fabric around you, a hug he didn’t have the courage yet to give you. “.. are you feeling better now..?” you hum, trying to distract yourself from the sudden wave of nervousness you feel. the combined softness of the scarf around your exposed neck and the strange tenderness of his gaze was enough to make you feel unsteady. “mhm, yeah much better – i can breathe again, all thanks to you.” he says brightly, blue eyes focused on your scarf. looking up at him, you couldn’t help but notice how close he was, the air in your room growing heavier when electricity. you observe how his eyes narrowed slightly in concentration, trying to recreate the exact way you wore your scarf in sapporo. he had a freckle on the side of his left cheek – you hadn’t noticed that. you wonder what it’d feel like against your palms or against your lips, if your fingers traced his lips would it remind you of the way –

what was wrong with you? you almost cringe at your own intrusive thoughts – this was gojo. the dumb boy who poked your cheeks to get your attention, who loudly teased you about the stupidest things, making your head spin with ridiculous requests and crazy plans of mischief. satoru gojo: just another boy, just like everyone else, just another dumb boy. satoru.

he senses your stare, meeting your eyes, “hm?” “you good? it looks like you’re in pain or something.” “i..uh, yeah.” you clear your throat, leaning closer to him. “uh, i’m good, are you good?” his eyes flicker to your lips. soft. pretty.

“m’ good.” he smiles at you. you wish he wouldn’t. “ta da! now you won’t get cold anymore.” he softly grins, remembering how you shivered in sapporo. he wouldn’t mind having to warm up again though he thinks, the admittance simultaneously confusing him and bringing him comfort. you hum, looking up at him. his hands still holding the ends of your scarf around your neck, hands unable to let go. “y’know, babe.. I–“ a soft knock on your door.

“that’s probably them,” you whisper, still staring at him. “mhm, we should go,” his hands dropping hesitantly from your scarf, moving to brush some hair out of your face. you close your eyes sighing, you didn’t know what was going on with you – lately you’ve been more willing to withstand gojo’s company. you found yourself laughing more around him, not even minding his crude jokes and annoying pouts.

this was uncharted territory for you – having friends, having anyone – you had to be careful. now you had something to lose, you had to be prepared for the inevitable. your hands twitch at the thought of his.

“I told you sugu, it’s because you keep eating that kimchi, it’s gone off I swear – “

“– uh huh, you sure about that? i gave you some the other day and you didn’t have any stomach issues –“

gojo ears perk up hearing your playful tone, watching you and geto walk in front of him and ieri. the autumn sun low and waning, doing little to warm his pale face. he thinks the cold weather is the reason why his fists keep clenching.

were you and geto always this close? when did this happen, do you and geto hang out all the time or something? when did he miss that? gojo has to remind himself to loosen his tightening jaw as watches as your hand gesture wildly as happily chat with geto, a cute bounce in your step. “- and then yaga told me, that if he finds out that it was you and suguru that switched all the sugar and salt in the kitchens again that he’s going to shave both of your heads, so maybe lay low for a couple of weeks.” ieri sighs, tucking her cold hands into her pocket beside him.

half listening, gojo irritatedly tousling his hair while mumbling something incoherently.

“gojo, what did i just say?” she glaces at him, his uncharacteristic silence deafening.

he sighs before putting on a thin smile. “that suguru and I should lay low even though I swear – it was babe who switched it this time.”

“okay, then what died?” ieri asks amused at gojo’s stony expression, his usual bouncy stride heavy and stiff with the weight of something unspoken. “what are you talking about?” he asks as ieri rolls her eyes, “I can sense your cursed energy going off the rails.”

“eh? nothing!” he waves his hand, attempting to brush away his intruding thoughts. “everything’s fine and dandy, boo! you keep thinking of me though, do you like me or something because – “ ierri’s nostrils flare, she quickly curls her hand into a first before roughly punching gojo’s shoulder, earning her a satisfying whine.

she hates when gojo does this, trying to mask his feelings when it was so easy to read him. who did he think he was he fooling? subtly was never in the cards for gojo, he too up too much space, he was unapologetic in every sense. why couldn’t he be honest with himself? she scoffs, having no patience for his nonsense. “whatever you say, dude – “ she says reaching over to take his glasses from his face.

“how come you always beat me up, shoko!” he complains, rubbing his eyes.

“because you deserve it.” she says, putting on his dark glasses on her, side eying gojo’s thinly veiled smile and fidgeting hands as he watches you and geto walk closer together, laughter fading in the background.

shoko stops abruptly, stopping gojo with her arm. she tilts gojo’s glasses down her nose with a pointed look. “what?” he asks, turning to fully face her. “satoru – if you like them, just tell them.” “what? what are you talking – “ “don’t play around, satoru. im serious.” she looks into his blue eyes. “shoko, I have no idea what you’re talking about.“ this dumbass. she tsks. taking off his glasses to put them back onto his face. “im not playing around –“ “then, be straightforward with them, if you don’t youre going to hurt –“ gojo scoffs impatiently, pushing his glasses up “i would never hurt them,” mild offence coating his words. “i know you won’t mean to but sometimes you’re reckless. even if you have good intentions, it doesn’t mean that your actions wouldn’t hurt someone, yourself included.” ieri says adjusting her coat, her sigh weighing heavy in the air. “whatever it is, just don’t be more of an idiot today – they’re just friends.” she states plainly watching you sneakily collect the falling gingko leaves, attempting to tuck them into geto’s bun without him noticing. your eyes sparkling when you catch ieri’s eye, a mischievous smile prominent. it didn’t look like just friends to him as he watches you animatedly talk to geto, teasing smile on your face, soft hands generous with your touch casually slapping his arm as geto turns to you softly laughing.

“yeah… everyone’s friends,” gojo mumbles, eyes stormy behind his glasses, arms crossing against his chest.

“satoru, seriously –“ she starts, her name serves as an interruption silencing ieri’s rant.

“shoko!” you call out again, smile still prominent on your face as you turn back to get her attention. ieri watches as geto takes hair down to brush the leaves out of his hair. he mumbles something exasperatedly before retying his bun up, bangs blowing softly in the gentle breeze. “which one is it again?” “just the one on the corner at the very end!” she shouts back as you and geto look up at the signs of the small cafes lining the street. ieri chuckles as she catches a glimpse of geto trying to sneakily put some leaves into your scarf.

gojo cant help but take in your face, flushing from the cold. he notices the way your eyes reflect the light of the shop windows. he liked the gentle way you would bounce on your feet when you saw something in the shop windows that peaked your interest, a small hand grabbing geto’s elbow to halt his long stride to point something out. he suddenly didn’t feel so hungry anymore. watching you and geto he felt like his stomach was filling of something that he didn’t understand, but far too acidic and harsh to be pleasant. the longer he stared, he couldn’t help but let it consume him.

ieri abruptly nudges him, “– hey, stop staring, we’re here.” she mumbles, seeing you slowly approach gojo with a curious look.

ieri swiftly flashes gojo a shit eating grin that he doesn’t catch, before joining geto inside the café, the bell of the door jingling announcing her leave.

“hm, what’s with the face?” you ask him, waiting for him at the entrance. “why? you’ve been staring?” he puckering up his lips playfully, the sound of your voice easing the acidity. “nope.” you easy answer, looking at him as if trying to study gojo’s face. He holds the door open for both of you, “you’re just weirdly quiet.. what are you planning?”

how to kill suguru without you noticing.

he grins stalely, easily masking the lump growing in this throat, “nothing, nothing. why babe, thinking y’thinking ‘bout me?”

he leans closely to your face, taking advantage of the limited time he has with you. your eyes widen at his sudden closeness, cheeks flushing in surprise. “hmm, what’s with the face, babe?” he mocks, looking into your wide eyes. “it’s a face of disgust,” you answer weakly, “you should be used to it now.” rolling your eyes as you turn around to easily slot behind ieri and geto in line who were busy chatting thoughtfully about the menu. the café was small but cozy, wooden accents contrasting between cool black metal. there was an aesthetically pleasing drinks menu and a beautiful case filled with various pastries and cakes. it definitely suited ieri you thought. “suguru? could you just get me my usual please? I have to use the restroom.” you ask suguru in front of you, gently pulling the back of his jacket to get his attention. “do you want the almond milk this time or regular?” he asks, leaning down slightly to hear you better, still looking at the menu.

gojo can’t help but roll his eyes behind his glasses, foot tapping out an unfamiliar rhythm, jagged staccato echoing the heaviness in his heart. “maybe regular this time and ahh.. a slice of cake? whatever you think is good – you always know what to get anyway.” you say thoughtfully, unwrapping your scarf. “yeah, baby? can you get something for me too? you’re so big and so strong, maybe you can carry me to the table too – “

“gojo, I know for a fact you’d giggle like a school girl if suguru carried you. maybe for your birthday.” you shut his jabber down immediately, patting his shoulder patronizingly before making your way across the café to the bathrooms. geto narrows his eyes at gojo’s gaping at your back before turning his gaze to ieri who he catches biting her lip to stifle her laughter.

oh. oh this will be fun. catching shoko’s twinkling eyes, geto thinks it’s about time that gojo get the push he needs to figure this out.

“i can pick you up if that’s what you really want, satoru.” he purrs as he moves closer to gojo, ruffling his hair.

“shut up suguru.” he pouts, brushing moving away from his teasing grasp to order his food.

choosing the cozy banquet near the back of the cafe, you gaze out the window watching the sun go down. you slowly take off your coat, hands brushing your scarf, loose ginkgo leaves falling to the ground. your mind easily drifts to his soft hands brushed your hair away from your face.

why were you thinking about this? it’s just a stupid scarf, that smelled like his room – like him. you clear your throat. you had to get it together. stop it. “so, I was thinking,” ieri says brightly, plopping down in the seat next to you while balancing a plate with a rather large chocolate croissant, “ – did you wanna go shopping with me sometime next week?” “what did you want to get?” “a disposable camera. i think we should take some photos, I realised I don’t have any of us together.” says ieri nonchalantly, “and I’d rather have you all over my walls than these two.” she jerks her head at an approaching geto holding a slice of strawberry shortcake in each hand while a slightly less grumpy gojo trails behind him closely carrying a tray of various cake slices. geto smiles at you as he slides you your slice of cake, claiming the seat in front of you to gojo’s dismay.

ieri’s eyes widen at gojo’s diabetic feast. “eugh satoru, save some cake for the rest of japan.” ieri says, nose crinklling, watching gojo balancing 3 different slices of cake. it looked like a beautiful matcha one, a delicate tiramisu and a rich double chocolate layered cake. “see, that’s what I told him…” geto murmurs under his breath. “hey! I don’t say shit when you buy your magazines-“ he murmurs, demolishing a third of the matcha cake in a single bite. geto shoots gojo a disgusted look before turning to you and ieri, “our drinks are coming by the way, they’ll send someone over.” as he passes you a spoon as you thank him.

“so, babe. let’s get that camera next week, okay?” shoko teases, turning to you while chewing a piece of her chocolate croissant happily.

“eughhhh, if you don’t ever call me that again we can go.” you groan, taking a small bite out of your cake enjoying the light whipped cream pillowing the crisp fresh strawberries.

“hmm, I dunno…” geto playfully comments, “I think it suits you though, babe,” resting his cheek on his palm.

a clang echoes through the air. gojo’s fork falling noisily on his plate as he chokes on his mouthful of cake, it sliding heavily into his stomach settling like a rock.

you turn your head to gojo, “you okay gojo? don’t eat so quickly – chew!”

ieri has to turn around to stifle her giggles at gojo’s ridiculousness, shoulders shaking silently. she couldn’t wait to tease him about this tomorrow.

gojo coughs as geto pats his back roughly. “oh yeah babe, i’m just amazing.” gojo wheezes.

“and you, don’t fucking start.” you say rolling your eyes, kicking geto gently under the table.

“yeah sugu, only I get to call them that.” gojo grumbles, loud enough for only ieri to hear.

ieri’s snort announces the arrival of the table’s drinks – an iced hazelnut latte for ieri, a hojicha tea for geto, a triple hot chocolate with whipped cream for gojo and a matcha latte for yourself.

“shoko, what were you saying about yaga sensei wanting to shave our heads?” geto asks, passing you your drink carefully.

ieri snickers with a wolfish grin, “he told me before lunch. it’s because he thinks that you and satoru were the ones who switched the salt and sugar in the kitchens again. that’s why they just had instant ramen and those pork buns for lunch today.”

you laugh. “good. the kitchens need to taste their food more or something, that oyakodon needed way more season–“ “aww, satoru, cmon.” geto moans.

you turn your head to catch gojo reaching over and triumphantly taking the large strawberry decorating the top of geto’s cake, popping it into his mouth with a cheeky grin.

“you have like 3 pieces of cake, and you still want some of mine?” geto smacks gojo’s shoulder unimpressed. judging by his deadpan voice combined with the looseness of his shoulders, you think that geto’s used to this behaviour from his misbehaving puppy – silent disappointment colouring his words.

“it’s okay you can have mine. here -“ gojo watches you with wide eyes as you gently scoop your strawberry off of your half eaten cake with your spoon with an irritating sense of causality, like you’ve done this a thousand times before. you lean across the table to lifting the spoon up to geto’s mouth.

he pulls away with a slight frown on his face, searching your face, calling your name. “y’sure? i know you love strawberries...” “s’okay, sugu.” you mention nonchalantly, moving the spoon closer to his mouth. “I want you to have it, you paid for it anyway.” ieri grips the glass of her iced hazelnut latte before quickly taking a sip through the paper straw, not trusting herself from bursting out laughing. her brown eyes dart to a frozen gojo, mouth etched into a hard line, leg bouncing up and down irritatingly watching the scandalous scene unfold. ieri knew that you and geto were just friends, close friends in fact but nothing more. she would have had some sympathy for gojo, but after weeks of catching him staring in your direction or catching how his ears would perk up when ieri casually mentioned you in passing. she’d even asked him outright if he had any sort of feelings towards you to which he always brushed off, claiming that ieri was watching too many romance dramas. she had enough – this was getting painfully ridiculous. with a scoff ieri thought that in this light, jealousy looked good on him. it would do him some good.

sensing geto’s hesitation, you say with a bit of bite to your tone “dude, im sure. just take it – or do I have to start making airplane noises for you?” geto scoffs at your impatience. he allows you to gently guide your spoon into his awaiting mouth, “mhm, thanks –“ geto hums chewing on fruit.

ieri thinks she might cry trying to hold in her laughter at gojo’s murderous pout.

he turning his best friend, moving his bangs out of his face, “holy shit, satoru I forgot to tell you – in roppongi last week – “ gojo watched you at the corner of his eye lick off the rest of the whipped cream on the spoon, moving to take another spoonful of your cake, engaged in a conversation with ieri about your new training regimen that yaga implemented.

occasionally you look over at gojo, his dark glasses covering his stormy eyes, his slender fingers drumming restlessly against the countertops. regardless of what he said when you entered the café, it seemed like something was on his mind.

what was he thinking about? was he okay? “– I don’t know man,” geto continues, “you can’t just do whatever you want like that. at least call him yaga sensei, no wonder he automatically assumes you’re –“

“ah… do we not have napkins?” your voice rings out, cutting through the static.

“oh– I can, grab some if –“ geto starts, moving to get up.

“no, no – i’ll get some for you don’t worry!” he shoots up enthusiastically walking across the cafe, cutting geto off rudely.

“oh – ah. thanks.”

geto forces down a smirk and shoots a pointed look at ieri. look at this idiot go, eh?

ieri rolls her eyes in response, hand shooting up to cover her mouth to prevent a laugh escaping. I know. I told him to cool it. dumbass.

“here, babe.” gojo returns, handing you a few napkins.

“thanks.” you smile softly at him as your fingers brush his. geto notices gojo’s lingering stare as you wipe your lips with a napkin. “hey, shoko?” geto calls wearing an enigmatic smile as he sips the last of his tea,“didn’t you want to grab some cigarettes?”

“right!” ieri’s eyes light up, catching on quickly, slightly disappointed at geto’s saintly behaviour, she wanted to see gojo suffer just a bit more. “yeah, I’ve just run out. since we’re finished, let’s go grab some really quick.”

you nod, folding your napkin, “mhm, call us when you’re done.” “we’ll see you in a bit!” geto says over his shoulder, as you wave at them. geto smiles at how gojo easily slides into his seat in front of you, shaking his head in amusement. “how’s your cake, babe?” gojo asks leaning towards you, scraping his spoon against the dainty plate to catch the remnants of the chocolate ganache. “really good, actually. we should come back here another time, your chocolate cake looked pretty good.” you mention, taking a long drink out of your matcha latte. “yeah? you like this place? let’s go to this other café me and suguru stumbled upon last week – “

you sit in a comfortable silence, listening as gojo chatters about how this other café had pastries shaped like “ these cute fucking cats and puddings shaped like ducks! I’ve never seen anything like it, babe –“ finishing your drinks, you watch as the streets outside slowly empty, darkness overtaking the grey sky.

“shall we go, grumps?” he suggests as you nod, shrugging your coat on and grabbing your scarf.

gojo opens the door for you, as you quickly follow him onto the quiet streets, the street lights illuminating your way home. clutching your scarf, you quickly wrap it around yourself. “did you have enough to eat?” he asks hands in his pockets. “yeah, the matcha was nice,” you answer, taken aback by his thoughtful question. “your usual you said – you always get a matcha latte?” “mhm, yeah. it was a thing for me and my dad. he’d always sneak me matcha candies when mom wasn’t looking and my sister was asleep – he’d say that it was our little secret. so now.. whenever I have matcha I think of him.” you say, eyes focused on the lights in front of you. you didn’t know how it became so easy to speak to him, but you didn’t mind. “have you matcha from kyoto? the best matcha is in kyoto.” he asks adjusting his glasses. “mhm, I haven’t. ha, what?” you say with the tilt of your head noting his unusual silence. what was up with him today? “why gojo, don’t like kyoto?” “nah, im from there,” he answers easily, warmth slowly returning to his voice. your eyes widen slightly. you didn’t know that. huh. “the estate is there, so they make me go there every couple of weeks to do clan shit.” “and I assume that clan shit isn’t just sitting around and drinking matcha at home, eh?” he chuckles, stretching out his lanky frame carding his hands through his hair. “nope. home is not exactly the… warmest place in the world. y’know – the estate.” “home can be a complicated word.” you say shrugging your scarf on tighter. “more like fucked up, babe.” “that too.” you laugh, a bright and airy sound. gojo smiles. “we used to move a lot as a kid, and my sister used to cry and cry about it. my mom used to always say that home wasn’t a place but a person.” you say softly.

gojo turns his head to look at you, your forlorn smile, eyes searching the starless sky. he thinks that you look beautiful. maybe your mom could be right.

“hey! we should go to that ice cream matcha ice cream place in asakusa” he says excitedly, as your face lights up and his suggestion, “it’s way closer to than kyoto but just as good.” “hmm yeah, we should go. I wanna try those matcha parfaits –“ you say happily, arms swinging playfully. you turn to him abruptly, moving your face closer to his “but you can’t share with me –“ wagging a finger in his face, “you need to get your own.”

gojo stops in his tracks, deep pout on his face. “wooooow, babe. you’re seriously not gonna even share with me!?”

you laugh, a bright and fleeting sound. he thinks he could live in your laugh. “gojo, come on,” you poke his cheek, “i know you can finish a whole one by yourself, you just ate fucking 3 slices of cake!” another poke. “you’re so greedy, grumps.” he whines, appalled by the injustice.

“i’m the greedy one?! gojoooooo!!” you pout back. gojo feels like he might explode.

“that doesn’t matter – it’s more fun if we share!!” he pokes your cheek back, a grin fighting its way on his face, blue eyes crinkling in the dark. “but I want the whole damn thing!” you whine back, noticing the way gojo’s hand settles to plays with a tassel of your scarf. “ah, ah, ahhh - what about the babe tax?” “what the fuck is the babe tax, gojo?” you gape. “I get to have a bite! I buy you all your snacks anyway,” he grumbles. “… is that why you took suguru’s strawberry?” “exactly.” “but he paid for his own – “ you try to reason. “the baby tax is different, babe – i dont make the rules”

fuck. he had a point. you pout. separating yourself from him, your small strides leading the way. like a magnet, gojo catches up to you easily, standing beside you, unsure of your next move.

“only one bite.” you hesitantly say, weighing your words carefully. “…and you still need to get your own.” he laughs with his whole body, excitedly throwing his arm over your shoulder, squeezing your frame enthusiastically. you smirk. there he was – that was the gojo you knew. “hehe, I knew you’d let me babe!” his joy engulfs you, white and blinding. you can’t help but laugh along with him, you feel a bit dizzy but it’s probably from all the sugar anyway.

“ I swear it’s the best fucking matcha ice cream ever. they even have those fancy matcha drinks–“ with his arm around you gojo notices an unfamiliar feeling blooming in his chest, something that was previously hidden in the shadows but only now, nurtured the right conditions, it steps boldly into the light. maybe it’s the way you let him keep his arm around you until you reach the station together, pleasantly surprising him when you move closer to bask in his warmth. your relaxed shoulders moving up and down in silent laughter when you pretend not to find one of his jokes funny. either way, it hits him all at once, and almost overwhelmingly so. he chuckles as he realises that shoko was right.

snackies!tags: @starmapz @ghost-buddies

a/n: im alive! ahhhh! jealous gojo is wild. he just wants some attention... thanks for sticking with me (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡ -- super special thank you to @yung-notorious for providing feedback and suggestions and moral support for this chapter, thank you, love you, appreciate you! check out her fic, Never Lose Me! -- head image credit: Watashi ni Tenshi ga Maiorita dividers from: @/adornedwithlight

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rqgnarok · 3 months ago

Text

a house upon the hill - nolan price

love you better now (sequel, original work)- leave a light on (prequel part 1) - this work is prequel part 2 but can be read individually!

fandom: law & order, law & order special victims unit

wc: 8,838

warnings: conversations about ptsd and ptsd episodes, aftermath of a traumatic event. canon presence of injuries, blood, violence, weapons, and hospitals. female reader

summary: after being shot and waking up in the hospital, the relief of your survival is short-lived.

ao3 / masterlist / buy me a coffee!

author's note below!

The relief of your survival is short-lived.

You’re tired and in pain, the doctors slowly wear you off the meds and your answers to how are doing? gets shorter and shorter to anyone who asks. Your grip around Nolan’s hand tightens further every time someone comes and goes, and by the time you’re leaving the hospital the bags under your eyes are prominent, your cheeks sharper than they were when you first got there.

Nolan, the trooper, writes down and listens carefully to all the instructions given to him about your care. He packs your bags with all the things he brought from your appartment and the get-well-soon gifts given by family and friends. He doen’t notice you shifting restlessly as he struggles to manhandle the wheelchair, regarding it with distrust.

“Okay,” he says faux brightly, hands at his hips and looking between you and the wheelchair. “You ready to get out of here?”

Your smile is brittle as you nod. That should be Nolan’s first clue, how you don’t rise to the banter at the first chance of it. “Alright, come here. The nurse will kill me if I let you pop your stitches.”

Your jaw tightens but you go, holding onto Nolan and digging your fingers into his arms when you rise off the bed and your body feels like it’s being lit on fire. You curse under your breath and Nolan catches it, tries to meet your eye while you struggle to conceal how much you’re hurting.

“If you need a second–”

“I’m fine.”

“Honey, you can’t push yourself too hard,” he reminds you as if you don’t know. “This type of thing doesn’t heal overnight. We can take as long as you need.”

“I just want to go home,” you say, and it sounds so much like begging it makes you sick, makes you mad. “Just– can you just help me out here, please?”

“You just gotta–”

Your reply is biting. “I know, Nolan.”

The room is engulfed by silence. His hands tense where they’re holding you but to Nolan’s credit, he doesn’t let go, even if his mouth is now set in an upset, even line.Your guilt rises like waves but your annoyance drowns it out, and there’s no apology made as you finally sit in the wheelchair, exhaling in relief.

Nolan doesn’t let go until you’re settled in nicely, and even then he remains close; gripping the handles of the chair and standing behind you where you can’t see him.

You’re buried under two sweatshirts and a coat, but the lack of touch leaves you cold nevertheless.

Your almost-month long stay at the hospital has left your home rotting in neglect. Your furniture lays under a thin layer of dust and the dishes from your last dinner together are still in the dishwasher. The dirty laundry hamper is about to blow.

Nolan appears sheepish when your eyes inevitably go towards the chaos, expression unreadable. He’s got his arm around your waist and his grip is tight as you make your way through the apartment. “I was hoping for time to clean up a little before you came home, but I’ll take care of it, promise.”

“It’s fine,” you say, monotone. Nolan can’t really read into it, unsure if you mean it or not. Halfway to the bedroom, you dig your nails into his shoulder, pulling him to a stop near the couch. “This. Here. Here is fine.”

Nolan frowns disapprovingly. “You should really lay down.”

“I can lay down here,” you say, stubborn as always but through gritted teeth. “I don’t wanna go to bed, okay, just– here is fine.”

Nolan visibly disagrees but relents, his mind still stuck in the way you’d snapped at him back at the hospital. You unclench slightly when he finally stops touching you, body limp on the couch. Nolan tries not to bristle.

It’s the first of many uncomfortable, tense interactions. You can’t move around the house on your own and stiffen whenever Nolan reaches out to support you. You’re quiet and short when you’re not, trying and failing to keep everything polite.

You drive each other crazy. Nolan works from home as much as he can and you don’t work at all. No matter how much you beg Cragen to send you some files, your day remains sans responsibilities. There are only so many reruns of Seinfeld you can stand before you’re making up a psychological profile for each of the characters just for the hell of it before you realize you’re losing your damn mind.

“What happened?” he asks one afternoon when you don’t come out for dinner. You’re lying face down on the made bed, curtains drawn shut. When you don’t answer, don’t move, Nolan’s voice turns sharp, calling your name. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing!” you snap, muffled by the sheets. Your sigh takes over your entire body, pushing yourself up to glare at him. “Nothing. Fucking nothing. Cragen won’t let me back without a therapist’s okay, alright? But other than that, everything’s perfect.”

“Isn’t that standard procedure?” he asks, sitting on the bed with a bowl of pasta on his lap. Your frown deepens like he’s the one who’s keeping you locked inside the house against your will.

“I’m fine,” you say. “Do you know how many people I’ve seen get shot in this job? I don’t see why this is necessary.”

“It doesn’t have to be a bad thing,” he says, quietly.

“You know how department’s shrinks are,” he has never heard you speak about psychological aid with such hatred. “But Stabler used to get a pat on the back and he’d be back to work within the hour. Go figure.”

“And look how that worked out for him,” Nolan says, the wrong thing to add, he can tell, for how you settle back into bed and refuse to face him. He sighs and speaks to your back. “What else did the Captain say?”

“‘You want back on the field, come to my office with discharge papers from Dr. Masters office,” you parrot in a poor imitation of Captain Cragen. “Other than that, he’ll be sending some paperwork my way. As if that’s the fucking point.”

Nolan lets the silence stretch, unsure of how to follow up. He flinches when you turn to scream into the pillow, raw and frustrated. You say, venomous. “Motherfucker.”

He leaves your dinner on the bedside table and leaves without a word like a chastised child, feeling like he’s walking away from something bigger than your wirldwind temper.

—

It gets better before it gets worse. There are days in which you don’t utter a single word and walk through the apartment like you’re haunting it; from bed to the living room to the kitchen, unaware or uncaring of Nolan’s presence. Others, you’re out the door as soon as you’re physically able, disappearing for hours on end, phone off to Nolan’s alarmed dismay.

He calls Liv, Cragen, Munch, anyone who knows you and has the resources to pull a nation wide man hunt until he realizes you always come back and it’s better to welcome you than drive you away by asking questions. Those conversations usually lead to one of you sleeping on the couch and your injuries are still a little too tender for Nolan to let you pass the night on that old thing.

One night he leaves the bedroom for a glass of water and finds you standing in front of the open window in just your pajamas. The air is chilly and your skin is covered in goosebumps, but it’s the look on your face that scares Nolan the most.

“Honey,” Nolan, bleary and confused, comes up behind you. You don’t even flinch. It wakes him up quicker than anything else ever has. Saying your name urgently, he wonders, “What are you doing? It’s freezing.”

“It’s fine,” you say, detached, not even there. You blink, staring dazedly into the night. You don’t snap out of it as he leads you back into your room.

When he asks you about it the following morning you just stare at him, blank-faced, without a single memory of the event.

To no one’s surprise, Dr. Masters gently refuses to sign your discharge papers after two months of leave and therapy sessions. Cragen takes one look at you and caves, albeit hesitantly, to reinstate you to a desk job as long as you follow the mandated breaks to talk about your feelings in an office that smells too much like lavender and vanilla.

You hate it. Absolutely abhor it. Dr. Masters, just like everyone else, wants you to talk about the shooting and nothing else. It doesn’t matter that your memory betrays you, keeping the event locked away in some faraway corner of your mind. According to her, refusing to acknowledge it is refusing to heal from it.

It leaves you short-fused. Home is a few curt words of polite conversation before you begin to snap, annoyed at Nolan’s placid attitude. Even the squad begins to lose their patience, you find yourself in Cragen’s office more often than not, glowering like a kid sent to the principal.

“Talk to me,” is all he says, not we’ve already been too lenient with you or shouldn’t you be over it by now? because he genuinely cares about you, which warms and enrages you all at once.

“What,” you say, purposely dense, arms crossed defensively.

“You’re biting heads off out there like you’re a suspect for a crime,” Cragen replies, no-nonsense. “You’re not in trouble here, I just want to know what’s going on.”

“It’s not on me that no one gets shit done around here,” you lean back against the chair, tense shoulders and sweaty hands. “We wouldn’t be so slammed if you all worried about me a little less. I’m fine.”

“Right,” Cragen says, waiting you out.

“You don’t need to walk on eggshells around me,” you continue, rough. “You can’t hurt me. I’m not gonna break, Cap.”

“Everyone keeps asking what I need– I need everyone to stop looking at me like I’m dead,” you say rushedly. You’ve started now and can’t bring yourself to stop. “I breathe a little funny and they’re on me, wanting to– to make me tea and give me casseroles that won’t fit in my fridge and ask me how I’ve been sleeping, I don’t need that shit–”

Cragen hums knowingly. Then, after a silence:

“How’s Nolan?”

You huff. “Fine. Fine, he’s always fine. Always looking for something to do. He’s cooked more these past few months than in our entire marriage, you know?”

“He’s only trying to help–”

“I know,” you snap. Cragen only stares as you pull yourself together, filled with everloving patience. It’s why he called you in, not to reprimand or punish but to let you breathe without people accusing you of doing it wrong.

“I know,” you say again after several exhales, closing your eyes and tilting your head towards the ceiling, avoiding his eye. “Just because he’s trying doesn’t mean it’s working.”

“Have you thought of telling him that?”

“Sure,” you snort. “‘Hey, honey, can you not ask me how my day went? I zoned out for thirty minutes at my desk and picked at my scar until I snapped myself out of it.’”

“There’s help for that, you know,” Cragen says. “I heard they call it therapy, these days.”

“Name it, I’m on it,” you reply, smiling wryly. “Physical, for anxiety, for PTSD. I should get a goddamned discount.”

The Captain doesn’t laugh. Neither had any of your therapists, for that matter.

“I don’t want to be like this,” you continue after a moment of silence, unsure if you’re allowed, but Cragen only nods. Decades on the job have made him wise beyond his years, sometimes even to his own detriment. “You– I know what you’re all thinking–”

“I’m not sure you do.”

“–but I don’t–” your breath hitches. “If I could be over it already, I would. This isn’t any more fun for me than it is for you.”

“No one thinks badly of you for reacting to something that happened to you,” he tells you, and it’s so close to absolution you could cry right here in front of him with all your coworkers at the other side of the door. You didn’t know it was something you were seeking.

“I can see how they look at me,” you say, quiet. “I know what they want, who they want. I just can’t give it to them.”

“What do you want?” he uses your first name and it disarms something inside of you. It’s an innocent enough question, but it reaches for your lungs and squeezes mercilessly.

“I want it to stop,” the niceties, people explaining your own PTSD to you. The racing thoughts, the breathlessness, the chest pains you haven’t been able to get rid of even if the doctor says there’s nothing wrong with you anymore. Not physically.

You sigh and it comes out shaky. Your eyes burn. “I just want everything to stop.”

Two days later, you mistakenly say this to your therapist, who throws the question back to you with interest. “What do you mean by that? What needs to stop?”

“I don’t know,” you shrug, infinitely more annoyed than when you’d been talking about this with Cragen. “Everything. Nothing. I don’t know.”

“Well, maybe you do know. And that’s what scares you, what has you lashing out over the simplest innocent things. Think about that.”

“Oh, so I’m supposed to do all of the work here? I thought you said this was a partnership.”

Dr. Masters sighs, keeping careful watch over her exasperation. She writes something down, tries again.

You leave the sessions sans any breakthroughs but with enough recommendations to implement at home in hopes of finding normalcy in your marriage once more.

Try doing something together, the suggestion has you shifting uncomfortably in your seat. Have a movie night or breakfast together before work, host dinners with friends. Make your home yours again, is what I mean.

You try. It’s not a relaxing endeavor. God knows your work schedules suck even now that you’re both working half time, tempers gone through the shredder more than once. Still, you mention it to Liv and she suggests a double date kind of thing, and suddenly you’ve got a full dining table while a migraine inside your temples builds and builds and builds and–

“How you holdin’ up?” Brian asks casually, cutting off your racing thoughts like a record scratching. Your hands tighten around your fork and knife as you swallow down the urge to scream that washes over you at the question.

You think about the sleepless nights and the anger that comes out of nowhere, the inexplicable lack of patience directed at Nolan despite loving him more than anything else. You wonder if Brian would understand, having been shot before. If this is a good as any place to let everything out.

The thought fades as soon as it forms.

“Working on it,” you shrug simply. “Everything hurts and therapy’s a bitch. You know what it’s like.”

Brian snorts. “Fuck yeah, I do. Last time I went down I was so restless, Liv was gonna shoot me herself.”

“Hey now,” Liv says, but she’s smiling behind her wine and has a hand on Cassidy’s knee that inches slightly higher as she teases him. “I will say, going to work sounded like a dream just to get out of the house. You’re get better, though.”

“Hey, anything for the time off, I guess,” you say faux-brightly, a cynical twist of your lips that resembles a smile. “Next time I’ll make sure they shoot me somewhere less tedious, though.”

Brian scoffs and Liv shakes her head, but no one laughs. Nolan clears his throat after an awkward pause, obviously upset. He wipes his mouth with his napkin and leaves it gently on the table as he stands, avoiding your eye. “Excuse me.”

He walks away and closes the bedroom door gently behind him, the living room falling into uneasy silence. You pipe up with dark humor, “You think I’d get more time of if I was stabbed?”

The fight after Liv and Brian leave is a massive, unavoidable bloodbath.

There’s relief in the heat of it all, in a fucked up way. All the pent up agression you’ve been harboring finally has an opponent, even if Nolan doesn’t know he’s bringing knives to a gunfight.

“I hate when you say things like that and you know it–”

“It was a joke, Nolan, for Christ's sake–”

“Well, it’s not funny. For none of us, Liv was there with you in the ambulance and I–”

“Oh, please, tell me how I ruined your life by almost dying,” you scoff, goading. “Please, honey, the floor is yours.”

“Stop,” he says, firm, but his voice wobbles, and his eyes fill up with tears. You hate the sight of him like this and you hate to be the one who causes it. Still, the part of you aching for chaos, for emotion, can’t help but to press at the bruise. “I’m not doing this, I’m not having this argument with you.”

“You don’t have any arguments with me!” you exclaim in disbelief. Nolan purses his mouth in discontent and look away. “You tell me how to feel, what to do, what this whole thing has been like but the second I try to have an actual conversation it’s like your eyes glaze over and you’re fucking gone–”

“You don’t know what it was like for me,” Nolan snaps, tear stained cheeks glittering against the warm light of the bedroom. He hasn’t stopped crying ever since you came home. You hear him sometimes when he locks himself in his office or in the bathroom in the middle of the night. “Getting Liv’s call, the hospital, watching you like that–”

“This didn’t happen to you, Nolan!” you scream. The world has taken a sharper edge after the shooting, and all you can do is attack it likewise. “I laid in my own blood hoping someone would notice I was gone. I wasted away in the hospital for weeks, I am living a life where not a damn thing is right!”

“I’m drowning here,” your voice breaks, losing all its volume and vehemence. “And all everyone keeps telling me is how they feel about it, how I’m supposed to be getting better. I’m not. I’m not, Nolan. For the love of God, can we make this about me for half a second?”

“You,” Nolan begins, but it gets caught up in his throat, dissolves into nothing before you can hear what it is. Nolan shakes his head, adamant. “I’m not doing this.” He gathers his things all while you desperately call his name. The door closing behind him echoes through the apartment not unlike a gunshot in your ear.

That same week, Nolan goes to therapy.

He doesn’t tell you about it, just like he hasn’t told you about the past couple of months worth of sessions. He doesn’t tell anyone, actually. It starts when a victim’s husband loses it mid trial and lounges at her killer right in front of God, the judge and a panicking Nolan. He’s sure he conceals his feelings well, yet his boss takes one look at him and stops by his office at the end of the day.

“Someone recommended him to me,” he says while Nolan traces the dark blue letters of the contact card he just handed him. “I haven’t been to him in years, but he’s good. If you don’t think he can help you then I’m sure he’ll find you someone who can.”

“I–” Nolan begins and leaves it at that. It’s such a quietly kind thing to do for him that it renders him speechless.

“It can’t be easy,” he continues when Nolan doesn’t, endlessly patient, oddly personal. “What she went through, what you’re going through. I’m sure you’re both doing the best you can, but if you ever feel like you need more, well. It’s good to have options available.”

Everything that’s been offered the last few months; the casseroles and the rides to work, home, the hospital, a shoulder to cry on– it’s all been about you, for you. Nolan appreciates it but there’s something conditional about the whole thing, like he’s not worthy of help unless it’s somehow related to his wife.

He loves you. By God, he loves you with everything there’s in him to the point of ruin, but this– this is for him. His boss is offering him a lifeguard he so desperately needs, and it has both everything and nothing to do with you. He gets to be selfish about this one thing, and the thrill of it drowns out the guilt he feels about leaving you in the dark.

“Thanks,” he says, choked. Nolan clears his throat, hoping it comes out with at least some of the gratitude he’s feeling. “Thank you, sir. Thank you.”

The older man smiles, already at the door and saying his goodbyes. “See you tomorrow, Nolan.”

So Nolan goes to therapy. His first time on Dr. Rhymes’ couch he begins to weep before he can introduce himself. When he resurfaces from his grief, the man is offering him a box of tissues without a hint of judgement in his gaze.

He gets now why you come back frustrated more times than not after a session. It’s like pulling teeth, no matter how badly he knows he needs it. But it helps more than he hoped it would and the nightmares about your death slowly lose some of its gore. His once rusted instincts coming back to its brilliance in court after a week’s worth of full night’s rest.

He gets better. Starts to, anyways, but not you. In your dreams, you still bleed and bleed and bleed.

No one comes to get you. Liv misses the alleyway and chases after the perp, Nolan doesn’t call to wonder when you’re coming home, your gut pulsates with pain until there’s nothing but numbness, nothing but darkness, nothing left of you.

You wake up and don't know where you are. Your flail is purely instinctive, and despite the sharp pain that pulls at your chest you do so again, eyesight blurry, panic rising sharp and quick. Your entire body’s on fire but it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter because you don’t know where you are and the perp is getting away, and Liv is still blocks away and, and, and, and–

Bleeding. You’re bleeding, bleeding out and your radio’s too far away and you can see the perp running but can’t hear his steps, there’s only your heartbeat echoing in your ears and the wet taste of death in your mouth as the world fades to black around you–

Sometimes you wake up from nightmares so quietly that Nolan doesn’t notice. Your eyes are closed and then they’re not and that’s all the movement your body can produce even if your heart is hammering against your ribcage. Other nights– nights like this one– you’re drenched in sweat and sprinting to the bathroom before your stomach returns the dinner you ate mere hours ago.

You hear Nolan fussing in the bedroom and picture him as clear as day in your mind; hair rumpled from sleep and eyes bleary, creased pajamas and worry lines on his features like he was supposed to grow into them. And he’s looking for you. Always, always looking for you.

You hate doing this to him but you hate having to go through it alone more. When you feel a cool, protective hand soothe up and down your back where your shirt sticks to your skin, you sob through your gags.

Nolan only says let it out, honey, I’ve got you, just let it go in different variations until the panic subsides. You focus on the timber of his voice, the roughness of sleep coating his vowels and the tilt of his consonants.

The bathroom tile is rough against your knees and your mouth tastes like acid, arms shaking with the effort of keeping you upright against the toilet seat. When you’re done, you fall back to the floor and Nolan is there next to you, ready to catch you.

He cradles you almost like one would a baby and you nestle against his chest, exhausted.

“I’m sorry,” you croak against his heartbeat. Nolan’s hand finds the sweaty nape of your neck and massages the tension out of it, hairs sticking to his fingers.

His soothing reply is automatic but no less honest. “It’s alright. It’s just a dream.”

“Not for this,” you correct, panting against his cotton grey shirt and reaching to hold it in a tight, shaky fist. “I mean– yes, for this, but for before. Everything. In the hospital and for fighting, for not… For everything. I’m sorry I’m like this.”

“Don’t be,” he defends, awfully vehement for a man who’s been awake for less than 10 minutes and is sitting on his bathroom floor at 4 in the morning. It’s the most emotion he’s shown since your last fight and you could weep with the relief it brings you. “Never be. You’re in pain. I’m allowed to want to help you when you’re in pain.”

“I’m tired of being in pain.”

Nolan’s chest shudders and you unclench your fist to lay your palm against it, the beat of his heart fluttering despite his calm demeanor. He shifts his hand to brush his thumb against your cheek, calming. “I know, honey. I know.”

He doesn’t say it’s okay or it’ll get better because as much as you know Nolan hopes so, it’s not the kind of thing he can promise. You wouldn’t want him to.

The sun rises through the horizon. Nolan holds you, holds you, and holds you.

“It’s stupid,” you say against your hands, hours later in your emergency session with Dr. Masters, wet and high-pitched. “It’s so fucking stupid.”

You don't elaborate. She gently goads. “What is?”

“It’s so simple,” your voice drips with disbelief, muscles coiled tight. “It’s so– it was one bullet. One second, and I’m– I can’t let it go. Why can’t I let it go?”

No answer, but you don’t need it. You’re already on a roll. “I’m okay. I’m alright, I recovered. I have my job and my husband and my life back then why am I like this? Why–”

Your voice breaks, a sign of weakness you’re done trying to hide. “Do I not want it? To get better, do I not want it enough? What am I doing wrong?”

“You have to understand, this isn’t something you did,” she sighs, leaving her notebook and pen to lean in closer. “Are you listening to me? This is something that happened to you, not because of you. Healing isn’t linear, isn’t that what you always say to the victims you encounter at work–”

You sniff, sharply wiping at your nose. “Yes, but–”

“But it’s different,” she finishes for you, leaning back against her seat. “Why? Because it’s you? Because you know better since you’re a cop? Because you’re not allowed any moment of weakness in the face of adversity?”

You’re rendered quiet, almost but not quite pouting after being called out so thoroughly. Masters continues. “You keep punishing yourself for reacting to trauma in an unpredictable way. Even that in itself is predictable. There’s no rulebook for this.”

“I know,” you say like you’ve done so many times since this whole thing started, but this is different. It’s not angry or sarcastic. It feels like a tipping point.

“This happened to you. You didn’t chose it,” your therapist says. Then, carefully, like she too is aware you’re on the cusp of something that you might be, finally, ready to hear. “But what you do with it– that is up to you.”

“You got handed this ugly, terrible thing,” she continues. “It’s yours now. And you can let it take over your life or you can take it in your hands and mold it into something you can live with.”

“That’s awful,” you say; tired, honest, terrified. Why should it be up to you? Why is it your job to fix what someone else broke? Master smiles.

“It is. It’s all work,” you say. “At least at first. And then, piece by piece, you make a life with the fragments from before. You get new ones. It’s not gonna be the same, but it’ll be yours. But work. It’s the only way out.”

It’s all work.

The session hollows you from the inside out and the day at the office is a blur. You get home much, much later, weary and exhausted. The sun is already deep behind the horizon and your head is filled with statistics and suspect heights, ethnicities, possible sightings…

Your eyes hurt and Nolan is already in bed, bent over his book with his glasses perched low on his nose. A lifetime ago he would’ve joked they made him look old, and you would kiss him senseless until they went askew and tell him he looked distinguished. It’s such an old, nice memory, both distant and right there for the taking. You get a little breathless just thinking about it.

He looks up to greet you when he hears you come in, tired but genuine. You think mold it into something you can live with and make a decision.

“Hey,” he welcomes you. “How was work?”

“I…” whatever your apprehension is, you visibly shake it off before focusing on Nolan with a sense of determination he hasn’t seen from you in a very, very long time. “I would like you to come with me. To therapy.”

“You… would?” he hates that he sounds so surprised. He places his book on the bedside table, taking his glasses off.

You look as uncomfortable as he feels, but aren’t backing down. You lessen the chasm between you, sitting on your side of the bed and laying your palm flat on the sheets. Realization hits Nolan like a slap to the face.

Here you are, the strange shape that is his wife after hell and back, reaching.

“I think… there are so many things I want to tell you,” you continue slowly, the way you do when you’ve rehearsed before speaking in court as a witness, presenting the case. “that I don’t know how. And so many things you have to say that I haven’t… wanted to hear.”

“But I’m ready,” you nod, grave. “To put in the work. Or– I want to be. And I’d– I’d like you to be with me, when I am.”

“We can go to Dr. Masters or– or I’m sure there’s some names she can draw up. Couples therapy,” you rush to say when Nolan doesn’t answer, desperate for his support. “Or– I mean, maybe you wouldn’t be comfortable with that, but I was really hoping we could–”

“Okay,” it comes out quiet. His nod, though, is resolute. “Yeah.”

You blink, a little startled and hesitatingly hopeful. “You– Yeah?”

“Yes. Okay. Yes, of course.”

“Okay,” you say, relieved, as if he’d ever say no to you. You laugh a little, deflating, running a hand through your hair. “Jesus, okay. Okay.”

A beat, two. Then you say, fragile as a baby bird, breaking the silence. “I’ve been so unfair to you.”

That finally gets him moving. He says your name, devastated. He opens up his arms, surer than he’s been in months. “Come here.”

You sigh out heavily, shakily. Standing, you move to his side of the bed and fall into his arms, work clothes and all.

“We’re alright,” he says, fingers threading into your hair. “I love you. I’m coming with you. We’re gonna be okay.”

“I’m sorry,” you apologize anyways, crying into his shoulder.

“I’m sorry, too,” his voice breaks and his arms tighten. There’s a kiss pressed to your hair that only makes you cry harder. “I’m so sorry, honey, for so many things. But we’re gonna be okay.”

It’s all, all work.

…Mostly.

“The files are on my desk,” Nick nods dutifully as you rattle off instructions, making sure your hair isn’t messed up by your coat. “Fin knows my notes backwards and forwards, if he tries to convince you he doesn’t it’s because he’s lazy, and I already let Cap know–”

Nick laughs, saying your last name knowingly. “It’s okay. Everything’s set, there’s nothing you’ve forgotten. Go have fun for once, will you?”

“Yeah, let us live vicariously through you,” Rollins pipes up as she passes by, an overflowing evidence box in her arms. “I’d kill for a hot date with a hotter lawyer right now.”

“You’d bite his head off before the appetizers came in,” Amaro smirks at her cockily, and you roll your eyes when Rollins predictably rises to the challenge. Behind them, Fin stares at them like he’s regretting all the life choices that led him to work with these people.

“You know what, Bernardo–” Rollins begins.

“Speaking of the devil,” Much pipes up loudly before Rollins starts humming the notes to the West Side Story score at Nick. You shoot him a grateful look but your attention is soon refocused on Nolan, who looks tall and sharp as he enters the precinct. “Good to see you, kiddo.”

“You too, old man. Hey, everyone,” Nolan smiles as he greets everyone else, though it turns shy when he acknowledges you, suddenly unaware of the rest of the room. “Hi, honey.”

“Hey, handsome,” you can’t help yourself, feeling young and foolish. “You look good.”

“Had to match you, didn’t I?” he gives you a once over, long and interested, and you’re so into it you can’t even hear your coworkers making fun of you. “You ready to go?”

“Born ready,” you wave everyone goodbye and then, as soon as you’re out of ear shot, you admit sheepishly, “I’m actually a little nervous. Is that weird?”

Nolan’s laugh is tender, relieved. “No,” he says, looking more relaxed by the admission with his arm poised while you loop your own around it, keeping him close. “I am, too. I haven’t felt like this since you kissed me for the first time.”

“I’m sorry, I kissed you?” you reply. “I very vividly remember being cut off mid sentence about serious crimes punishable by law because someone couldn’t help himself.”

“Our study sessions always were interesting,” Nolan agrees, grin boyish. “Ivery vividly don’t remember hearing you complain about it.”

“Only that it took you so long to do it,” you quip.

“Well,” he tells you as you go into the empty elevator and the doors close behind you, already drawing you in. “Who am I to keep you waiting now?”

Some other weekend, the day is bright and gorgeous and neither you nor Nolan are able to to stay in. You move your slow weekend routines out of the apartment for once, going out for brunch and bringing reading material that doesn't involve case files or suspects statements for once.

You walk around the city with a wonder rarely available to you lately and hold each other close. Halfway through the afternoon Nolan disappears across the street in search of your favorite coffee cart, telling you to stay put with a loud kiss to your cheek that leaves you giddy long after he’s gone.

“Hey, sorry,” he says breathlessly when he comes back, carefully keeping both coffees from overflowing. “They had to make a fresh pot just now.”

“‘s alright,” you say after a beat, smiling at him with an unusual shape to your mouth. It makes Nolan pause.

He asks, endearingly concerned. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s–” you begin and then cut yourself off. You look around, calculating. You shake your head, hoping to drop it. “No. Sorry. I just thought–”

Your breaths come out short despite your best tries to keep the previous atmosphere going. Nolan places the coffees on the sidewalk and stands back up, already reaching. He tries to keep his tone even. Calm. “Honey. Is it okay if I touch you?”

“You– yeah,” you blink, almost surprised to see him. The words rush out of you with relief, like you weren’t sure you still had it in you to be verbal. “Yes, please. Please.”

“Come here,” it’s a relief to him too, both your answer and permission. He draws you in with a protective hand on your back and you shudder into the touch, breathing in and out slowly like Dr. Masters taught you. “Great, you’re doing great. I got you.”

“Sorry,” you says again after a while, back in your body. “I thought it was the street where…” you admit. You’re embarrassed, Nolan doesn’t have to see your face to know it. “For a second, I. I saw the alley and it’s– it was literally just that but I was sure…”

You don’t finish your sentence, drifting off, but Nolan knows you too well. Understanding dawns in and he holds you tighter, protective. The perfectly harmless landscape of the city suddenly shifts before his eyes and he starts to panic. He can’t get you out of here fast enough, but maybe if he tries… an Uber would probably be quicker than walking home…

“Nolan,” you cut off his racing thoughts, oddly comforted by the fact that you’re not alone in your freak out, even if Nolan has been rendered useless by his own agitation. “It’s okay. I was wrong, it’s not the street. I’m good.”

“We can go,” he offers, terribly disappointed that your day is about to be cut short but willing to do that and more for your wellbeing. This? In the grand scheme of things this is nothing. You were gonna spend today in bed anyways. “Or– is there something you need, do you want to call–”

“I want to stay,” you say, sure, cupping his face. Your touch helps him breathe, unclogs his throat and opens up his lungs. “I want to be here with you. I want to keep living my life even with… this. It doesn’t get to win.”

Nolan’s eyes burn, but his grin is too big for his face. He kisses you, long and deep and careless of who’s watching. It’s New York, its streets have seen far worse things than a man knee deep in love with his wife. “It doesn’t get to win,” he affirms, catching his breath. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

You grin, shaky, bright. “You’ve told me so once or twice.”

Hand on hand, you pass by the alley. The day is beautiful.

One night Nolan gets out of the bathroom to find you already in bed, frowning at your book. He passes a towel through his wet hair as he asks, “Is it any good?”

You only keep frowning. “It’s– I mean, yeah, but I. I don’t know.”

“What?”

“Have I read this before?” you ask him, showing him the cover.

Nolan squints, mouthing the words, then his expression clears. “Oh, I know. Did Munch give it to you?”

“Yeah,” you sound surprised. You hadn’t told him about John’s offhand gift, a tattered copy of a book he lent to you the other week. “ How’d you know?”

“He was reading it to you,” Nolan begins, then shrugs and seems to hesitate before he continues. “At the hospital.”

You make a face like you just tasted something sour. “Oh.”

“A part of you must’ve heard,” he continues, softer, searching your face for signs to shut the hell up. Other than the initial realization, he finds only pensiveness. “Must remember.”

“I don’t know,” you say, thinking of days so far away and so present still, sometimes laying between you in bed. “It’d be silly, wouldn’t it? That my brain chose to retain bits of a book I heard while unconscious rather than… you know.”

Nolan breathes in deeply, holds it, and lets it out. He tries feeling comfortable in the silence you’ve built as he thinks his words through. His therapist told him once that if he expected a fight to start out of a conversation then he’d start fighting before he realized what he was doing. He’s trying to be better.

“What do you remember?” he dares to ask. You tilt your head towards your lap, fingers running over the edges of the book to ground yourself in the movements. “About the hospital?”

Your smile is brittle and you don’t look at him when you say, “I didn’t even remember what had happened at first.”

“When I first woke up after– after. I still don’t, mostly,” He watches you, patient and encouraging even when you can’t meet his eye. “Like, you know what happened. I got shot and spent weeks in there, but I don’t– It’s pretty much a blur.”

You sigh deeply. “But I woke up and I was afraid anyways. Like my body caught up to the situation before my mind did and I just– I was in pain, and I needed to get out,” you retell.

There’s barely a memory there; of Nolan’s hand in yours and the sheer relief in his voice, the smell and sounds of a hospital that are too familiar in your line of work.

“Sometimes,” you begin, and that’s where you cut yourself off, turning to him and smiling, fixing the facade back on. Nolan rushes to stop you before you completely hide from him, cupping your face tenderly.

You meet his eye and you look afraid. Nolan can’t blame you, it hasn’t been long since he stopped physically fleeing the room whenever you even hinted at the shooting. But he stays rooted in his spot, even if just to prove you both wrong.

“Sometimes?” he goads, braver than he feels. You look at him intensely for what feels a very long time, then begin to relax against his touch.

“Sometimes,” you say, slowly, like you’re still expecting him to make an excuse and leave you to your feelings. “Sometimes I feel like I’m still there,” you admit, lip wobbling. “Just. Lying there. Waiting for someone to find me. To realize something’s not right.”

Nolan’s throat closes off. You’re not talking about the hospital, he realizes as his stomach drops. You’re talking about the alleyway.

“It’s what I dream about, usually,” you sniff. Talking about the nightmare is better than having it, but it makes you nauseous nevertheless. You breathe in and out, deeply, a couple of times before you find your words again. “I’m lying there and it takes forever for someone to find me. Sometimes no one ever does and I wake up thinking I haven’t left that alley.”

That’s where Nolan’s perspective comes into view. He watches you wake, though only sometimes because there are nights in which you refuse to bother him despite how adamant he’s been about waking him up when you need him. He watches you wake and draws you back from the metaphorical cliff into his arms and your bed.

You’d never told him about the dreams. This is definitely a first.

He does his best to breathe, to keep eye contact. He meant it, the silent vow he made to himself when you came forward and asked him to go to therapy together. He’s through running away from this. If he keeps leaving you every time you feel like this, what makes him any different than the man who left you in that alley, fighting for your life?

He does his best. “I don’t know if I can help,” he admits shamefully, out loud for the first time but for the thousandth time to himself. “But I’m here.”

You shudder with a sniff. Shifting closer to him, Nolan takes your weight effortlessly, like this is what he was meant for. That, he’s never doubted.

“We found you,” he continues, a comfort that works for him as he hopes works for you. “We brought you home. I know exactly where you are.”

You lose the fight and bury your face in his shoulder, shaking in Nolan’s arms for a long, long time. Crying, he can tell, but quietly. He doesn’t tell you to be loud about it if you want to. He’s done telling you how to live through your grief.

“I kept thinking of you,” you admit later, much later, into his shirt. Nolan closes his eyes, wrecked. “Of who would call you, or if you… If you’d have to… to come claim a body.”

You feel him tighten his grip around you.

“You were the first thing I recognized,” you continue, quiet. You’re toying with his shirt, soothing your fingers over the soft, worn fabric. “When I woke up, amidst all that panic, there was you.”

You huff a laugh against him, breath warm. “I don’t know if I’ve thanked you for that lately. Calming me down. You’ve always been good at that.”

“I don’t feel like I’m doing much,” he admits shamefully.

He feels the way you shake your head, unwavering in your truth. “You do everything. You’re everything.”

“Right back at you, honey,” he says, and you hold each other for a very long time.

Halfway through getting your life back, almost nine months after the shooting that shattered your life to the ground, the team finds and collars the perp.

The same gun he used on you shows up in CODIS for another recent crime and you get a warning text from Fin less than ten minutes before he walks in with the suspect. Rollins is stone-faced by his side, both of them holding on to him despite his very obvious lack of struggle.

He barely even looks at you before he’s glancing away, bored. You remain unrecognizable to him but his features spark a flash of awareness deep in your unconscious and you’re excuse yourself to go dry heave in a bathroom while he gets processed.

Your thumb shakes over the screen of your phone, right on top of Nolan’s contact. You should just call him, you know it. You’ve done it before, and your husband would cross the city during rush hour and bend time to his will just to be by your side and hold you through the panic.

You know, but you can’t. You’ve been doing so good lately, finally; after the year from hell your lives are finally getting a glimpse of normalcy, and this– this is a Setback. Capital S setback, and after everything you’ve put him through… God, you can’t keep doing this to him.

You won’t do this to him. You call your therapist instead and hate every single second of it, hate even more that it works; forty minutes on the phone with her and you exit the bathroom with bloodshot eyes but with your chin held high and hands steady.

Amaro is the first to notice you and he catches your stare immediately, but he only nudges a tower of paperwork from his desk to yours and says, “You snooze, you lose, partner.”

“Dick,” you answer, your voice only a bit nasal. You’re so incredibly thankful for him that you could weep again right there and then.

You sit to get back to work, perp nowhere in sight, and bite the inside of your cheek in thought before you pull your phone back out, sending some rapid-fire texts.

Hey

I love you

You sigh and leaf through the papers, looking for where to start. Working through an equally ridiculous amount of files in his office across the city, Nolan’s eyebrows lift in curiosity at your texts.

I love you too

Is everything alright?

The three dots signifying your reply appear and disappear over the course of a few moments. After a while, his phone chimes again.

Rough day. Just wanted the reminder.

But I’m okay, I promise.

I’ll tell you all about it at home tonight.

Nolan sighs out slowly, and trusts you. Because of it, he watches you grow into your own skin again.

Your visits to Dr. Masters get less and less frequent and the damned paper finally gets signed. The nightmares, though not gone, lessen and don’t make you sick to your stomach anymore as you trace Nolan’s features in the dark to soothe yourself back into a slumber. You tell him everything, become more lenient with your resurfacing memories and in return, you hold Nolan as he talks about those days at the hospital and cries until he physically can’t anymore.

It’s so familiar and so, so new. You’re who you’ve always been and yet Nolan finds himself staring at you sometimes, amazed at the differences– a woman reshaped entirely by trauma and victorious over it nevertheless. Victorious because of it.

When you drag him away from the kitchen sink where dirty dishes sit after dinner, he barely puts up a fight. Nolan eagerly follows you to the couch and sinks into your embrace when you tangle your fingers in his hair, shivering against your welcoming touch.

You’re making out like teenagers– like you used to when you were in college– with no specific purpose until Nolan starts to forget himself. His hands are around your waist, squeezing unconsciously while you, on top of him, swallow his sound of elation and run your tongue along his teeth, wet and dirty.

Jesus, Nolan thinks unabashedly, and wants, wants, wants–

He nudges his leg between your thighs, pants uncomfortably tight, when you call his name. You’re pulling away suddenly, bringing him back from a daze, a hand tangled in his hair. Your fingers twitch with restraint as you look him over, pensive.

Nolan sighs, leaning his temple against yours and trying to get his breathing back into a less agitated rhythm. All he gets is a whisk of your perfume and the warmth of your skin, his efforts useless.

“Right,” he murmurs, voice velvet quiet. He’s still trying to preserve the moment even after your new set of boundaries. “Right. I’m sorry.”

You haven’t gone that far since– Since. Nolan can’t recall the details of the last time you were together, one random night the week you were shot. He didn’t think he’d have to, but now he wishes he had committed the night to memory; your skin under his hands, the sounds you made, how you reached bliss together–

“Don’t be,” you say equally as lowly, pupils blown, gaze ardent. “I want…”

You drift off. It’s suddenly urgent, imperative that Nolan knows what you’re asking for, needs to give it to you immediately.

“What?” he murmurs back, thumbing at your bottom lip, bruised and kissed. Your breath is hot against his skin. “What, honey, what do you want? What can I do?”

“Kiss me again,” You say. Then, before he can comply– “Don’t– don’t stop. I don’t want you to stop.”

“You…” Nolan says, shaking his head to pull himself together, attention still hazy around the edges. Your name tastes so sweet when he says it. “You mean…”

“Please,” you whine, and Nolan’s body reacts to the sound all on its own, hips subtly canting up towards you. You press your mouth to his jaw, tongue barely caressing the skin. “Please, Nole, please keep touching me.”

Nolan curses, both at your words and the realization he might not last as long as he’d like if you keep saying these things to him. “Sweetheart. Oh, are you sure?”

Your breath hitches. “God, Nolan, more than anything else.”

“Come on. Come here,” Nolan insists, turning to kiss you so thoroughly he almost forgets the point he’s trying to make. “I’m gonna do this right, okay? We have a perfectly good bed in the other room–”

He scrambles up and takes your hand, taking you with him. You surrender to him and he kisses your hand, the crook of your elbow, your shoulder and neck, in a rush and yet wanting to make this last as long as possible.

You laugh amidst your urgency, rich and lovely, cupping his face and kissing him soundly, rubbing against him. Nolan is a weak, weak man.

“I love you,” you say while he buries himself inside you later in bed, sheets pooled around the both of you, and looking up at him like you can’t believe he’s real. Nolan’s on top of you and he’s got your fingers tangled together; your hands pinned against the sides of your face. They’re points of steadiness as the tension inside him threatens to snap with each thrust, however small. “I love you, Nole, I love you so much–”

He’s not ashamed to say he’s crying when he finally comes, and you cup his face in your hands with a wounded sound when you realize. You kiss him as you finally let yourself go and it tastes like victory. Like work; like blood, sweat and tears. It feels like being yourself, added scars and all, Nolan’s warmth a steady, sure thing against your side.

started this over a year ago and it's finally yours!!! sorry i've been so absent, i've been having the worst writer's block of my life lol but i hope you love this as much as i do! let me know what you think and i hope you see more from me in the next months! thanks for reading <3

#nolan price x reader #leo writes #nolan price #hugh dancy #law & order #law and order #svu #svu x reader #reader insert #olivia benson #nick amaro #amanda rollins #john munch #donald cragen #fin tutuola #svu imagine #one shot #law and order x reader

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puzzleglum · 2 months ago

Text

(Another analysis/theory crossposted from Disqus comments. I wrote this under the Chapter 16 cover update. Slightly edited for Tumblr. Enjoy!)

The picnic and tea set bother me. I can’t make sense of their symbolic meaning. So I wrote some thoughts on previous tea times we’ve seen. Why the heck not!

I can think of two times when characters drank tea before. Both times, they were getting reflective, trying to puzzle something out.

Hyde thinking over his difficulties dealing with his emotions without Jekyll there to act as a counterbalance. A voice of reason, if you will. When Hyde doesn’t have Jekyll there to brainstorm with, the only thing he has left to turn to is his own anxiety. As the night wore on, his thought spirals and self control only got worse. Hyde needs Jekyll, regardless of anything else.

The second time was Lanyon trying to figure out why Hyde reminded him of Jekyll. Coming close, but not having enough of the middle pieces of the puzzle to make the edges fit. Of course, we already know the payoff for this moment.

Lanyon finally making the connection. Frankenstein WAS right. Hyde has always been a part of Jekyll. Including university. Lanyon’s face, when he says he’s such an idiot, looks to me like he finally got those middle pieces of the puzzle. And suddenly EVERYTHING that was so strange—Jekyll’s behavior leading up to the exhibition, Hyde acting like he knew Lanyon, Hyde reminding him of Jekyll—just FITS.

The picture of the puzzle is clear, or at least clear enough that you can tell WHAT it is, even if you don’t have every detail piece yet. And he doesn’t. Hyde will have to fill him in on what exactly he was supposed to be, the details of the experiment, the potion, and most importantly: why Jekyll thought splitting his soul would let him be “good.” Would let him be the person everyone supposedly needed him to be.

Or did they? I don’t think Lanyon ever needed Henry to be anything different from who he already was, honestly. After all…that’s the person he fell in love with.

I don’t know about anyone else, but I am raring to see Lanyon confront Hyde, soon enough. I need the sequel to their talk in Chapter 10 SO BAD. Lanyon and Hyde Confrontation 2: This Time The Secret’s Out. No matter what, it's bound to be a juicy conversation!

But what about the tea set depicted in the cover? Well, right now…I’m picturing, against all seemingly impossible odds, a contemplative conversation between Jekyll and Hyde in the mind. Reflection, just like with these previous tea times. After all, what better time to discuss identity issues and self-hatred than with a spot of tea? What better time to discuss our possible continued reasons for living, for choosing to live, despite everything?

Of course, that’s just a theory…(snrk) a COMIC theory! XD Okay that’s enough of that. But if anyone has other thoughts to add, please let me know them!! And thanks for reading!! <333333333

#tgs #the glass scientists #tgs theories #tgs meta

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cheegu3 · 2 years ago

Note

Hi, I loved your glory based enha fic so much! Please do a part 2 or sequel of it? I want to see why they bully and kiss the mc at same time. Maybe you can make it yandere since you mentioned that it was not?

Honestly I'm new to your blog but love your work so much!

I've gotten many requests like this, so I decided to make a mini series out of it, technically it's my first series to finish so lower ur expectations everyone lol. Thank you so much for reading and supporting my work, welcome & love u !! <3

dc list (all the ppl that requested a pt.2) - @ceeesxy-blog, @roses-and-blue-perennial-salvia, @/anons special thanks to @muminpopz, for giving me the idea to introduce a second character !!

to clarify - my last part was still yandere, that's why they wanted to kiss her, I think I wrote that in my last fic bc it wasn't really mentioned much.

note; I haven't planned the plot 100% so voting will probably be a big part of deciding what happens next, only the first ones to read (24hrs) get to vote but u can still leave your opinions in the comments <3

this is a bit long, I apologize in advance, I am determined to give this an ending now lol

wc; 4.4k

pairing; enha x f.m reader

featuring; yeonjun & soobin (txt)

tw / trigger warning; yandere themes, severe bullying, the glory inspired, scars, mentions of forced kissing, mentions of drinking and smoking, trauma, swearing

pt.1

Enhypen - the glory (PT.2)

The irritating fluorescent lights flickering above made you scrunch your nose and turn on your side. Those damn hospital lights reminded you of those moments you'd spent there a couple of years ago, when your mom needed treatment for her illness. They felt eerie, almost like a weakening heartbeat flickering back at you while you stared at them.

Now here you were, back at the hospital again. Your dad had accidentally spotted the burns, poking out from under your shirt as you raised your arms above your head to put something on a shelf. Wishing you'd been more careful was useless now as you looked at the sleeping form of your dad slumped over the dreary hospital bed.

Your bullies had no idea you were in the hospital, but surely they'd be notified soon enough. There was no way your dad would let this thing go after seeing how badly they left you. He had dried tears on his hollow cheeks that made your heart twist painfully in guilt.

Although it wasn't your fault at all, you didn't want to be a burden to him. He already worked more than his body could handle, constantly stressed with the increasing workload his company gave him.

'' Miss, y/n? ''

You sat up straight at the sound of a nurse. She approached your bed with a sympathetic smile on her face, and you felt bad for her too. She looked young, too young - had you scarred her as well with your injuries? They weren't very nice to look at after all.

'' Yes? '' you whispered, eyes fleeting briefly to your dad sleeping to let the nurse know not to wake him up.

'' We've administered some soothing cream and medicine in case the pain gets too unbearable. If you wish, you may go home now. ''

You nodded. '' Thank you. ''

You reached out your hand and gently pat your dad. He grunted and slowly got up, stretching his sore neck as he slowly started waking up. He looked at you questioningly instead of asking what was wrong.

'' They said I could go home. ''

He sighed, maybe a bit louder than he had intended to because a look of regret flashed across his face, hurriedly he assured you, '' I wasn't worried about the bills, honey. ''

You knew he was but you didn't say anything. The promise of your warm, comfortable bed waiting at home was enough for you to stay quiet, even during the whole ride home.

Hearing the additional quiet sighs of your exhausted dad behind you when you hurried to your bedroom, made another pang of guilt hit you. But this time you ignored it too - another more important thought was filling up your mind now.

What would happen at school tomorrow?

You slipped under the heated covers and as a result of the long day, you fell asleep almost as soon as your head hit the pillow.

*******

You were one of the earliest students to arrive this time. Taking your designated spot at the back of the class, your head naturally fell into your arms as you yawned off the morning grogginess.

Before you left that morning, your dad had given you a smile and told you that, ' If those punks give you trouble again, call me '. But he had said so while balancing both his files and a cup of nearly spilled coffee, along with a laptop tucked under his arm. You'd seen him for maybe a few minutes before he disappeared off to work again.

You smiled a bit melancholically, knowing that if trouble did arise you wouldn't call him. Hopefully you wouldn't have a reason to do so anyway; maybe they'd be more gentle with you since they gave you such a harsh punishment last time.

The bell rang, startling you and making you raise your head. The class was pretty much full now. By instinct your eyes dart to where they always sat. Surprisingly, they were all in their seats but didn't seem to be paying you too much attention.

A few of them looked sleepy, slumped over their desks like you had been just a minute ago. The others had dark circles under their eyes and stared blankly towards the blackboard.

Rough night? They almost looked like they'd been out partying. You scoffed. It wouldn't shock you if they had; they sometimes smelled of smoke as they'd kiss you in the gym, so you wouldn't put it past them to drink during a school night too.

'' Good morning, class! '' the teacher's cheerful voice cut through the room.

The tired students responded back but in a much less bright tone.

'' We have a new student today. A transfer from Ansan. ''

The murmur from the usual chatty students stopped, and it became dead quiet. Just then the classroom door slid open and a tall, very good-looking guy crouched to get in.

'' This is Soobin, please introduce yourself. '' the teacher smiled.

'' Hi everyone, I'm Soobin. Nice to meet you. '' he said solemnly.

He sounded a bit shy and he didn't keep eye-contact with the students for long, eyes dashing anxiously from person to person while he clasped his hands together.

When his eyes landed on you, you smiled politely. Based on first impressions alone, it was clear as day to anyone that this guy didn't seem like a bully, so you wanted to be nice to him.

It's not easy being new, you knew that very well when you had to transfer during the second part of the first year. Back then, there weren't any people like you that would want to take care of the newcomer, like you wanted to take care of Soobin - and that's how you became their target. You couldn't let that happen to this guy.

'' You can take the seat next to y/n, that one in the back. '' you heard the teacher say.

You smiled again, that would certainly make things a bit easier as he would be sitting closer to you than your bullies. The part where you actually had to try to become friends was harder. You couldn't remember the last time you had a friend.

Soobin cautiously walked over to his seat, keeping his eyes down the whole time. He looked even taller up close, and he barely fit in his seat which made you snort quietly to yourself.

The teacher turned her back and started writing on the board as the murmur returned again. You fiddled nervously with your fingers before finally turning your head to him, determination shining in your eyes.

He must've seen you do so in his peripheral vision because he looked at you too, his bunny-like eyes growing twice its size.

'' Hi, I'm y/n. ''

'' Yeah, she...uh said so. '' he gestured to the teacher and then seemed to cringe at himself.

You let out a light laugh, maybe you were both equally awkward.

'' I guess she did. '' you gave him a genuine smile, one that reached your eyes. It had been a long time since you'd smiled in that way.

'' I'm Soobin. '' he seemed to relax when he saw your smile, a small one played on his own lips as he observed you timidly.

'' I know, she said that. '' you teased back.

He chuckled and you thought you saw him blush before he turned to pick up his notebooks from his backpack. You did the same, starting to copy the material from the board.

'' Hey, is it- okay if I eat lunch with you later? I know it's a weird thing to ask, but I don't really have anyone. '' he quickly rambled after you had been taking notes for some time.

'' I mean, you don't have to say yes if you already have someone you're eating with I just thought I'd ask. ''

A shy pout formed on his lips, seemingly indicating that he felt that he had embarrassed himself again. But you found it cute.

'' No, that sounds perfect. I don't really have any friends either. '' you admitted.

'' Oh. ''

'' It's okay. '' you laughed.

And then the two of you continued studying, while the sweet promise of having someone to finally eat lunch with was circling inside your mind.

*******

When the bell rang, you quickly packed up your things and waited for Soobin outside. You were slightly scared that if you were one of the last ones to leave, then your bullies would catch you red-handed and see your newfound friendship, prompting them to do something to the new student.

Soobin looked happy walking by your side, completely oblivious to all the stares and whispers that followed the two of you. He was even humming something, moving his head slightly all the way through the queue in the cafeteria to the walk to your table.

You chose one that was out of sight from the entrance, just in case they'd eat today. They often didn't - being from snobby rich families and all, they were grossed out by the cafeteria food and would usually drive home during lunch or go out to a restaurant together.

Someone must've told them about you and Soobin however, because you suddenly heard the table next to you gasp and gossip.

'' Why are they eating here today? ''

One of the girls glanced towards you, and when the others noticed, they all looked at you. Soobin looked confused, he stopped midway with his mouth open and his chopsticks carrying the food dropped it clumsily.

They giggled at him. But you couldn't even find humour in something like that when you had a bad feeling in your stomach. They were probably right when they looked at you as the answer to their question.

But why? Why would this make them angry? What would they do to Soobin now?

'' Hey, y/n. ''

You raised your head cautiously, dreading to see them. The fact that they seemed so out of it during the lesson shouldn't have made you feel so confident that it meant they'd avoid you all day.

Jake was the one who stood slightly in front of the group, the others gave threatening glares to students that looked like they wanted to intervene, making them hurriedly scurry away.

'' Yes? '' you couldn't hide the irritation in your voice.

'' What do you think you're doing? '' Jake cocked an eyebrow and then his attention was caught Soobin who was peacefully eating.

Your bullies seemed to assess him from head to toe which made the poor new student look very uncomfortable, causing him to squirm in his seat and clear his throat.

'' Eating lunch? '' you snarkily respond and then attempt to go back to eating while ignoring them.

You heard a scoff.

'' Did we say you could do that? '' Jay sneered, looking down at you.

Your cheeks started heating up and you turned your head as it started to show. The whole thing being done in front of Soobin made it feel ten times worse. Had you now lost a potential friend because they wanted to embarrass you like this on his first day?

You were about to respond but were interrupted by them all abruptly moving to squeeze in next to you and Soobin. The two of you exchanged confused looks.

'' We just wanted to join, can we not do that? '' Sunghoon winks to the flustered new student, who nods hesitantly.

But your lack of answer didn't satisfy them. Heeseung who sat closest to you, rested his hand on your exposed thigh as his eyes held a non-spoken warning in them.

'' Of course. '' you respond flatly, earning a satisfied grin from him.

It felt like you were holding your breath all throughout that excruciatingly long lunch. They'd never eaten with you before and it became clear quite quickly that the reason they did so today wasn't because of you - but, because of Soobin.

All throughout, their focus was on him and not you. It made you feel uneasy, like they had something up their sleeves. The new student was asked questions enthusiastically, which he answered happily as he slowly got out of his shell more and more. But you noticed the looks and the smirks they shared when he wasn't looking. Problem was that any time you'd try to warn Soobin, that hand would return back to your thigh. Heeseung didn't need to say anything, you knew not to test it. Still you hoped you'd have the chance to warn him later.

The reason why was because the way they treated Soobin on his first day made you get a horrible sense of deja-vu. In an instant you were transported back in time to your very own first day.

*******

You overheard girls talking in the halls while waiting for the teacher outside the classroom; about some guy they had hooked up with.

'' Are you fucking stupid? '' one of the girls sudden aggressive outburst made you perk your ears up without meaning to.

You didn't exactly have anything else to occupy your bored mind with while waiting anyway, so you eavesdropped a little.

'' Lee Heeseung? You hooked up with the Lee Heeseung? ''

Shifting your weight and turning over while pressed against the wall, you tried to get a good look at the poor girl who seemed to have gotten taken advantage of.

'' He's a known fuckboy and player. '' the angry one continued.

The girl you assumed was the topic of conversation shrugged, but she had a slight sad frown on her face.

'' I thought that...maybe I could change him. ''

The two others girls erupted into shrill laughter. You couldn't help but feel some sympathy for her despite her bad decisions. The teacher interrupted just as you were about to ask them about the guy, so you could avoid him.

'' Y/n? Are you ready? ''

You grimaced and nodded, giving one last look at the girl before following the teacher into the classroom.

Immediately a small pang of panic hit you. It wasn't empty like you'd expected, in fact - pretty much every single chair was filled with a student.

'' Good morning, class! '' the teacher's cheerful voice brought you back to reality.

You just had to introduce yourself and then the danger was over. You could spend the rest of the day glued to your desk, not talking to anyone and when lunchtime would hit, the convenience store across the school was your best bet.

'' We have a new student today. A transfer from Seongnam. ''

'' This is y/n, please introduce yourself. ''

You looked at the teacher, slight panic evident in your eyes. Clearing your throat you stepped forward a few steps.

'' Hi everyone, I'm y/n. Nice to meet you. ''

Your anxiety slowly started dissapating when a few students answered back politely and you released a breath you didn't know you'd been holding in.

'' You can take the seat next to Heeseung, that one in the back. '' you heard the teacher say, she was gesturing towards the back right of the classroom where a bunch of guys were huddled over one table, too busy talking to register what the teacher had said.

You obediently walked over there and tried not to make a scene when you put your things on the chair that was closest to the table they were all gathered around.

To your dismay, the owner of the popular table had noticed you in the corner of his eye. He quickly waved everyone away and then focused his attention on you.

It was very hard to ignore.

'' Hey, sweetheart. ''

No matter how hard you fought back to not show any reaction, your face scowled at the sound of his nickname, earning an abrupt laugh from one of the boys.

You were sure this meant bad news for you, a guy like that wouldn't want to be humiliated in front of his whole friend-group, so you quickly gave him a sheepish smile.

'' Yes? ''

Your innocent tone made his eyes narrow as more of the boys laughed. The longer you kept eye-contact, the more you felt him openly glare with something you couldn't quite explain glinting in his brown gaze.

Before he could embarrass himself in front of his friends further, he stood up so suddenly that the chair underneath made a loud screeching noise. To you surprise, everyone minded their business which was very different from your last school where everyone was nosy and the sound would've immediately made people whip their heads around in curiosity.

He dragged the chair as close as he could to next to yours, so close that the material was slightly pushing into your bare thigh.

Your eyebrows knit together as you watched him sit down. It was way too close for your comfort; you could even smell his cologne and the fact that it was so obvious it was an expensive one made you immediately annoyed.

He leaned in now, being just a few inches above your ear and most likely shielding you from his friends.

'' Do you know who I am? ''

Your loud scoff for answer seemed to enrage him even more. His much larger hand found your wrist and easily trapped it in a painful grip.

'' No, sorry. '' you hurriedly answer, feeling a lot less brave now, your wrist was already starting to hurt.

'' I'm Heeseung, remember that. ''

In your scared state, your head seemed to move on its own, rapidly nodding obediently. A victorious smirk appeared on his face before he finally retreated, dragging the chair behind him back to the group.

You dreaded the sound of the bell ringing. Predicting that he'd be standing right outside the classroom waiting for you with his friends. It was a long shot, but you tried taking the other door.

'' Hee? ''

You gasped, bumping into a taller male's chest. When you backed away and looked up, you cursed under your breath - it was one of his friends.

It seemed that they had thought of the possibility of you attempting to flee. The thought made your cheeks turn red.

Heeseung joined his friends who'd been guarding the door you tried to escape out of. Looking down at you very arrogantly, as if he could read your face and your thoughts, knowing you were flustered.

'' Did you try to run away? '' he snickered, putting his hands in his pockets and tilting his head at you.

It had the effect you were sure he wanted, you felt mocked and avoided his eyes.

'' Sorry. ''

He hummed before you felt his fingers wrap around your wrist again.

'' Let's go. ''

You went with them without protesting. Although you feared where they were taking you, you feared speaking and potentially getting on their nerves because of it, way more.

They were quiet the whole way, which seemed to never end. You passed by many classrooms, the cafeteria and walked down the loneliest and darkest corridor; yet they only spoke when the ones in front of the group seemed to come to a halt in front of a double door.

'' Open it. '' you heard one of the ones behind you say.

The tallest of the group, who was in front, unlocked it instantly and the lock fell to the floor in a loud thump. He pushed it open all the way, revealing a very large gymnast hall.

'' Why did you take me here? ''

It had become quite clear very fast that these people weren't someone you should mess with, and they were pretty high up on the school's hierarchy judging by the way no one interfered; instead pretending like they didn't see you pass by.

You made a quick guess that whenever they needed something, like the perfect place to do something bad to someone without others hearing - they were given it in one way or another. Maybe some poor student had been forced to get the keys from the teacher just to satisfy them.

'' Go sit over there. ''

Your head follow the voice. It was a pretty tall guy who was undeniably very handsome, from his silver hair and defined eyebrows to his deep voice, everything about him was pretty attractive.

It made you wonder what he wanted with you.

You didn't ponder on that thought long however, moving in a haste again to make sure they didn't get angry. Jumping up on the plinth he had pointed at, you watched nervously as they all approached the stairs leading up to a stage that your back was facing.

Without them needing to tell you to, you automatically turned around just in time for them to form a half-mood around you. Trying to read their faces was very difficult as they all looked at Heeseung who was sitting straight across from you, staring right back.

'' Why did you take me here? '' you try to ask again.

'' Well...I- we like you '' he answered simply, shrugging like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

'' What? '' you say dumbfoundedly.

'' I was trying to hit on you earlier, I don't know if you noticed. '' Heeseung bit down hard on his lip to stop himself from smiling.

'' But being nice didn't really work on you, did it? ''

'' We realised that with you, we need to use more extreme methods. '' a new voice said, one of the ones that hadn't said a word to you yet, who had strawberry blond hair and a soft voice.

'' Wh-What do you mean by that? '' your eyebrows knit together as your eyes darted anxiously between the two closest to you, being prepared to run if you had to.

'' I'm Sunghoon. '' the silver haired-boy said, ignoring your question.

'' I'm Jake. '' said the guy next to him.

Your gaze naturally averted to him. He looked like an innocent puppy, you wondered why he was friends with people like Heeseung. But when your eyes locked, he winked at you and you got your answer, face quickly turning into a grimace of disgust.

'' I'm Ni-ki. '' the tallest one said.

'' I'm Sunoo. '' the gentle one said, catching you off-guard when he flashed a big friendly grin.

'' Jungwon. '' the one closest to you on the other side said grumpily, not even bothering to look at you while saying it.

His red hair that seemed to be fading, was a perfect match to his personality, the whole time he looked like he was in a sour mood.

'' I'm Jay. '' the one furthest from you said.

He looked like a pretty scary guy, dark hair that was cut in a way that framed his sharp features.

'' That's everyone. Don't forget their names, okay? '' Heeseung spoke up last, tilting his head while smiling slightly at you.

Your voice didn't seem to work, you felt frozen in your spot, like you were glued to the plinth underneath you.

'' Can you not speak? ''

You saw anger flash across his face which only made your panic worse, but you couldn't get a single word out despite it, only a string of stutters and incomprehensible words left your mouth.

'' Do you want me to help you? ''

Not even registering that he had gotten up from his seat, you were taken by surprise when his rough hands grabbed either side of your face as his lips devoured you.

You tried to scream or turn your head so he couldn't have access to your mouth, but it was to no avail. Eventually your hands fell limp. All you could do was pray that it would end quickly, while your whines of protest were muffled by his hungry lips.

When he pulled away, he had a cocky smile on his face.

'' Get used to this. '' were his last words you heard before they left, forever engrained in your mind.

And that was how it started. No matter how much it happened, which was pretty much every other day after school at this point - it still didn't get easier, your clothes always got stained with tears. Their voices didn't help calm you down when you'd see the obvious desire in their eyes. They were like a hungry pack of wolves, just waiting for their turn with the prey

*******

The school bell rang after about half an hour, instantly snapping you out of your daydream. Your bullies said their goodbyes and then left, with one last look at you. But you shrugged it off and immediately leaned over the table to talk to Soobin.

'' Don't trust them, please! They might be all nice and sound like they actually want to be your friend but they're horrible bullies and- '' you hesitated before pulling up your sleeve to reveal the marks they'd left on you. '' They did this to me! Trust me...they're not good people. ''

Soobin's eyed widened in horror and his hand slightly twitched, as if he was either holding back the urge to clench his fist in anger, or resisting the urge to reach out and gently touch your wounds.

'' I'm sorry. '' was all he said after some time of silence.

You smiled a bit apologetically, pulling down the sleeve again. He seemed sweet and you didn't want to cause him distress for no reason, it just felt a lot more impactful if you showed him to make him believe you.

'' It's okay, I'm sure you didn't know. They're quite charming at first, that's how they get you. ''

'' I'm a bit offended that you thought I fell for it though. '' Soobin snickered.

'' What? ''

'' You think I believed all that bullshit, right after they spoke to you very passive-aggressively and basically shot daggers my way? ''

'' Uh...well, yeah? ''

He laughed heartily and stood up, you following as he threw the trash off his tray away.

'' That actually makes me feel a bit better. '' you mumblingly confess.

The pair of you walked together to class and spent the next few lessons and breaks together as well, surprisingly unbothered by your bullies this time since you were with someone for the first time in a long time.

At the end of the day when the bell rang, Soobin asked to hang out. He said he wanted to introduce you to his older brother and said he had something to talk about. You reluctantly agreed, but were on guard the whole taxi ride to his house since he was still a stranger.

His house was pretty big, located close to where the richest families in the country lived. He however claimed he wasn't rich; that it was his step-father that was pretty well off, but they didn't have a good relationship so he didn't spoil him.

'' Who are you? ''

You stared at the older male leaning against his desk. His eyes narrowed as they bore into you. Then they shifted to his younger brother who immediately straightened up.

'' It's my new friend, y/n. ''

'' Okay? ''

'' Yeonjun, please be a bit nicer. She needs our help. '' Soobin begged.

A puzzled expression overtook your face as you tugged on his sleeve.

'' What do you mean? ''

'' I will help you take them down. '' he said, a smirk slowly creeping up on his lips. '' Every, single one of them. ''

#yandere kpop #kpop yandere #yandere enha #yandere enhypen #enha x reader #kpop imagines #enha the glory

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zepskies · 1 year ago

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Omgosh I loveeee the imagines for Sam having a crush on deans gf!!! And the part 2 SO ANGSTY. And you write dean and readers interactions so well! (Feel free to ignore if you don't wanna do this) But I'm so curious to know how the conversation went between Dean and the reader after finding out! I just need to know how dean talks about the situation with them!! Anyway HAVE A GREAT DAY 🩷🩷

Hello my lovely anon!

I'm so glad you enjoyed those angsty little imagines. 😂 For those who don't know, they're referring to these:

You are Dean's one exception. (In which Sam is in love with Dean's girlfriend - and how Dean reacts.)

Sam crosses the line. (The sequel: Sam finally sees his chance with you after he's hit by a witch's spell.)

I tried to imply what followed between the reader and Dean after this section:

Your eyes widen further. You look from Sam, to your boyfriend. Dean's jaw is clenched tight.

"Okay, what the fuck is going on?!" you ask in earnest.

Dean meets your gaze for a moment, his face tense. His reluctant eyes communicate to you things you never knew. Things that clog emotion in your throat.

But since you asked so nicely, this is my headcanon for that conversation between the reader and Dean (after Sam is knocked out by Rowena lol):

Of course, you would demand to know why Dean didn't tell you earlier.

Your heart and mind are a maelstrom of emotions: shock, not wanting to believe it's true, anger and hurt at both of these men for lying to you for so long about what's been going on.

Because a lie of omission is still a damn lie.

Dean is quiet at first, and you're forced to read into his silence. You peer at him closer, grabbing his wrist.

"Dean...did you really think it would change anything?" you ask incredulously.

His brows furrow. "No."

But you don't quite believe him.

"I just...didn't want you to have to deal with this shit, that's all," he eventually admits.

Your eyes narrow as you stare up at his face. You're trying to discern the truth.

"Is that really why?" you ask.

"Yeah, okay?" His voice is gruff and frustrated.

You move in closer, gripping the open edges of his plaid shirt. He knows what you're demanding in your gentle silence.

Don't lie to me.

Your hand reaches up to his cheek, a tender gesture that softens him. Your thumb brushes across his lower lip.

"Good," you reply. "Because if I have to remind you that I am entirely, undeniably, irrevocably in love with you, then I might just have to punish you."

A slow smirk spreads across your man's face.

"Oh yeah?" he says. His hands find your hips, drawing you closer. You're satisfied by the hint of doubt washing away from his demeanor. From his tight shoulders loosening.

"Just outta curiosity, what might that entail?" Dean asks.

Your lips curve. "Oh, you'll find out, after we fix your brother... Dean, I'll need to talk to him."

Dean's burgeoning good humor fades, but you take his face in both your hands and make sure he meets your gaze. You are firm in your convictions, and he sees that.

He nods in acceptance, before he dips down to press his lips to yours. It's gentle at first, but all too soon becomes claiming, born of hidden frustration and passion.

When he parts from you, it's slow, reluctant. His fingers draw a strand of hair behind your ear.

In his eyes, you see the true depths of him. Something not many people get to see.

It's there that you always know that you're loved.

I hope that satisfied you, my dear! 😘 I miiiiight do a more official 3rd part to this imagine-verse where Sam gets his happy ending (with Eileen).

Dean Winchester Imagines

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Dean W. Tag List:

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb @vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @roseblue373 @this-is-me19 @emily-winchester @spnexploration @deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma @iprobablyshipit91

@melancholictearz @nic-kolas @katherineann83 @sleepyqueerenergy @wayward-lost-and-never-found @thewritersaddictions @just-levyy @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @deanwanddamons @antisocialcorrupt @lacilou @adoringanakin @theonlymaninthesky @teehxk @midnightmadwoman @brianochka @branj19

@agalliasi @venicesem @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @solariklees @xsophianicolex @deansbbyx @candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley @sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @ultrahviolentart @chernayawidow @beskarfilms @mimaria420

#ask me stuff #dean winchester #dean winchester imagine #Sam crosses the line “sort of” sequel #being deans one exception #sam in love with deans girlfriend #sam winchester #sam winchester imagine #sam and dean #angst #unrequited love #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x female reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fic #spn #supernatural #zepskies answers

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mydisenchantedeulogy · 1 year ago

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Sweet Decadence || Part 1 of 2 || Bi-Han/Sub-Zero

A/n: This is the sequel to 'The Bitter Truth'. I have separated it into 2 parts for my reasons, but I want to thank those who read TBT and supported the story.

Please enjoy.

Warning(s): obsessive behavior, female reader, reader uses magic, kidnapping, fights, sequel, post-game.

No Minors Allowed!!

There is something magical about the rain that makes the colors of nature seem much more vivid to you. Though perhaps it is just the blissful mood you are in, altering your perception of things. A rare sight these days, considering how inconsistent your thoughts have been since your heated run-in with Bi-Han.

Hiding away in your room at the newly set up Shirai Ryu compound, you stare out at the forest beyond your balcony in a dazed state as the summer rain pelts the trees and earth.

It feels like nothing but a dream now, and to be honest, you sometimes yearn to close your eyes and return to that moment again. You do not want to be reminded of the past; of the anger and the betrayal that comes with it. No. You just want to remember the feeling.

He was right, that much is clear now.

“You are in denial. It's clear to me where your loyalty lies, and until you come to terms with the bitter truth, I'll leave you with that reminder.”

A phantom pain seizes you, but you ignore it. Just like your morals at the moment. No, you are not an idiot. You know what Bi-Han desires is immoral, but you can not put aside your sentiments for him; sentiments that became clear when he fucked you.

For fuck’s sake. That sounds bad.

It is true though. Not a day has gone by since then that you haven't thought about him; about the way he made you feel, unintentional or not.

Tilting your head back, you rest it against the doorframe and stare up at the ceiling with the sound of the rain in your ears. Your mind is a labyrinth and you do not necessarily care. This ebb and flow of thoughts proves that you have not yet lost your standards.

So long as you avoid Bi-Han in the future, you should be fine.

A sudden knock pulls you from your thoughts and you tilt your head to the side, glancing at the door to the far left of you.

“It's unlocked,” you announce.

A moment later, Harumi Shirai saunters in. You sit up to address her properly, but she raises her hand to stop you.

“There is no need for such formalities, not when it is I who came to see you.”

You grin.

“As the soon-to-be wife of my Grandmaster, it is indeed needed.”

It is strange to address Kuai Liang as Grandmaster, but after all that he has been through and done to build the Shirai Ryu, he deserves the title. He even found time for love.

Harumi offers you a kind smile.

“It is our secret.”

She wanders across the room and sits in front of your vanity.

“Are you faring well?”

You hum.

“For the most part.”

After you came back from the fortress you reported to Kuai Liang about your run-in with Bi-Han, though you opted not to mention the fact you fucked him. The brand he left was hard enough to explain, but it could not be avoided; you needed medical attention.

Kuai Liang viewed it as a failed attempt to lure you back to Lin Kuei, but it was apparent that he was curious about what dark agenda his brother had regarding you.

In truth, you should be dead for denying him.

“And your wound? I can have someone take a look at it if it still pains you,” Harumi mentions.

You decline her offer.

“Though appreciated, that is not necessary.” You subconsciously rest your hand against the brand on your side. “The pain went away months ago…yet it sometimes still burns.”

Harumi frowns.

“If it begins to bother you, I suggest you tell me.”

You snort. It is no wonder Kuai Liang loves her; she is considerate, yet stern.

“Yes, Madam.”

Harumi nods her head in approval and then stands.

“I will see you at lunch. You missed breakfast.”

You are aware. But you suppose that is what warranted this visit.

“The rain has put me in a strange mood,” you lie. “But I will be there.”

Harumi seems unsure, but she does not voice her concerns. Instead, she wishes you a good morning and leaves you to your thoughts again.

You understand. Kuai Liang and Tomas are worried about you. But it is not their problem, it is yours.

Your obsession with Bi-Han is yours to bear.

Shifting your eyes, you stare in a haze at the forest again. Perhaps soon this fixation will pass. For your sake, it had better.

–

At noon, you tear yourself away from the comfort of your bedroom, following the briny scent of fish to the dining room. A spread of rice and vegetables accompanies it, making your stomach twist in hunger.

Before you sit across from Tomas on the left side of the table, you bow in respect to Kuai Liang, who nods his head.

“I am pleased to see that you joined us.”

You grin and turn your eyes to Harumi beside him.

“I was encouraged to.”

Kuai Liang glances at her, then returns to his lunch. You follow suit, however, you notice that in attendance, there are only the four of you.

“Where are the others?” You ask as you pick up your drink.

“Running exercises,” Tomas answers. “Though some are spread out in the nearby villages.”

An unsure look from Kuai Liang makes you pause a moment. You raise a curious brow.

“What is it?”

The Grandmaster sighs.

“Nothing concerning as of yet…but we have heard rumors of hostiles.”

Hostiles. A neighboring clan perhaps. This is the first time you have heard about it, but you suppose the brothers have their reasons.

Focusing on your lunch, you hardly notice the injured ninja stumble in until he collapses to the floor in a bloody mess. In shock, you rush over to him, followed by Tomas who carefully checks over his wounds. He is in bad shape, but thankfully alive.

“Who did this?” Tomas asks in anger.

The ninja raises his trembling hand. You notice a thin metal plate in the palm of his hand and upon further inspection, you notice a familiar symbol etched into it. Your stomach churns in dread.

“Lin Kuei.”

Here of all places.

Tomas widens his eyes and takes the plate from you. He stands just as Kuai Liang approaches with a healer, handing the plate to him.

“Where?” Kuai Liang asks the injured man.

“W-West,” he manages to say.

Clutching the emblem in his hand, he shifts his eyes to Tomas.

“We shall go.”

Without a word, the latter rushes off. You feel a bit shaken, but despite this, you stand.

“Grandmaster–”

“If you are unwell, then stay and protect Harumi,” Kuai Liang interrupts.

You understand his concerns, but you can not just flee from the cryomancer’s shadow every time it threatens to consume you.

“I can fight.”

He gives you a nod and with a bow, you rush back to your room to change clothes. With your gear on, you retrieve your mask from the vanity, looking at yourself in the mirror. The sanguine look in your eyes is not something to be proud of.

A short while later, with the brothers in tow, you arrive in the village to the west. The earthy scent of petrichor mixed with death permeates the air. Multiple bodies are strewn across the dirt road, all Shirai Ryu. You find it strange. How is it that there are no Lin Kuei among them?

A scream echoes through the but before the three of you can move, a pair of Lin Kuei descends from the rooftops of the nearest house. Their appearances are unfamiliar.

“Is that armor?” You hear Tomas ask.

It is. Each of them is decked out in similar armor akin to what Sektor and Cyrax wear, albeit they are dressed in Lin Kuei colors. Why, though? What is Bi-Han thinking?

Another scream from the far side of the village rings out and Kuai Liang grunts irritably.

“We must aid those in need.”

You agree with a nod.

“I can take these two,” you suggest.

Tomas looks unsure but Kuai Liang seems to agree. He places a comforting hand on your shoulder.

“Be on guard.”

You nod. This should be no problem. You have dealt with the Lin Kuei before. Suits or no suits, it makes no difference. Tomas and Kuai Liang separate, leaving you alone with the two assassins.

“Two-on-one seems kind of unfair,” you state.

Neither of them comment. That's fine. You adjust the plates on your mask, then take a deep breath, releasing a sonic scream that should disorient the two. However, it has no effect.

What the hell?

One of them suddenly teleports behind you and kicks you in the side, knocking you to the ground. It feels as though you have been hit by a truck. And to make matters worse, the assassin struck you right where the brand is.

Fine. If they want to play rough.

You stand and take a fighting stance. The assassin lying in wait teleports behind you while the other aims a kick at your chest, but you manage to dodge them by shifting to the side. Grabbing the latter by the plates on their shoulders, you yank them off balance and use their momentum to sweep them off their feet.

Lying on their back, you raise your leg in an attempt to axe-kick them in the face, but the other assassin grabs you around the chest and holds you in place as the one on the ground stands. It lifts its hand and an intense heat sizzles from within. You can feel it on your skin.

It has a flamethrower.

You grunt in annoyance and lift your lower body, using your feet to push off the fire-wielding assassin, striking them hard in the face and chest. The one holding you falls back onto the ground from the force, giving you the chance to free yourself and roll into a squat above them.

Adjusting your mask again, you increase the volume of your voice. Then with a deep breath, you release a sonic scream point-blank into the assassin’s face. The metal vibrates at such a speed that it short-circuits, sending bolts of electricity shooting out. The smell that follows is nauseating. You wave away the plume of smoke that pours from the mask, but you are not given a moment to rest as the fire assassin shoots a jet of flames at you.

Barely able to escape its range, you roll out of the way and onto your feet. Heat licks at your leg, but you manage to put some distance between you and the assassin, hiding behind a house, before you put out the small flame.

These suits are no joke. You hope the brothers are faring better than you. It is like they were built to withstand your magic. You are not even certain there is anyone inside the suits. But how else are they moving?

When the flames stop, you dart out from behind the house, but to your shock, the assassin is gone. Before you can search for them, the whir of jet boosters catches your attention, and when you look up, you see a familiar warrior in red armor hovering above you.

“Sektor.”

What is she doing here?

“This is a sight, running into you like this,” she states. “I should be upset that you managed to demolish one of my suits, but there is always more room for improvement.”

You turn up your nose as you look at the smoking hunk of metal lying on the ground. So she is the one controlling them.

“Bi-Han let you make that thing?”

“The Grandmaster has thoughtfully embraced my ideas for the future,” Sektor states.

You snort.

“I'm sure he rewarded you well too. Tell me, does he like it when you spit or when you swallow?”

Sektor laughs.

“You are just as direct and spirited as ever. It’s too bad he considers you a waste.”

It shouldn’t have but her words make your blood boil. Your defiance must have switched the cryomancer’s opinion of you.

“Your potential is wasted with Kuai Liang.”

The brand he left on you felt spiteful, a mark of shame.

“Let's see who is the waste.”

You take a fighting stance but to your irritation, Sektor flies off toward the far end of the village. Where is she going? You tighten your jaw and chase after her. Her defeat will deal a massive blow to the Lin Kuei, should you catch her.

Chasing her around the side of a nearby house, you do not consider calling for backup. All that is on your mind is beating Sektor within an inch of her life. But as you cross in front of a side alley, something akin to a net shoots out and seizes you, knocking you hard to the ground.

You groan in pain, arching your back as the rock-littered street bites into your skin. What the hell? You struggle but the neon yellow net will not loosen.

“Do not fight it. The energy net will only grow tighter,” a feminine voice orders.

You tilt your head to the side to see a familiar figure in a yellow suit approach from the side alley.

“Cyrax. I should have known,” you sneer.

She is never far from Sektor. You did not think that in your pursuit of her, she would ambush you. It is irksome.

From above, Sektor flies by and then lands beside her. Both of them ignore your attempts to test the net.

“Are we done here?” Cyrax asks.

“I have all the data I need,” Sektor answers. She pauses, then motions with a finger toward you. “All that is left is dealing with our friend here.”

What is that supposed to mean?

Cyrax removes a spherical gadget from her chest plate and approaches you.

“This isn't personal,” she states, sounding as if she is about to put an end to you.

Leaning down, she yanks off your mask, much to your displeasure, and then presses a button on the side of the gadget.

So this is it. You sneer at her.

“Tell Bi-Han he can rot in hell.”

“You can tell him yourself,” Cyrax states.

Before you can figure out what she means, the device beeps and then pops open. From inside, a sweet colorless odor sprays out and consumes you. Instantly your throat tickles, making you break out into a fit of coughs. You attempt to hold your breath but it does no good. Whatever the gas is, its fast-acting properties take effect and everything fades to black.

#mortal kombat fandom #bi han mk1 #mortal kombat fanfiction #bi han x reader #female reader insert #mortal kombat 1 fanfiction #Spotify

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gingerlee-holds · 8 months ago

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The Puppet Master, Part 2

The long, long awaited sequel! This one is brutal heehee so if you prefer gentle twords, read my other fics for that! But a very very flustered cutie has been waiting for this for a loooong time, and who am I to deny her what she needs heehee!! I hope you enjoy!!

Written for @featherfoxx, thank you to @devious-bliss for the inspiration!

Word Count: 2,953 Reading Time: About 12 minutes Warnings: hand restraints, feet twords, hard tickling, implied mind magic

Before we begin, keep in mind that this is a reader self-insert! Now, without further ado, let me tell you how exactly you were tworded to fucking bits heehee

All that night, you blushed and squirmed through tickly dreams. You awoke at multiple points throughout the early morning hours, curled up in a ball, blushing and sweating from a ruthless puppet master playing with your subconscious. No matter what you did to distract yourself, it seemed like that pesky little magician snuck back in to ensure you hadn’t forgotten how ticklish and vulnerable you were. Squirming around and holding your favorite stuffed animal over your bright red face, it felt like this had been intentional; that sneaky puppeteer had delicately wrapped your mind in her yarn, and ever since you had visited her, you felt that yarn occasionally pulled on, filling your head with flustering, tickly thoughts. You, of course, had no way of proving this - as it was most likely your imagination making it worse for yourself - but the idea that the ginger in the purple suit had somehow fiddled with your brain was enough to fill you with a playful determination.

After the third wake-up, still kind of feeling the fuzzy ears of a fox puppet around your collarbone, you were resolved. ‘That’s it! She’s not getting away with this!’ you thought to yourself. ‘I refuse to be her plaything!’ And having made up your mind to acquire retribution, you spent the rest of the night hatching a bold plan: you would catch her by surprise and give that pesky magician a taste of her own medicine!

After a night fraught with ghostly pokes and phantom scribbles, dawn came at last, and you arose with a fire in your soul, burning for vengeance. Quickly throwing on a band t-shirt and some jorts, you grabbed a makeup brush, a spool of your bright red yarn, a few fuzzy feathers, and - grinning evilly - a brand new electric toothbrush, setting it all into a backpack along with a few water bottles. You put on some sandals and set off toward the park. You were ready.

The carnival had just opened when you arrived, which, in a way, was much more amusing than you had anticipated. A yawning attendant gave you a bag of crackerjack for free, chuckling and saying he “can’t be bothered finding the receipt printer.” You almost burst out laughing when you saw someone in clown makeup scrolling through their phone while dressed in street clothes. The carnival in the morning reminded you of a college student - wild and carefree, partying with reckless abandon into the night, only to be rudely awakened the following morning to set it all up again. It’s no coincidence that the circus visiting your town was primarily staffed by college-aged folks.

Nevertheless, you soon found the tent you were looking for. The purple and green tent looked just as cozy as it had the night before, but the sign in front differed. It read: “The Puppet Master Returns Tonight @ 6! You won’t want to miss it!” Instead of being pulled invitingly open, the tent flaps were shut tight, except for a tiny bit at the bottom where the flaps had pulled apart slightly. ‘Perfect!’ you thought.

Crawling inside, you were surprised at how little the mood in the tent had changed. The lighting inside was cozy, as it had been last night, even though the sun was out. The sounds of birdsong outside faded, too, and if you didn’t know any better, you could even say that you had entered some kind of pocket dimension. No doubt some more of that magician’s trickery. Everything looked as it had: the plush floor, the stage, the curtains… but where was the Puppet Master?

Only one of the curtains was closed, but the other was still open, showing the stage. All of the puppets had been put away in a toy chest, and beside it, your target slept, snuggled to a pillow. The Puppet Master looked different; where she had been chubby before, now she was somewhat skinnier. Her hair was longer and messier, but that was most likely the fault of her sleep. Instead of her suit, she wore a pair of fuzzy pajamas and socks and a cartoonish nightcap drooped over her head. A snorer, too, you observed as you approached. The pillow was less to support her and more to give her something to hold onto, and she cuddled it close. She almost looked too cute to tickle, but you knew your mission.

‘It’s too easy,’ you said to yourself, holding onto the straps of your backpack and beginning to approach the stage confidently. You made it about halfway before shenanigans struck.

The plush, comfy floor you walked on seemed to provide less and less support as you went on, each step sinking you deeper into the softness beneath. Once you were halfway, you had sunk into the plushness up to your waist, and, grumbling, you pulled yourself forward. Instead of a mattress, this plushness reminded you of a foam pit, and after a few more steps, you were completely stuck. The surrounding plush floor held you snugly up to your chest, and much to your dismay, it had now become too difficult to pull yourself out. Moreover, you quickly discovered that you couldn’t pull back either: you were stuck in the comfy, foamlike, plush floor, conformed to your body shape entirely.

“The hell is this!” you muttered out loud by mistake. Unfortunately for you, the Puppet Master softly snorted as she awoke, yawning and rubbing her eyes. She reached over, picked up a pair of round glasses, scratched her head, and stood up to see her intruder.

The sight of you, frustrated with the floor and confused at your predicament, sent her into hysterics. “Heeheeheeheehee! Ohohooh, dehehearrr!!” she laughed, hugging herself around her belly. “I-ihihihit seeeheeheems- heehehehehee!! - thahat sohomeone was a lihittle eager to return~!!”

Growling in humiliation, you hung your head to hide your face. The element of surprise had been entirely lost!

The sleepy girl before you padded over softly on her fuzzy socks, hopping off the stage and onto the plush floor, which didn’t sink under her as it did for you. Giggling helplessly at your condition, she laid down in front of you on her stomach, swinging her feet in the air behind her as she booped your nose. “Hey there again, cutie pie! Missed me that much~?”

You said nothing, doing your best to retain your dignity.

“Couldn’t stop thinkin’ about me, huh~?” You suddenly looked up at her. She smiled as if she had known what your night had been like for you. Giggling at your shocked face, she continued, “Oh, you’re too precious. Don’t worry, hun! It’s only natural!” She reached over and ruffled your hair. “Anyone who needs this place finds it! That way, I can play with only the people I know will enjoy it as much as I do!” The Puppet Master suddenly tugged the air in front of your forehead, and all at once, your mind rushed with tickly thoughts and teases, all the memories of yesterday pushing forward and coloring your cheeks a bright red. It was her all along!

As you racked your mind trying to make sense of this information, you were interrupted by a sudden stream of bubbly giggles emerging from your throat. The Puppet Master’s head-scratching reached your neck, and her nails gently traced around and around. She smiled fondly, her whole expression painted with affection at your adorable glee.

“Now, let’s see whatcha brought! I’m super curious!” She crawled around behind you and sat, happily picking up your backpack.

“No, no! Don’t look in there!” you hastily said, but she had already unzipped it and was looking through its items.

“Oh! New yarn, looks like! And… feathers? Is that a makeup brush…? Hmm…” She went silent for a bit, and you jumped when you suddenly heard her voice right in your ear: “Trying to get revenge, huh~?” she purred. “How absolutely adorable you humans are, thinking you can outsmart me~!”

Well, that cleared a lot up. She wasn’t human! That’s how she had all that power! What was she??

“Hey!” Her snapping her fingers in each ear brought your attention back. “Got a question for ya!” Pulling your bag of tools behind her, she crawled back to where you could see her. “Have you ever heard of Cat’s Cradle?”

Tilting your head a bit in confusion, you nodded. “Yeah, it’s that kids game with the string.”

“Y’ever played?”

“Few times, while ago.”

She clapped her hands happily. “Perfect!” she exclaimed. The magician pulled out your red yarn from the bag but, to your shock, pulled out an identical spool of pink yarn after it. She unspooled a long string of each and cut it with a simple tug. “Okay, here’s yours!” she said, handing you your red yarn while she held the pink one. “Watch me. Try to follow along.”

Seeing as you didn’t have anything else to do, you sighed and tried your best to follow along as she skillfully began creating the Cat’s Cradle. She giggled a tiny bit when she finished, setting her yarn down to help you out by tugging the yarn here and moving your fingers there. In the end, you held a rather complex and beautifully made string figure between your fingers!

“Bravo! Oh, you’re remarkable at this!” She clapped again, making you smile sheepishly. However, it didn’t take you long before you realized you couldn’t untangle your hands from the yarn. Harder and harder you tugged, but your fingers were very well tied, your hands bound by the pretty Cradle. “Oop, here, let me help you with that…” she muttered, taking one of the ends of your yarn and giving it a gentle tug, and all at once, your hands clapped together, bound tight. “There! Now c’mon, cutie, let’s getcha out of my floor.”

Blushing at the realization that the game had been a ruse, you let yourself get tugged out from the floor by your yarned-up hands, feeling the ground become more and more firm underneath you. “T-that was a nasty trick!” you whined.

“Oh, you should have seen it coming a mile away. I’m a Puppet Master! Nimble fingers come with the job~,” she teased as she wiggled her fingers against your cheeks, making you sputter. Gently, her soft hands guided you to the floor so you were lying down on your back before she effortlessly grabbed your bound hands and moved them above your head, saying, as if it were an afterthought, “These can’t move now.” It shouldn’t have surprised you, but you were a bit bewildered by the fact that she was correct: you couldn’t pull your hands down as much as you tried.

She suddenly gasped as she got an idea. “I know another game we can play! It’s called, how long can my ticklish little puppet stay silent while I tickle them!”

“T-that sounds like a terrible game!” you spat, and she patted your head in response.

“I don’t know… you did intrude on me while I was sleeping, so I think that deserves a little punishment~! Then again, maybe it’ll be a reward since I know you’ll enjoy it so, so much~!”

Before you could voice any more criticisms, you yelped in surprise when she pulled out all your tools and set them before you.

“Hm… I can’t hold all of these at once… I know! I’ll need help!” She whistled, and the toy chest sprung open, a group of five puppets rushing through the air to her. “Here, Wolf, you can hold the makeup brush, and I’m trusting you two to hold these!” she said, handing the two extra-fluffy feathers to Lion and Cat. She removed the electric toothbrush as if she were holding a precious relic. “This one’s mine~!”

You didn’t even have time to say, “Wait-!” before it started~!

The two puppets with no tools, Snake and Owl, dove in first. Owl, all covered in fuzzy feathers, nuzzled into your neck, chin, and ears, hooting and cooing at you. “Whooooo’s a ticklish puppet! Whooooo’s a cutie patootie! Who? Who?” she asked, snuggling her soft felt beak into your ear. All by herself, Owl was sending you into squeaky, blushy laughter, but don’t worry, it would get a lot worse! <3

Snake, meanwhile, had slithered his sneaky way under your shirt, nudging your shorts down a bit to reveal your hips. “Sssssssscore~!!!” he victoriously said as he wound his way around and around like a belt, his surprisingly tickly underbelly making you jump and buck around. Besides the occasional hiss as his felt tongue flickered across your lower tummy, he stayed silent as he pulled wave after wave of laughs out from your lungs.

The Puppet Master sat, smiling and watching you being slowly picked apart so adorably by her cute little puppets. She was content to wait until you began getting used to the current tickles before ramping them up. After all, she had until six before her next show, so she was content to make you pay for your impudent intrusion!

Wolf’s patience wore out first, and after a lengthy squeal on your part when Snake dipped his head into your belly button, he growled and dove in, armed and ready with the makeup brush. The Puppet Master chuckled and pulled your shirt up to your ribs for him. Quickly swatting the reptilian puppet out of the way with the brush, he dipped it into your giggle button and swirling it around and around your tummy. He looked up and grinned happily at the results: deep belly laughter erupted from Mt. You, bouncing about the tent like a rubber ball, much to the amusement of the Puppet Master, who began giggling with you. To celebrate, Wolf started to nibble around your ribs while continuing to paint with the makeup brush.

Lion and Cat, wielding their feathers like knights holding their swords, looked up at the puppeteer pleadingly, happily cheering when she nodded as their sign of permission. The two puppets flew down and began happily humming a circus tune as they started going to town on your sides. Cat, soft and sweet, hummed innocently as she wiggled the fuzzy feather up and down your right side, up and down, mercilessly rhythmic. Lion, by contrast, was anything but sweet as she giggled cruelly, turning the feather around to the pointy tip and, using it like a quill pen, began writing and scribbling over your left side. It was brutal! You thrashed away from the mean scribbles and pokes, only to be met by gentle feather strokes and wiggles! You were already shrieking through your laughter, yelping with glee, and unable to beg for mercy anymore. At around the twenty-minute mark, the Puppet Master herself made her move.

You had absolutely no way to pay attention to what she was doing, so no alarm bells went off when she began crawling down to your feet and pulling off your sandals, but you could only go bug-eyed and squeal when you heard the unmistakable sound of the electric toothbrush turning on. Your thrashing increased a bit, but the other puppets made sure you were far too weak to put up any significant resistance. The Puppet Master smiled at you with pitiless satisfaction and adoring affection as she used the toothbrush under your toes on your right foot, scribbling across your left sole with her nails. That was the final straw for you. Tears rolled down your cheeks in rivers as you lay limply, unable to do anything but sit there and take your tickles like a good puppet. Your laughter had gone silent a while ago. Yet, this time, the puppets were out for metaphorical blood as they wrecked your spots creatively, curiously, and mercilessly.

The second you began coughing, though, everything stopped. All the puppets dropped to the floor, inanimate once more, and the Puppet Master sprang up to get some water from your bag. She put the bottle to your lips, and you gulped it down eagerly, smiling at the relief it gave. She brought your hands back down again, and suddenly, you found that the strings fell apart, sloughing off your hands and allowing you to free yourself from the tangle with ease. Curling up into a ball, you finished your water, and the Puppet Master finished her water shortly after.

“You feeling okay, cutie~?”

“Y-yyeheheesss! G-gohohoshh…”

“Didn’t think I’d go that far, didja~? I’m just a sweet, innocent girl, huh~? Not when you wake me up before I’ve finished my sleep!”

“S-sohohohorryy!!”

“Oh, don’t worry! This was such a pleasant wake-up ~!” With that, she quickly scooped you up in her arms, carrying you across the room and onto the stage, laying you down beside her. “Now, I think we could both use the sleep, right~? You must not have slept well, I’m guessing~!”

You nodded, all the sleepiness hitting you like a freight train as you yawned and got comfy on the floor.

“Figures~!” She yawned, too, and wiggled over to you. “Besides, it’ll be nice to have something other than a pillow to spoon.”

The two of you were out like an identical pair of lights, you being snuggled by the petite magician. No dreams bothered you in your sleep as you floated in the void sea of the subconscious mind. What would await you when you awoke was no concern of yours because, for now, you were comfy, exhausted, and being snuggled by an adorably sweet… whatever she is. You’ll figure that out later. For all your life afterward, you would never recall a more peaceful slumber than on the floor of that tent, cradled like a cat by an adoring and tickle-hungry Puppet Master!

The end ~!

Read the previous entry in The Puppet Master!

#kayde wrote something woah #kayde's in a lee mood tag

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asordinaryppl · 7 days ago

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A3! Backstage Story Translation - Tsumugi Tsukioka SR: My performance memories ~ Tsumugi ~ - Part 1

yearn for the angel is the winter troupe's 11th play! it's featured in part 4 of the main story! (translation here)

also proofread by myuntachis <3

Guy: Thank you for waiting.

Tsumugi: Thank you.

Guy: We’ve all got a drink on hand now.

Azuma: Shall we have a toast?

Winter Troupe: Cheers!

Azuma: That reminds me, Yearn for the Angel.’s screening party should be coming up soon.

Tsumugi: You’re right. I can’t wait to talk about the play to the audience.

Azuma: I brought this with me with that in mind.

Tasuku: Tarot cards?

Azuma: I had Tsumugi pick one before Sympathy for the Angel.’s screening party and thought it’d be fun if we did it again now.

Tsumugi: You were the one that brought them with you back then, too.

Tsumugi: I’m not so confident I’ll get Michael again though…

Hisoka: But I don’t think it’s impossible, knowing you.

Azuma: Fufu. Just try picking one without thinking too hard about it.

Azuma: Let me shuffle them first… Here you go.

Tsumugi: … Okay, I’ll go with this one.

Guy: This is…

Tasuku: Raphael?

Homare: That matches quite well with the script’s contents, I would say.

Hisoka: Tsumugi’s luck really is amazing.

Tsumugi: I guess that means Raphael will be watching over me this time, just like he does in the sequel.

Tasuku: Right.

Tsumugi: It’s been some time since you last wore those costumes, so be careful not to get your wings caught anywhere.

Tasuku: You’re the one who was struggling the most with your wings during our debut screening party.

Tsumugi: Ahaha… You might have a point…

Homare: Fear not, I have long gotten used to these wings! Feast your eyes upon my moves!

Homare: Watch– Oh my…!

Hisoka: Alice’s the dangerous one this time.

Tasuku: Stay put till we have to go on stage.

Homare: *Grumble*…

Tsumugi: But your wings really moved beautifully.

Homare: Did they not? Thank you, Tsumugi-kun.

Izumi: Please start getting ready, everyone!

Tsumugi: Okay!

Tsumugi: … Michael isn’t an angel this time, so I was a little sad that my costume didn’t have wings.

Tsumugi: Although I was happy about Michael starting a new life as a human, of course.

Hisoka: Didn’t you borrow Tasuku’s wings, Tsumugi?

Homare: Oh, I bore witness to that as well!

Tasuku: … I only lent them to him once.

Tasuku: I felt Tsumugi staring holes at me during our performance, and thought he wanted to wear the wings.

Tsumugi: I hesitated at first when he asked if I wanted to wear them for a bit, but gave in to my desires in the end…

Tsumugi: So then we asked Yuki-chan, and he said I could wear them backstage for a little while.

Tasuku: You started stumbling around as soon as you put them on, though.

Tsumugi: I hadn’t worn wings in quite some time, after all. Besides, I had you to support me, so I didn’t fall.

Homare: Hrnhm!?

Hisoka: … What, Alice?

Homare: When I was stumbling around at the mercy of my wings just now in our dressing room, Tasuku-kun did not lift a finger to try and help me.

Tasuku: I helped Tsumugi out of reflex since he was nearby, but you were nowhere near me earlier.

Hisoka: That aside, Tsumugi looked really good with those wings.

Tsumugi: Fufu, thanks. I’ll try to keep my balance If I get another chance to wear them.

part 1 | part 2

NOTES:

(1) the tarot cards is a reference to tsumugi's 3rd anniversary backstage story! you can read a translation of it on yaycupcake

#a3!#translation #a3! translation #tsumugi tsukioka #tasuku takato #hisoka mikage #homare arisugawa #azuma yukishiro #guy nishiki

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moondyad · 7 months ago

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so i kinda want to talk more about this. The Acolyte and Qimir.

Qimir's true identity was a surprise to me because it felt like there were no smart hints at him being sith. none of the jedi got funny feelings around him. Mae didn't even recognize that the person behind the mask and her goofy accomplice were similar. he mentioned Mae's master would be mad she was using weapons because she wasn't supposed to but? he was her master and let her do it? the reveal seemed so out of left field, shocking for shock value alone. i read that his identity wasn't even supposed to be revealed until season 2, so maybe there was supposed to be more buildup to that moment? doing a subversive character who appears one way but is actually another takes a lot of nuance that just wasn't there. it's extremely hard to change a character from "just a lil guy" to big baddie. and yeah, i know he's in hiding and the whole point of this front is to trick everyone into thinking he is actually harmless (y'know aside from making poisons and whatever other malicious side jobs he does). he literally kills some of our main characters as soon as he's revealed (rip Yord, i'll miss you). but because of his previous presentation it just felt like a joke to me? their deaths all had this dreamlike, this isn't real quality to the point i have to remind myself that these characters are actually dead. i could not become invested in the rest of the episode because him being sith took me so far out of the immersion. idk if this is going too far in the crybaby direction, so i'll just say this characterization was not executed well in my opinion.

i must have missed it, because i was so confused, but apparently Kylo's theme plays after he's revealed? which i read was a very intentional choice. so, my preferences aside and lore cap on... is Qimir possibly the founder of the Ren? the concept that the knights of Ren are based on? This is the gist of the ideology:

which actually does track so far with Qimir's seemingly random choices. also, Ren, the person Kylo kills to become the leader of the knights of Ren, wears a helmet which is vaguely similar to the one Qimir wears. both helmets have the eyes entirely covered by metal. this would essentially make the wearer blind, if they weren't force-sensitive. "The Ren" is a lightsaber Ren carries on him (i know this is all very confusing, bear with me). perhaps as a tie into the sequels, Qimir's saber eventually goes on to become The Ren. this all could mean that the ideology Kylo attaches himself to all the way in the sequels has roots in sith history in the high republic era. i do love a tie-in, but i wish this reveal hadn't been rushed.

the person, the lightsaber, and the ideology are all called "Ren". don't know who decided that, but it makes explaining or reading about it impossible.

#sorry this is just a giant wall of text #i'm in my blab arc #also no shade to Manny Jacinto #i see that he was in the good place? which i did not watch. but i see a lot of fans excited to see him play a bad guy #and i am very happy for them!#it's a fun ride #i'm just disappointed with the storytelling and characterization #Manny does have the capacity to play a threatening character #but the writers fumbled the bag with this one #i have like no motivation to watch this show anymore #i will finish watching for the reason i started #Osha and Mae beloved #the acolyte #the acolyte spoilers #qimir #qimir the acolyte #kylo ren #ren star wars #knights of ren

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anjelicawrites · 10 months ago

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After the fair

Paring: Abraham x reader

Synopsis: during a horse fair you meet an old friend, Abraham gets jealous and needs to be reminded who you love.

Warnings: reader has burn marks, reference to nausea and vomiting, anxiety, fighting, crying, jealousy, Abraham’s possessiveness, reference to prejudice against the Romanichal community, kissing, fingering, p in v sex, kissing, scratching, overstimulation, titty sucking, pregnancy sex.

A/N 1: this is a sequel to this fic, but it could be read as a standalone.

A/N 2: I don’t know anyone from the Romanichal community and used Google for my research for this fic. I tried to be as accurate and respectful as possible. Please let me know if I’ve written something wrong so I can make the needed corrections!

A/N 3: reader is AFAB but not described. Where needed, they/them pronouns used. Reader is addressed as "wife".

It’s a beautiful spring day, sunny but not too hot. It explodes over the assorted smells of people, food and horses at the fair. You’re all the happier to be able to inhale lungful of air without feeling sick: you’re roughly into the second trimester of your first pregnancy, the first having been a nightmare of nausea caused by any smell, throwing up and being afraid of losing the child slowly growing into your belly.

You know your body is still recovering from barely managing to keep anything down for months, you’re all belly now, the rest of your skin stretched thin over your skeleton, not that you care, now that you feel better and you can feel movements in your tummy. Abraham is still worried about you and the baby, whenever he’s not with the horses, he’s hovering over you like a hawk, ready to go fetch the healers of the community as soon as he sees signs of discomfort on your part. It’s so endearing to see how uncaring of what the whole camp thinks of him, not when your health and safety are one the line: he’s always showed you his love and care, in the privacy of your shared vardo, and kept a more stern façade for the outside to see: now that you’re expecting your first child and had such a rough start, he doesn’t seem to care about what the other men think of him, only what the women helping you advise him to do to help you with the pregnancy.

Abraham is at the horse fair today with some of the animals he’s worked on during the last year and a half, you as well came to town to do some business with one of the book antiquarians you collaborate with; having been sick for so long, you had to put everything on hold and are itching to go back to trading antiques with all your contacts in the UK. You are tired and your ankles feel swollen, yet you are happy: you feel fulfilled by a very productive work day and you want to have a small wander around with your boots in the mud and under the sun, before telling Abraham you’re going back to the vardo to lie down for a bit, before dinner.

You turn around when you hear your name being called and spot an old friend from your Oxford days.

“What are you doing here? How are you?”

You are surprised and happy to see him after such a long time!

“I’m just enjoying a nice, sunny day.” He smiles. “What brings you here? It’s so far away from Badger’s Crossing!”

You try not to flinch at the name and almost manage: the poor man doesn’t know how much that spot still hurts you and you don’t want to ruin your day.

“I’m here with my husband, he works with horses.” You say with a smile. “Husband? Now, when did that happen?” “As it usually goes.” You laugh. “A little over a year ago.” “Congratulations for that and for the little one on the road!”

He hugs you again and you tighten your arms around his big frame with all your strength: he’s always been a good friend, a companion during the long hours of study in the library, a gentle soul trapped in the body of a giant.

“What about you? Are you still trying to climb the academic ladder?”

Minutes fly as he tells you all about his goals and achievements as you two walk around the fair, he’s always been flamboyant and enthusiastic about his field of choice, and he hasn’t changed one bit. He regards you with tales of Oxford life, making you laugh with his stories about your former professors there as he helps you navigate the uneven terrain of the fair, ending up with an arm as thick as a tree trunk linked with yours.

“So, where is your husband? I need to meet the man who managed to snag you away from your books and the rest of us, he has to be a remarkable person!”

“He is! There’s so many people I can’t see him.” You go on your tiptoes and shield your eyes from the sun. “There he is!”

Abraham seems to sense your presence and stares in your direction without you calling him, his expression darkens when he sees you with your arm linked to your friend.

“Hello husband.” You go to him and put your hand on his. “I met an old friend today!”

Abraham just stares at your friend, whose expression has changed as soon as he’s seen him: too late you realize your mistake.

Abraham puts his arm on your shoulder and pulls you closer to him as your friend tries to make some half heartedly small talk: you’re so used to be around your community, you’ve forgotten how lowly gadji think of them, how the distrust easily flows towards the Romanichal people who have welcomed you with an open heart.

You are not sad when your friend bids a haste goodbye and leaves you with your husband.

“Who was that?”

You can feel how tense Abraham is and you place your hand on his sturdy chest.

“An old friend from university, no one of importance.” You smile in his direction. “Are you going to stay here long? I’m going home for the day.”

Abraham stares at you, assessing your condition with a worry and care you’ve gotten used to experience.

“It’s not going to take me too long. You go along, take one of Peter’s children to accompany you.” “There’s no need for that. I will collect the book when we leave the area and it’s not that much of a walk.” “it is not negotiable.”

Abraham is always on edge when Cyril is not shadowing your every move, but you couldn't bring both the goods to the antiquarian and the dog and you had to leave him guarding the vardo. You came to the city with some of the women, he’s not going to let you go back on your own: he wouldn’t have done it if you weren’t pregnant, to begin with, now that his first born is in your belly? He’s not taking any chances.

In the end the daughters of Esme Jones come back with you, their chatting easing a bit of your tiredness and annoyance towards Abraham’s over protectiveness. You love your husband, you don’t know what you would have done without him after Badger’s Crossing, but he needs to remember you can take care of yourself, even in your state. But the thought doesn't even cross his thick skull, he simply treats you as if you're made of glass, your opinion not even considered, and that irks you to no end.

You have to lie down as soon as you arrive at the vardo to put your legs up, hoping to help with your swollen ankles. You’ve turned the small transistor radio on, waiting for the radio drama to start, as you tap gently on your distended belly: the midwife has suggested you might be carrying twins, after you told her how the kicks seemed to be everywhere in your belly, at the same time.

Truth to be told, your tummy is pretty big for someone around their fifth month and she could detect no strangeness in the way your child is growing and moving inside of you, perhaps twins it is? The thought scares you a little, not because you don't know how to act around children, in your past life as a librarian you used to organize activities with them, and were pretty good at it; those were not your children, though, you didn't have to shoulder the responsibility of their well being for their whole life. If you're truly carrying twins, how are you going to manage? The idea fills you with the need of your mother, either adoptive or biological, to take your hand and tell you everything is going to be alright.

Two sets of kicks drag you back from your anxiety, or perhaps is kicking and punching against your tummy? You drum your fingers again but the child (children?) don't take your bait.

“You really want to be a mystery up to the end, don't you?” You ask your tummy without receiving an answer.

When Abraham comes back you’re midway eating toast with butter and sardines. You were supposed to wait for him and share the kidney pie you’ve backed, maybe while sitting outside to enjoy the late spring afternoon, but you had this violent craving for food that you didn't want to fight, not after three whole months of nausea and vomiting.

You’ve noticed he's washed himself before coming back, his ridiculous mane of hair wet and styled the way he likes, yet he looks aggravated: had something happen back at the fair?

“Abraham?”

You don't want to sound too apprehensive, but you can feel the tense aura around him, who doesn't respond, preferring to take a swing from the water bottle on the table.

“What happened, my love?” You ask.

Abraham's eyes are darker in the dying sun streaming from the window, dark blue like the stormy sea, his mouth set in a thin, unhappy line.

“You know he wants to shag you, don't you?” He asks, the belligerent tone barely controlled. “Who?” You're genuinely confused, feeling like he's thrown you in an ongoing conversation you've missed the start of. “Your friend.” He spats. “The one from before. He knows you're spoken for, that you're carrying another man’s child inside of you, and he still wants to shag you!”

Slower than you want to, you manage to stand up to look into Abraham's eyes.

“Abe, he's always been like that: expansive with his affection. Not once has he ever wanted to sleep with me.”

Abraham's brow seems to knit even tighter as he regards you.

“You don't see it, but I could!”

The shadows on his face are darker, turning his beautiful face in a stern mask of disappointment; you stand your ground, feet planted on the floor of the vardo, eyes locked with his.

“Let's say that you're right, that he wants me.” You grab his hands and put them on your tummy. “Tell me Abraham, whose child am I carrying? Whose seed has taken root inside of me?”

His hands clench at your words, his nose flares.

“I’ve asked you a question, husband: who is the one who had me, who bred me? Was it him? Hmm? Who was it?”

Your nails are leaving half moons on pain in his wrist that he can't feel, his fingers spasm over your clothed tummy with the need to rip your clothes open to stare at your naked body: you’ve never been more beautiful and enchanting than now that you're full of his child, his cock is always at half mast with the need to be buried inside you warmth, now so tight and always welcoming. You don't realize how crazy you drive him, how much he wishes to stay rooted inside of you for the rest of his life, to suck on your breasts until you're keening and begging him to stop, but he will not: he needs to die with your taste in his mouth.

Your eyes stay locked for what seems hours but it is just seconds, before Abraham's hands evade your hold to grab your face, his long fingers in your hair to keep you where he wants you to be.

“It was me.” He growls, before smashing his lips against yours.

It’s not a gentle kiss, nor it is refined; his mouth slants over yours and his tongue invades your mouth, proprietary and hungry, while he backs you towards the bed and you kiss him back ferociously, your fingers already under his shirt, your nails raking down his long back.

He undresses you fast, almost ripping your clothes off your body and keeps his burning gaze on your skin while he undresses himself: you can see the hunger there, barely controlled after all the months you were too sick to sleep with him, but you still feel self conscious of the way your body is changing and of the way your scars are uglier now that your skin is stretched thin over your bones and your belly is already so big. You know he doesn’t see any of your imperfections, that he loves you, yet you wish to be perfect for him, unblemished for his eyes to see.

You slide up the bed to make space for his long body and spread your legs to accommodate his form as he hovers over you, his weight carried by his strong arms. He knows what you’re thinking, he can see it in the darkened hue of your eyes and in the way your fingers itch to cover your body with the bed sheets: he’s not going to have any of that. You are his, belong by his side, not under the heavy cloak of shame: to him you are as pretty as you were before the fire and the way your body is changing adds more fuel to the fire of his desire.

His lips are soft all over your skin, starting from your brow he kisses a slow path down your body, over your closed eyelids and your nose, his teeth nip your lips playfully and his mouth sucks at your neck, until you’re marked for the whole world to see. Gentle his tongue licks your burns and ravenously he sucks on your breasts, he murmurs sweet nothings at your belly and he smiles when he hears the child kick in response; his long fingers explore you slowly, you’re embarrassed by the squelching sound you hear and he’s having none of that.

“So perfect.” He murmurs, the blue of his eyes almost hypnotic. “So much tighter for me, and always wet.” “Aaaabe…” It comes out strangled as your back arches as much as your tummy lets you. “You’re always hungry for me? Are you not?” “Abraham, please!” You whine when his calloused thumb grazes your clit. “Answer me. Show me how obedient you can be.” He growls hotly. “Yes Abraham! For you! Only for you, husband!” You whine as your cunt tries to suck his fingers deeper. “What a good wife you are.” He purrs. “I think you deserve a reward, don’t you?”

The pads of his fingers start massaging that rougher patch inside of you faster as the thumb of his other hand takes care of your swollen clit and you cant your hips following his lead, moaning as the pleasure unfolds inside of you and spreads through your nerves, warm and familiar makes you whine and shake under his ministration.

“Abe! Abe!” You plead, needing his permission. “Close, Abe!” “Yes, now!”

His fingers move impossibly fast and your body vibrates with pleasure, trashes and arches drenched in sweat under his, your mind almost snapping when his lips curl around one nipple and suck hungrily as you come with a desperate moan.

“Oh God.” You pant, seeking his warmth. “You did good, sweet wife, so good.”

You feel pleasure lick at your nerves again when he uses his hand, drenched with the proof of your pleasure, to slick his erect cock with slow, deliberate strokes, his eyes boring into yours, daring you to look away.

“I love you.” You sob. “I love you so much!”

You don’t know where the tears come from, but they fall freely from your eyes and Abraham is fast in slotting himself behind you to hug you as tight as he can. With your big belly in the way, hugging from the front while laying down is difficult, you have to squirm a bit to hide your face against Abraham’s neck to cry, desperately, his masculine scent calming you and driving you into overdrive at the same time, heightening all your feelings for him, now exploding in your chest like fireworks. Your emotions are so much stronger now that you’re pregnant, they escape your control, leaving you defenseless against your own self, and lost without your husband.

Abraham’s callous fingers dry the tears from your cheeks carefully, as if you’re made of glass and he’s afraid of breaking you with his oaf’s strength.

“Better?” He murmurs in your ear. “Yes. I don’t know what happened.”

You snuggle closer to his warmth, making sure his hand is laying flat on your belly and your leg is over his, wanting his cock to find home between your lower lips.

“You don’t have to.” He says and you know he’s telling the truth. “I know. I want you, please.”

The heath in your voice travels like an arrow to his cock, which swells once again, aided by the warmth of your cunt and the knowledge that you want him, and him only. He rolls his hips against yours, letting your smell, the taste of your skin pervade his senses. His hand takes hold of your tight to secure you against his body as you moan, reveling in the way his body responds to yours, how your desire entices him, how this magic can only work between you two, and no one else.

Slowly, Abraham enters you. Ever since you stopped feeling so sickly, he tried to be as gentle as possible with you, choosing to forego his more rough ways to express the passion that consumes him, preferring to be gentler, to feel your body react to his, to just experience your pleasure and though that, find his own.

Both of you groan when he bottoms out and your walls hug his cock impossibly tight, almost to the point of pain when he starts to rock against you, his erection sucked in when he leaves your warmth, the velvet of your walls the sweetest torture, your moans spurring him on, your taste intoxicating on his tongue, as it is the softness of your breast in his hands.

His hips rock gently against you, a soft moan escapes your lips with every push in as one of your hands grab blindly behind you, scratching his naked skin, trying to pull him as close to yourself as possible.

“I’m here.” He growls. “Feel me.”

Your body shakes in his hold, your nails scratch his skin, pain and pleasure mix in your brain, leaving you a begging, screeching mess in his hold as his calloused hands grab and touch your breasts, your nipples so sensitive already that you keen, almost in pain.

His touch is delicate, yet proprietary on every inch of your body; the way his free hand slides on your sweaty skin to grab at it, the hold on your hip to keep you flush against his bigger body, his teeth on your neck, everything marks you as his in ways the ring on your finger doesn’t. Nothing compares to feeling him explore you and own you, to have his cock rearrange your insides with long strokes that make you whimper, to feel his index finger slowly play with your clit, keeping you on the edge of pleasure, not letting you fall, not yet, not before he’s fucked the fist of your cunt some more, heard your desperate sounds of pleasure, squeezed your breasts, now so big they fill his hands, marked you again and again.

“Abe! Abe!” You whine, you hips bucking against his hold “Shh, wait! Not yet!” he growls desperately.

It’s so hard to control his own orgasm when your cunt sucks him in and he can only grind against you as you kiss him, ferocious and desperate, tongue and lips sloppy against his: how he wishes to keep the two of you on the edge forever, to stay rooted in your cunt until the end of times, to bully that rough patch inside of you until your voice gives, to never have to leave you again!

You come with a scream, white sparks explode behind your eyes as your cunt clenches so tight Abraham follows you immediately, his seed marking you yet again. His vision blackens for an instant, his orgasm infinite inside the sanctuary of your body, until all his muscles relax and he slumps against you, who lay breathless on the bed, overused cunt stained by his leaking seed, just basking in the feeling of his tired lips all over your sweaty skin.

For long seconds you two exist in this blissful silence, broken only by your ragged breaths, you two might as well be the last people on earth, the thick paneling of the vardo providing with all the soundproofing to believe the camp outside doesn’t exist.

“Are you still angry?”

You ask Abraham, after turning on your other side to look at his face. He’s more relaxed now, his hair a mess, his cheeks pink with exertion.

“I’m never angry with you. Your friend? He should know not to touch what isn’t his.”

There’s still an edge in his voice, that known possessiveness now enhanced by your state that’s the core of your husband. He means well and fears the gadji and their violence, is petrified by the idea of losing you, or the child: he’d die without either of you.

“I’m not sure I can call him that anymore, not after the way he looked at you. Shush! I don’t care that you’re used to it.”

There’s something in your husband’s eyes, an emotion you can’t decipher, too fast it disappears after he’s closed his eyes.

“You are truly a gift from God.” He says, and it’s the most romantic thing he’s ever told you. “I’m being just, that’s it.” You answer.

You cup his cheek and he rubs your palm like a cat.

“I’m so happy I’m carrying your child, Abraham.” “A pretty baby just like the mum.” “And the dad. Don’t sell yourself short.” “I don’t have much good to give.” He says with clouded eyes. “Don’t! If our child has half the courage and strength you possess, I could be happy. Don’t try to win this argument!”

Later that night, after you two had indeed eaten the pie outside, while chatting with your extended family, Abraham loses himself staring at you, asleep all curled up in one of his old shirts. The cotton isn’t loose on your body as it used to be, not with your protruding belly and fuller breasts to fill it, not that it matters: you always take his breath away.

Slowly, making sure he’s not waking you up, Abraham moves the hair hiding the burn marks on your head and kisses the scarred skin with reverence: if the child is going to be half of the good person and the fighter you are, he can call himself a happy man. You are too good for him, he can only try to live up to you and be a decent father, show the child the right way in this life, but with you by their side, he knows the child’s future is bright.

#abraham #abraham x reader #abraham x y/n

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starsandsteelandbrokenglass · 25 days ago

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December 2024 Reading Wrap Up

Last wrap-up post for the year! I'll do one for 2024 as a whole hopefully soon (and maybe a Christmas gifts pic?), but I still wanna do a monthly recap. It's been a pretty busy month (@ninja-muse, I saw the tag post, I appreciate the tag so much, I simply...did not get there). I travel home for the holidays so it's been end-of-the-semester work while trying to cram in as much time with family and friends as possible. This month I read 8 books and almost 3,000 pages--not a bad finish! Here they are:

The Tiger's Daughter (Their Bright Ascendancy #1) by K. Arsenault Rivera- 4.25/5 stars; this was a lot of fun and I especially enjoyed the worldbuilding, as well as the relationship between our two main characters--I look forward to the sequel!

The London Séance Society by Sarah Penner- 2/5; neat premise, but in contrast to The Tiger's Daughter, I did not buy into the relationship between the main characters at all and I do think fundamentally there was no reason for the plot to happen the way it did

Memorial: An Excavation of the Iliad by Alice Oswald- 5/5 stars; oof. brief but poignant reminder of how much death there is in the Iliad and gives the same care Homer does to the lives of the fallen

The Westing Game by Ellen Raskin- 5/5 stars; a reread of my favorite childhood murder mystery, which I still find holds up excellently for me

My Salty Mary (The Marys #3) by Jodi Meadows, Brodi Ashton, Cynthia Hand- 3.75/5 stars; these books are silly, but fun! pirates, mermaids, and some standard YA romance

A Fate Inked in Blood (Saga of the Unfated #1) by Danielle L. Jensen- 3/5 stars; this was a "romantasy" situation which is really not my vibe, nor are Vikings, but tbh I think this does what it set out to do and checks all the boxes of the genre

A Letter to the Luminous Deep (The Sunken Archive #1) by Sylvie Cathrall- 4/5 stars; this was so charming and while I was a little taken aback by the direction it ended up taking, I definitely want to read the sequel

Castle of the Cursed by Romina Garber- 1/5 stars; maybe this is on me for picking up another romantasy but this was so much worse despite being marketed as Gothic which I do like. I could actually say a lot about this (HOW DOES ESTELA LEARN SPANISH SO FAST????) but I won't do it here

So 2024 did not technically end on a high note reading wise, but that's okay! My favorite book this month was The Tiger's Daughter, and I hope the sequel is just as good!

Currently Reading: The Sinister Mystery of the Mesmerizing Girl (The Extraordinary Adventures of the Athena Club #3) by Theodora Goss and Nightmare Movies: Horror on Screen Since the 1960s by Kim Newman (do not ask)

#reading #mine #december 2024 #monthly wrap up #reading wrap up

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arand0mdutchgirl · 1 year ago

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exciting announcement

Different version from my most popular post❤; just a friendly reminder that just brcause i haven't posted a new fic in almost three weeks does not mean i haven't been writing. I've written f for 3 hours a day for Rwrb for 2 months straight now (and will probably also do so tonight after swim practice). And m beyond words excited for you guys to read my new writing❤.

Things i've been working on lately: first prince week🤴: a very exciting @brownstoneserver

art evenement for which i'm planning to post a (multi chapter!!) Fic a day. Including: the winner of my wip poll: "take his name out of your mouth" (for day one of first prince week) and "i'd die for you" the winner of my second wip poll/ my detectives husbands au (on oct first/ day 5 of first prinde week)

And 2 really really exciting halloween themed fics for @halloweenhuh

My personal fav (and that of @mrsprincesseugenefitzherbert ) is up to 11k words at the moment! ) i can't tell you the titels because the fics will be anonymous at first but oh my am i excited to share these fics with you!

And as if that's not exciting enough: i also have an actors au, a swimmers au, a flower power festival meet cute, two therapy fics and a fake dating au ("i could be a better boyfriend than him") coming up!!!!

aand..... i also took the request i got for a "my world" sequel with a older Aliyah very serious🤭 (read two teenage Arthur and Aliyah fics)

So def stay tuned for many fics coming soon to ARandomDutchGirl on ao3!

UiWhich one are you most excited for??? It's always good to know what fic i should make a priority so def let me know!

#henry fox mountchristen windsor #alex x henry #rwrb alex #prince henry of wales #alex and henry #alex claremont diaz #rwrb trailer #red white and royal blue #red white and royal blue movie #rwrbedit #rwrb #rwrb fanart #rwrb cast #rwrb movie #rwrb book #rwrb fic #a03 fic #my fic

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gontagokuhara · 6 months ago

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Its almost 5 am and I have work [today] but heyyyy what if I sent in another fun ask about pointy objects ;) Last time I asked about PO relationship rankings... but what about notable FRIENDSHIPS😭 I definitely think it'd be ridiculous to ask for a ranking of ALL THE FRIENDSHIPS but I'm saying like, I want to know about any specific fun ones we haven't seen that much of, tumultuous OR harmonic, if you want to share!💖

(if I had to rank some though I'd put Fuyupeko at #1 bc ofc they're like brother-sister, andddd Junko-Izuru ONN THE BOOOTTOOOMMM🗣 bc it's Junko duh) (Honorable mentions: Miu & Kiibo bc idk why I'm blanking on where the demi friendships rank) Okay I'm gonna go back to reading the latest chapter bc I gave up on trying to go to sleep💀 I hope you have a great day btw!!! Please say hi to baby Winnifred the Pooh for me and give extra love💘

I realized this weekend after seeing yet another fic I love get orphaned, how spoiled I was with your tumblr and I'm super greatful to be a reader and just consuming the content you share 😭 I really want to contribute more as thanks but I may not have as much time due to school starting soon😓 I'll just say thank you again for now and ofc remind you that you're an absolute BADDIE, please don't forget!!!💖

HELLOOOOOOOO CIDER MY BELOVED <3 as always u bring some of my favorite asks to my inbox so thank u MWAH!!!!! and as always this is for FUNSIES so there’s no obligation (especially if ur busy with school and work!!!) you have already earned ur place in my heart forever ❤️❤️❤️ you are so real about orphaned/abandoned works my favorite fic of all time had its sequel abandoned like 8 years ago…….u really never recover 💔 and i may have done the same to pointy objects for ~3.5 years but we are BACK and pumping out content at any given opportunity because this fic and universe is my baby. so with that said (and winnie said hello to PICTURED BELOW ‼️) lets get into pointy objects analysis mode WOOOOO

OK. SO.

many conversations have been had with my darling beta reader + kokichi correspondent evan @/faglaios about certain dynamics between characters this is like my DREEEEEAM ask because there are so many friendships in the pointy objects verse that are. so special to me. i have a whole list of friendship dynamics that i think are interesting and would yap about But i have so much to say about even just my select few favorites. so here are some honorable mentions before we get to the Big Boys:

- fuyuhiko & peko: i will forever and always ride for the familial dynamic for these two and pointy objects is no exception, as they consider themselves siblings to the same degree fuyu & natsumi do. talk about an unbreakable bond these two are literally almost as close as komaru & makoto are despite (affectionately) bitching at each other significantly more

- hajime & chiaki: not something i’ve been able to explore in-verse, but these 2 are soooo special to me in general and their friendship carries over into pointy objects rejoice ‼️‼️ i specifically singled this one out for the reason that: chiaki, as the goddess of sleep, tends to be pretty absent for long stretches of time, and so there can be decades that pass where she’s just not in hajime’s life. when he’s alone and stressed he talks to her sometimes :)

- kaede & maki: before they began dating they were without reservations each other’s best friend. i have a LOT to say about these two but yay ‼️ for kaemaki nation a lot of time has been dedicated to exploring it in pointy objects <3 so i will hold my tongue. for now

- rantarou & shuuichi: similar dealio here re: exploration in pointy objects canon. granted, rantarou is “dead” for the majority of it, but just as much as they are brothers they are best friends and for as much as i COULD say, i think their dynamic kinda speaks for itself in-fic :>

- miu & kiibo: i will be the first to admit i Do Not Enjoy miu but objectively her best interactions (both in v3 canon + pointy objects) are with kiibo. their dynamic is mutually (lightheartedly) antagonistic like miu knocks their head off five times a day and kiibo runs to tattle on her but like they eat dinner together basically every day and horrifically gossip in very bad whispers. miu clocked kiibo’s crush (overheard kaede talking about it to maki like a year ago lmfao) and became their unasked for wingwoman (she’s very bad at it).

kokichi & kaito: oh goodness. These Two. it has truly been far too long since i played 3-5 and fully Invested in this dynamic but once again from my conversations with evan There is something there . i almost have so much to say that i cant think of Anything to say lmfao so. we’ll put a pin in these 2 for now. but this is one of my favorite pointy objects dynamics.

- kaito & shuuichi / maki & shuuichi: oh training trio how i do love you……both of them have really fun dynamics but the former is definitely a little more well-developed in pointy objects. shuuichi mirrors both of them specifically in his resolve to protect and defend his friends; kaito in his emotional/trust investment and being open and honest both to himself and to the world at large, and maki moreso in the physical sense, in that they tend to be more hands-on and proactive in things that require teamwork (you’ll notice it’s these 2 most often helping others to their feet/to remain upright + at the forefront of public-facing schemes like booking the motel/headlining the convenience store robbery). MUCH to say here (also re: kaito & maki) but yet again i’ve already got so much more to go

- junko & izuru: To Be Continued.

- makoto & junko: exes

WOW! and that was only the honorable mentions 😭 jesus christ. but i saved my favorites/most interesting for last so LETS GO BABEY 🔥🔥🔥

- gundham & sonia: my Personal thoughts on these two have to be divorced from pointy objects canon so i’m speaking specifically on their friendship here. as god of the dark art and goddess of magic they naturally are inclined towards and work with each other, but they’re also just straight-up besties (as much as a grumpy recluse like gundham will allow, especially these days). in Non-crisis times, sonia is one of only a few gods who have near-unlimited access to the underworld. they also have a lot in common in terms of each losing their children within only a few years of each other (sonia with her son who tsumugi killed in her attack on camp pre-barrier, and gundham, we now know, with gonta).

- mondo & fuyuhiko: throwaway joke pointing out their similar organized crime affiliations that evolved rapidly into a like. genuine (business) relationship but also a family-like brotherly bond between them too (fuyuhiko is good at this LOL). there’s a lot of camaraderie (+ arguments) regarding this, as well as their shared isolation and distance from their children. mondo and taka went to fuyuhiko’s house the first night maki was missing both to hash out a game plan on keeping their daughters safe, but also for comfort because…well, at one point or another, they became family.

- maki & tenko: and speeeeaking of family <3 this has been touched on very lightly but of the people maki really has a connection with at camp and specifically considers her friends, tenko is one of those three people (the others being kaede and then later kaito). tenko really had to teach maki what Having Family is like even though she’s hardly the best-equipped to do so, but their shared distance from their godly parents (and lesbianism) helped them foster a dynamic that is very protective and isn’t the most Outwardly affectionate, but is definitely mutually trusting and quietly appreciative. they also train together often (and beat up kaito together when he jumps in too).

- kokichi & gonta: i am a “gonta and kokichi were genuine friends” truther until i die and pointy objects is my love letter to that. i have Many thoughts regarding their canonical relationship [looks at my url] but in my representation of them in pointy objects……when gonta says in his chapter that the two of them are best friends he is 100% correct (for better or for worse). for several years they were in the relatively small (those 2, kaede, miu, and maki) full-time camper group and the 5 of them are naturally more close-knit, but kokichi is…Well. Abrasive. and turns a lot of people off. but gonta was (+ is!) persistent. he sees good in kokichi. they were the only 2 boys at camp full-time for years, and as he did hajime and nagito, gonta lacked other options but to drift towards kokichi with regard to modeling “gentlemanly” behavior after spending so many years not socialized to humans. kokichi would play his usual pranks and mess with him but despite his flighty demeanor…actually U know what i’m just screenshotting my msgs to evan about this i cooked sooooo hard BUT ONE OF MY FAVORITE (and horrificially misunderstood) DYNAMICS <3

- gonta & kiibo: similar to kaemaki in that their friendship has been explored in-verse before their romantic relationship, but i single them out here because there is something very important to me about the two of them learning how to be people together :] gonta spending half of his life to this point living amongst wolves, and the rest of it playing catch-up on Being A Person and defining for himself what the means and who he wants to be and modeling his goals on the people around him that he admires. kiibo lived for a handful of years as an AI with kazuichi, but has only had a soul for three or so years, and despite having a universe of knowledge at their fingertips they still have to learn what personhood is like outside of scanning text and interpreting data — again, with a relatively small and niche group of gods and demigods to learn from. they meet when kiibo is dropped off at camp by a distraught sonia, and immediately recognize in the other something similar to themselves. they’re both entirely disconnected from human culture, but have a fascination with it to varying degrees. they’re both Different, and still learning how to exist in the world they’ve been cast into, and slowly over time realizing that the kind of ‘person’ they want to be, whatever that means…that inspiration might be a bit closer than they think.

- kaede & kokichi: oh i could write essays on these two i swear to god. another one that needs their own specialized post honestly there is So much here and basically none of it is reliant on v3 canon because we were given so little. i’ve built such a little world for these two in pointy objects it’s easily a top 3 dynamic like Period out of the whole fic it’s soooo important to me. people have pointed out they come across as deeply sibling-coded and that is 100% the intention. as previously mentioned, they were full-time campers early on (kokichi arrived before maki did, even, so they’ve known each other longer) and even back then kaede took it upon herself to tour new kids around camp and get to know them (partially because her other options were Adults, her less-than-ideal twin sister, and gonta who she knows but can’t talk pop culture or music with). i’m holding my tongue on certain Details here but they really have grown up with the faux-exasperated big sister and the playfully-annoying little brother dynamic. and on the surface they very much come across that way and have fun falling into those roles naturally. but there is a significant degree of mutual care between them that goes far beyond any prank or argument or fuck up. kaede, as frustrated as she was when kokichi snuck onto the rv and as serious as she was about her reservations regarding his role in their quest, still stuck to her guns and kept him included and safe once he was there, and genuinely meant it when she told them she believes in all of them more than she’s ever believed in anyone. for as obnoxious and as snide and as withdrawn he can be, in the same breath he’s calling kaede a hokey protag he’s diving between her and syo’s scissors without a second thought. he’s still offering kaede solemn, sincere comfort and reassurance in the aftermath of the call with nagito he hung up for her, and lashing out at anyone he thinks is judging her and going to make her feel worse. the two of them are everything to me. pointy objects kaede/kokichi friendship you will ALWAYS be famous

- shuuichi & kokichi: well we already saw everything up until now IN pointy objects, didn’t we? <3

ok bonus WINNIE ATTACK!!!!!!!!!!

#ask #bittercideristaken #pointy objects #dr #winnie #my face #only……Half kidding on that one thing. evan has turned me over to the dark side sorry i love the drama #one of my longest ask responses ever perhaps……i spent literal hours doing so u know #well…..ive got 5.5 hours left to go so back to the grind i go 🫠 this was fun while it lasted tho best distraction <3

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