#she’s like I HAVE BEEN ASKING YOU FOR THE PAST TEN YEARS—

[justmeinadaze]

We're A Family: Aurora's First Date (Steddie X You)

A/N: I've been working on this for awhile but finished it yesterday to feed my fluffy need while it having a dash of angst. Please enjoy and if you haven't read Good Neighbors or We're A Family please do. Its one of my more popular series.

Warnings: Father and Husbands Steddie X Wife Mother Fem Y/N, SMUT, a morning quickie filled with love, light dirty talk, A dash of angst like I said, mentions of a rough birth with the new edition and Steddie panicking, They deal with the struggles of having a teen daughter including her first date, Ro gets in trouble

FLUFF, Like I said there's a new addition. We get an update on all the kiddos and how proud Steddie is of them. Gooey shit near the end because I can <3.

Word Count: 5107

Donate to Me <3

 “Eddie.”

“Y/N.”, he responds with equally as much sarcasm as you giggle while brushing your three-year-olds hair as he nibbled on his snack. 

It had been almost eight years since Dylan went off to college and life for you hadn’t been dull in the years between. 

You had added another addition to the Munson-Harrington household who, like his biological father, had energy to burn. Ethan loved to babble to anyone that would listen unless he had food to munch on, keeping his mouth occupied. 

James had just started the 5th grade and seemed to have an affinity for swimming. You and the guys enrolled him in some classes and he swam for the Hawkins Elementary team earning many first-place trophies that you displayed in the living room next to your daughter’s artwork. 

Aurora, now a 16-year-old teenager, loved to draw and paint, showcasing her work in contests that her teachers insisted she submit them for. 

Their fathers were extremely proud of each of their children.

Steve showed off pictures to his classes and colleagues while Eddie’s office at the shop was a museum of accomplishments his children had achieved. 

Their proudest moment was when Dylan walked the stage to accept his bachelor’s degree. He was named Valedictorian and during his speech thanked his parents including the “two men who were always there” for him since he was six. For the past couple of years, your son had been working at a school in Indianapolis while getting his master’s degree so he could teach at a college level.

You were so proud of him and thankful he was so much closer now. 

Eddie and Steve were still the doting parents and the loving men you had fallen in love with. The older the kids got, however, the harder it was for them to accept certain things especially with Ro which is how you found yourself in your current situation. 

“Dylan went on his first date when he was 13.”

“That’s different.”

“How?”, you counter with a smirk making the man grumble as he folds his arms. 

“Daddy grrrrr.”, Ethan teases as he points towards Eddie who sticks his tongue out at his son. 

“Let’s see what Steve says. There’s no way in hell he’s letting her go on that date.”

As if on cue the front door swings open and your son climbs off your lap to greet his father.

“Dada! Yames!”

“Hey, Ethan.”, James smiles as he ruffles the hair you had just brushed.

“NO! Mama…do E-ten hair!”, he pouts as he covers his head with his little hands. 

“It’s ok, bud. I’m sure we can get it back in working order.”, Steve grins as he picks up the boy and smooths his curls with his palm. 

Ro lags behind, locking the door as she pulls her earbud out of her ear. 

“Rara!”

“Hey, Ethan. Mom, did you…?”

“I’m working on it, baby.”

“Working on what?”

“On giving us a heart attack.”, Eddie interrupts before you can answer. 

“Daddy grrrrrr.”

“Dad! It’s not a big deal.”, your teenager whines.

“Excuse me? A date is a very big deal.”

“I’m sorry?”, Steve inquires becoming more alert. 

“Apparently our daughter was asked out on a date.”, the metalhead relayed practically disgusted when he got to the final word.

“Oh, well I can answer that now. That’s a hell no.”

“MOM! You said it would be ok.”

Both sets of stubborn, annoyed eyes turned your way causing you to roll your eyes as you take your youngest and place him on the floor. 

“James, take Ethan and both of you watch tv until dinner. Aurora, go upstairs and finish your project I know you haven’t started yet that’s due tomorrow, tattletale.” After they each go to their respective areas, you face your husbands who are now side by side with matching sets of folded arms. “Don’t do that. Don’t you two team up on me. She’s sixteen. You can’t keep her from dating. At least this way, we can meet him and make sure everything’s alright before letting her go.”

“I know what boys are like, honey. I did it all the time in high school even when I met the girl’s mom. I told them we were hanging out with friends before heading up to lover’s lake.”

“So, what do we do, Steve? Tie her down and tell her she can’t even though our oldest could? It’s not fair.”

“With Dylan, we were there at the dance. This isn’t a dance, Y/N. He’s taking her to a party.”

“Oh, that’s a definite hell no.”

“It’s not a party, Eddie. She said they were going to hang out with some friends at Amber’s house.”

“Some friends. Mhmm. I’m sorry, Y/N, but I don’t like it. I’m pulling democracy here. We said with things like this if its 2 out of 3—”

“I know, I know. I made the rule remember.”, you sigh. “RO!”

You three wait all of five seconds before she’s quickly running down the stairs having desperately waited for the outcome of this conversation. 

You hated having to break her heart. 

“We talked about it and we decided that…it’s best if you don’t go on this date Friday.”

Aurora blinked as she struggled to control the frustrated tears that wanted to break free.

“You decided or they did?”

“WE decided.”, you answered but she could see through your words as she pointed their way. 

“Why don’t you trust me?”

“We do, honey. It’s him we don’t trust.”, Steve answered.

“You don’t even know him! He’s a nice guy and we’ve been friends for a year! I’m pretty sure I can tell the good from the bad!”

“Hey! Watch your tone, Ro. It doesn’t matter. We said no so the answer is no.”, Eddie relayed in a voice you rarely ever heard from him. 

When it came to things like this or stern conversations, usually Steve was the enforcer. It came with the territory of being a teacher when he needed to settle his classes down. To have the metalhead speak up the way he was meant that this was extremely important to him.

“Ugh it’s not fair!”, she shouted as she began stomping up the stairs.

“Crybaby!”

“SHUT UP, JAMES!”

“Alright!”, you yell sternly silencing everyone. “That’s enough! Good god and you want more kids.”, you sass pointing at Steve who tosses a playful smile your way as you start preparing dinner.

***

Softly grinning his way, you climb up Eddie’s frame on the bed and kiss along his bare stomach as you trace his tattoos up to his chest.

“What’s wrong, babe?”

The man exhales as he places his phone on the table and tenderly pets your head. The long-haired man over the years had aged like a fine wine and you still marveled at the fact that both these men were yours. While a lot of his features remained the same, you loved the little bits of scruff they both seemed to don the older they got. Eddie’s was always along his jaw line where Steve’s seemed to linger above his lip. Their eyes still remained bright with love and affection but the metalhead seem to have more indents of laugh lines that you constantly traced with your fingers as he slept. 

Working at the mechanic shop for as long as he had, Eddie now had more defined lines in his arms and abs that you and Steve salivated over constantly. The latter man himself, while still lean and broad, started getting more of a soft belly that you absolutely loved. When his pants would hang low on his hips, you found yourself staring till he teased you playfully. 

“I hate when she’s upset.”

“I know but…she’ll get over it… she still loves you both.”

“I know…Do you really think we were overreacting?”

“No.”, Steve cut in as he leaned into the doorframe of the bathroom while he flossed his teeth.

“No one asked you, Harrington.”, you teased causing them both to chuckle. “I think that you’re her father and you just want her to be safe. You know we can trust her to make the right choices? Right?”

Your phone begins to vibrate but after Eddie reaches for it to hand it to you, he recognizes the number immediately and answers it for you.

“Hop? Is everything ok?”

“Dad? Where’s mom?”

“Aurora?” The sound of her name had you and Steve coming to attention as he came further into the room. A thought hits him and he promptly opens the bedroom door before you hear the sound of him running up the stairs. “Aurora Munson-Harrington, why are you calling from a police station?”

“Um…is mom there?”

“Answer me.”

“I, um, I may have snuck out and went to hang out with my friends…but dad, I swear to God, I had no idea a full-blown party was going on! As soon as I realized, I tried to leave but that’s when Chief Hopper arrived.”

As she spoke, Steve came back and began digging for clothes to change into.

“I’m so sorry. Can mom come and pick me up?”

“We’re on our way.”

“Dad, wait--!”

“What happened?”, you ask as you watch him hang up and throw on a shirt his husband handed him. “Is she ok?!”

“She’s fine. Stay here and we’ll be right back.”

################

You paced in the living room as you waited for them to come back home.

45minutes later, your daughter slowly came through the door with Eddie’s jacket wrapped around her shoulders and both men filled with anger that you could tell they were trying to keep in check. 

Gesturing with your head towards the back door, everyone followed as Ro took a seat on one of the patio chairs. 

“What happened, Aurora?”

You daughter hung her head as she fiddled with her fingers just like she used to do when she was smaller. 

“She was arrested for being at a party where alcohol was being served since she’s underage. Hop said she was out back making out with some boy.”, Steve grumbled as he leaned against the banister.

“We weren’t making out…”

“Aurora, you’re in an extreme amount of trouble so I would be very careful with what you say.”, Eddie growled, exhaling the smoke from the cigarette between his fingers. 

“I didn’t know it was going to be a party. When I got there—”

“How did you get there?”

“I-I walked.”

“At 11pm in that short skirt and tank top?”

“Amber isn’t far—”

“Not the point!”

“Eddie…”, you warned and he flashes you an annoyed look in return. “When you got there what, Ro?”

“There were so many kids and everyone was drinking. I felt uncomfortable so I went out back to hang out with Chase. I swear all we did was talk until Chief Hopper got there. Until then…”

You knew. You were her age once and you knew she was terrified of talking about intimate details in front of her protective fathers. 

“You just kissed.”

When she nodded all of your mom instincts went into gear knowing she wanted to talk to you about it. She had really cared about this boy for a while and as far as you knew this was her first kiss which was now being overshadowed by the chaos of the evening. 

“I’m really sorry…”

“You’re grounded, Ro, till we come up with something better. No phone, no computer, and you come home immediately after school.”

“That’s all we’re going to do, Steve? She sneaks out, goes to a party, makes out with some kid who I’m going to have some words with by the way!”

As her eyes widen, you step towards her and place your palm on her shoulder. 

“It’s been a long night. Everyone is a bit over amped. Let’s sleep on it and—”

“Why are you doing that, Y/N?! Why do you keep undermining us?!”, Eddie shouted as you tilted your head at his tone. 

“Go upstairs, Aurora, and give me your phone.” She nods, doing as you ask before disappearing inside. “I’m not undermining you. I’m just as pissed off as you are, Eddie, but I think you’re reacting a bit too emotionally.”

“Well, I think you’re underreacting! She went to jail, Y/N! Snuck out, walked around in those clothes and went to a fucking party!”

“Was she actually charged?”

“No. He let her go saying it was a warning.”, Steve replied flatly. “I don’t know. I get what you both are saying but this isn’t ok, Y/N.”

“I’m not saying it is. I’m just saying my daughter had a lot of firsts tonight and I can see she’s overwhelmed. Let her process things, baby.”

After tossing his cigarette over the banister, he grumbled under his breath as he stomped into the house and slammed the bedroom door for emphasis. Your eyes met the other man’s as he sighed and rubbed his eyes with his palms. 

“Fuck… what is it with our children and sneaking out?” You can’t help but laugh as you wrap your arms around him and he kisses the top of your head. “I hope you know I want to kill that boy to.”

Your giggle turns into a cackle as he guides you back inside. 

###################

“Hey, you.”, you murmur softly when you wake up to find Aurora sitting at the kitchen table doodling on her sketchpad. “Why are you up so early?”

“Couldn’t sleep…”

“I understand. Would you like me to make you something to eat?” After she shakes her head, you slide into a chair beside her and glance at the picture she was absently sketching of the flowers on the table Eddie had brought you the other day. “When I was a bit younger than you…I was so in love with boy, I swear I thought we were going to get married on day. His name was Michael and he was this skater type guy with like this shaggy blond hair I thought was so cool.”, you giggled as your daughter smiled. 

“He took me on a date to this pond near our house and we walked around talking about stupid shit. I remember he pulled on my wrist to stop us before kissing me. Oh my God, Ro, it was my first kiss and I was so terrified. While his lips were on mine I kept thinking ‘Is this how it’s done? Do I turn my head? Do I stay still? Should I grab his cheek like in the movies?’ When it was over he smiled at me and said something about how my lips tasted good.

I had no idea what that meant! I was so focused on if I was doing everything right I didn’t even enjoy the aspects of the actual kiss.”, you laugh. “Your grandfather HATED him. Michael introduced himself and my dad grilled him so hard, I was so embarrassed. After that, I tried to hide any guy I was dating but he always found out. It’s funny thinking about that now because I know for a fact he would have been on your dads so fast. Probably say something snarky about Eddie’s long hair or Steve being ‘too pretty’. Jesus… he would have loved them.”

“How do you know?”

“Because as an adult and becoming a parent myself, I know my dad wasn’t doing that to be mean or anything. He loved me and Aunt Kerria and he wanted any man in our life to know that if they ever hurt us, they’d be screwed.”

Your daughter nodded as you gently pet her wavey hair. 

“Mom? Do you think…dad hates me now…after what I did?”

“No, no sweetheart—”

“I’ve never seen him be angry like that—”

“I know, Ro, hey…look at me. Even though he was upset that’s never going to erase how much both those men love you. You’re their first and only girl because fate seems to want both of us outnumbered in this household.”, you joke as you both giggle. “They just want their little girl to be safe…”

“Why in God’s name are you two weirdos up so early?”, Steve asked groggily as he sauntered out rubbing his face with an equally wild haired Eddie promptly heading for the backdoor to go smoke.

Rising to her feet, she tackled her arms around her father whose eyes widen with surprise before she lets him go to follow the metalhead out onto the patio. 

“She ok?”

“Yeah…just some growing pains.”, you beam as you get up to sit in his lap and fold into his chest. 

***

“Dad? May I sit with you?”, Aurora asks, standing behind him till she gets confirmation and sits with her legs crossed beside him on the stairs. “I’m, um, I’m really sorry for sneaking out and going to Amber’s. I swear I didn’t know it would be a party and I didn’t even think about my clothes and—”

“Did you know when you were a baby, Dylan went missing for a few hours?” Eddie inhaled his cigarette as she shook her head. “His biological father just took him from school without telling any of us and scared Y/N half to death. He called me and told me where he was; I didn’t even hesitate to get him and was prepared for a fight that thankfully didn’t happen. I remember that relief though, when I picked him up and held him in my arms… then that anger that I pushed down of wanting to murder this man for not only what he did but hurting your mom.

People hurt her all the time even now… sometimes they still call her a whore or parents will say something about not wanting Steve to teach their kids because of our relationship… I see that every day and I push it down, you know? Your mom says I can’t fight everyone but…”, he sighs as he playfully rolls his eyes and Ro laughs. “What if while you were out one of these people tried to hurt you? We didn’t know you were gone, baby, and then you were at Amber’s without her parents…I was a kid to. I mean what if someone tried to take advantage of you or—”

“Dad! Dad… hang on. That’s so many what if’s…What if none of that happens and I don’t enjoy my life? I know what I did was wrong and I really am sorry for sneaking out. I swear I won’t do that again but I also need you to trust me when it comes to people in my life. Chase is a nice guy and he wouldn’t take advantage or anything like that. Plus, I know if he did you, dad, and Dylan would kill him.”

“Pfft, that’s for damn sure.”, he jokes as he opens his arm to pull her close. “I love you, sweetheart, so much.”

“I love you to, dad.”

After finishing his cigarette, they both come inside causing you and Steve to pull your lips apart. 

“You see? You see what happens when you let that heathen behavior run rampant?”

“Shut up, Eddie.”, you tease as your husband and daughter laugh. “Go get some sleep, Ro. We’ll talk later.”

As soon as she disappears up the stairs, the pretty boy places light, feathery kisses on your neck.

“Someone’s in a frisky mood this morning. What?”, he asks when you lightly giggle. 

“Frisky…you’re such an old man.”

“Yeah, that’s what happens when you’ve dealt with two teens. I’m going to look like the crypt keeper by the time Ethan is in high school.” 

Your laugh grows as he takes you off Steve’s lap and throws you over his shoulder to bring you back to your bed room. 

“What about the next one?”

“Next one what?”, he asks after tossing you onto the mattress and climbs up your frame before your hand on his chest gives him pause. 

“I thought you wanted to have one more…one more baby…”

“Oh, yeah, of course. Steve wanted like six so I’m down for a little litter.”

Again, you stop him and his eyes flood with worry. 

“I just…we agreed that I stop taking my pills…and the doctor said starting yesterday I should be good…but Eddie, if you want to wait or stop—”

His lips on yours cut you off as he smiles against them. 

“Sweetheart, I want to… you’ll just be pushing me and Stevie around in wheelchairs with Oxygen tanks…”

“Calm down, Munson.”, Steve chuckles as he tenderly pets his messy bedhead. 

“Hey, call it karma for what all these kids have done to my body.” 

Both men blink, looking down at you as if you had just said something insane. 

“Honey, your body is still just as beautiful as the day we met you.”

“Hm.”

“No, no, no. Don’t sassily HM him.”, Eddie teases. “You are, baby. This sexy nose…” You giggle as he places a light kiss on the tip, trailing them down as he names off parts of your form. “These yummy lips, your gorgeous arms…” When he gently bites the little bit of flab on your bicep you squeak as you push at his chest and he laughs a husky laugh that has you swooning. 

Pushing up his old Corroded Coffin shirt you had fallen asleep in, his mouth and nose run along your stomach as Steve occasionally places tender kisses against the side of your face. 

“Even this scar on your tummy…”

Both men heavily sigh at the memory as the metalhead places his forehead against your c-section scar. Dylan and Aurora told you the entire story after the boys had finally fallen asleep in your hospital room after Ethan was born. 

Something happened during the labor where he needed to be taken out as soon as possible and both men held your hands in that operating room whispering comforts as you worried. The last thing you remember was hearing your son cry before your vision blurred and you passed out. 

The doctors said what happened wasn’t entirely uncommon. Your blood pressure dropped but at the time neither man knew or understood what was happening as they were pushed out of the room. 

“Wait! What do you mean somethings wrong?! Is our son ok?!”

“Yes, Mr. Harrington, from what we can tell. A nurse has already taken him to be examined. We need to focus on the mother—”

“What wrong with Y/N?!”

“We don’t know, Mr. Munson. Now please—”

“No! That’s our wife! We need to stay with her!”

Aurora said that was the first time she ever saw Steve cry while they were forced to sit in the waiting room for any news. Dylan was able to talk Eddie outside to smoke hoping to calm his nerves as he paced back and forth not wanting to miss any news. 

When you woke up hours later, the metalhead was clinging to your hand while the other boy pet Ro’s curls while she and James slept against his sides. The machine attached to you began rapidly beeping as your panicked eyes looked around. 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hey, everything’s ok, baby, breathe.”, Eddie tried to soothe as both men hovered over you.

“E-E-Ethan—”

“He’s fine, honey, he’s alright.”

“Where’s my baby?”

“Y/N, breathe.”, Steve instructed as he placed both palms on either side of your face. “He’s ok. The doctors are still checking him out but they said he’s doing good. You passed out but your doctor said you’d be ok as long as you stay calm.”

You blinked as your hand clutched his wrist and you nodded even as you began to cry. 

“Don’t you ever scare us like that again.”, he whispered as he kissed your forehead before moving aside so Eddie could hug you to his chest.

Your hand reached down to tangle his hair and he softly smiled as he turned to kiss the base the of your palm. 

“Don’t even get me started on these sexy thighs. You know how much I love them.”, he teases as he lightly slaps your inner leg. “Well don’t be silent, Stevie. Tell her how beautiful she is.”

Tugging on the man’s arm, they exchange a soft kiss before he places himself between your legs and lifts one over his shoulder. 

“I’m pretty sure I started this conversation but…”, he chuckles breathily as his forehead falls on yours while he guides his cock inside you. “Fuck I could talk about how gorgeous you are all day, baby.”

“I love you, Steve.”

“I love you to, honey. Jesus, you feel so good.”, your husband moans as he slowly thrusts his hips. 

His warm breath fans your face till his bites his bottom lip and you both crane your neck to see Eddie tossing the bottle of lube to the side before lining himself up with his own husband’s entrance. 

“I love you, Eddie.”

The pretty boy’s head leans back and his eyes close as the metalhead gradually pushes his length into him, pressing his chest to his back and kissing his shoulder as his chocolate eyes met yours. 

“I love you to, sweetheart.”

As both men pump their hips, you struggle to keep your eyes open as you watch them above you. How did you get so lucky to find not one but two perfect men? Men who cared about you and their children with every fiber of their being. 

It had almost been 20 years since that fateful day when your six-year-old knocked on their door, thrusting them into your lives and you were thankful for every second. 

“Shit, that’s it, Steve.”, the long-haired boy praised as the other man picked up his pace desperate for a release and knowing your morning windows of time were short. “M-Make our girl cum.”

With each slam of his cock deep within your pussy, Steve pushed back even harder against Eddie meeting his hips with a harsh, obscene slap. Dropping your leg to the mattress, he fell against you and sucked on your neck making your eyes roll shut as your mouth fell open.

“Please…please, Steve…I’m gonna—”

A large palm covered your mouth as you mewled loudly, arching your back as you came hard, squeezing his dick like a vice as if begging for his release which he obliged; trembling on top of you as he coated your walls. 

Eddie soon followed, muffling his cries in the other man’s shoulder as his arms wrapped around him and he thrust his spend into him. 

“When…when you came…”, he panted after a few seconds. “…did you think ‘Girl. We need to have a…girl…’”

You and Steve laughed as they both tumble to the mattress beside you.

“I told Ro that fate wants us outnumbered in this house.”

“Yeah, but I don’t know if I could have that time of the month talk again.”

“Um, excuse me. You didn’t have that talk with her, Steven, I did.”, you jest eliciting a smile from them both.

“My little girl.”, Eddie sighs sullenly.

“She’s not a little girl anymore, baby. I know that’s hard to accept, trust me. With Dylan…he’s always going to be my baby. They all are but…you both have to let her grow up.”

#####################

A soft knock at the door has Aurora start to head for the stairs before you quickly grab her arm and place your finger over your mouth in a shushing motion while you two sit on the top step. 

“Hi. Um, you must be, Mr. Harrington. I’m, um, Chase. Is…Ro…Aurora here?”

“Come inside, Mr. Block.”, he commands in that teacher tone you know all to all. 

“Yes, sir. Hi, Mr. Munson. I’m—”

“Sit down, son.”, he orders in a deep voice that has you covering your mouth trying to hide your laughter. 

“He sounds like Wayne.”, you whisper as you lightly push your daughter’s arm who tries to stifle her own giggles. 

“After what happened last week, you’re lucky to be taking her anywhere.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Harrington. I promise nothing like that will happen again. I didn’t know Amber was throwing a party either but I didn’t want to leave Aurora there alone.”

“What are your plans tonight?”

“We’re going to see a movie and then getting pizza after, sir.”

“Ok, I want her home at 9pm sharp. If my daughter isn’t here by 9:01, I’ll call the cops. Do you hear me?”

“Edward!”, you shout as your daughter gives you a panicked look and you take her hand to lead her down the stairs. “Her curfew is at 10 so please have her back by then, Chase. If you’re late we won’t call the cops but, sweetie, you’re lucky you’re getting this date so don’t push it.”

“Yes, ma’am, I promise. Wow, Ro, you look gorgeous.”

“Ok, guys. I love you!”, Aurora tries to hurry as she collects her things and starts to push her date towards the door. 

“You have your phone?”, Eddie asks as they start both start to follow before you grab their wrists keeping them in place. 

“Yes, dad!”

“Ok, call us if you need anything—!” 

Steve exhales and places his free hand on his hip when the door shutting interrupts him. 

“She’s going to be fiiiiiine.”, you sooth as you circle your arms around him. “9pm.”

“What? That’s a reasonable time!”

“Uh huh.”, you joke as you hug Eddie and press your face into his chest.

“She’ll be fine.”, he repeats, reassuring himself before you tilt back to kiss his lips. 

“She will. ‘Sit down, son’.”, you mimic, his jaw dropping in faux shock as you cackle. “I’m gonna tell Wayne and validate those ‘when you become a parent one day’ feels he probably scolded you with when you were our daughter’s age.”

“Not if I kill you first.”

He bolts after you as you give chase to the living room where your youngest jumps in front of you and holds up one of Ro’s old light sabers. 

“My mama!”

“Hmmm…I see you’ve gone to the dark side, boy…”, Eddie mimes the voice of the villain and grabs Ethan lifting him in his arms to spin him upside down causing him to laugh as he drops his weapon. “Harrington! Help me!”

“You’ll have to go through me!”, James announces as he places himself where Ethan had been and you beam wide as you wrap your arms around his shoulders. 

Steve smirks as he finds his own saber and turns it on allowing it to glow. 

“You can’t protect the Queen forever, young Munson-Harrington.”, he responds lightly before running forward to playfully attack his son.

##################

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[twicedone]

Let's talk about... Pyrrha Dve

So, firstly!!! I want to make it plain here that I am RAMBLING about a character I LOVE and while I'm going to TRY to keep things about them as close to canon as I possibly can - I am dumb, and I forget things!!!!!! Secondly; SPOILERS FOR Harrow the Ninth and Nona the Ninth!!!! Thirdly; I will be making grammatical errors and you will be dealing with them!!! (sorry!) Anyways, I absolutely ADORE (full-caps and bold too!) Pyrrha Dve, I think that there's FAR more to her than our beloathed (I kid) Tamsyn has outright stated! (refer to @dammit-tazmuir 's wonderful post here for a look at the Pyrrha-berg ) and I think she'll be pretty important in Alecto the Ninth! However, this post is less about how Pyrrha IS and more about how she FEELS to me. I'm very early on in my transition journey, poking myself with a needle and crying at stuff all the time... so when I started reading Nona the Ninth and saw all the care Tamysn had put into Pyrrha I started to have the thought that maybe --just maybe-- she'd been intended to be read as a Trans character. I kept reading (and talking to a friend about the books, 'cause that was fun!) and the more I learned about her the more the conviction built in me that she was Trans; well, not LITERALLY Trans. (She had a female body at one point, one that she sacrificed long ago... and maybe that sorta disqualifies her from it but that also sounds REALLY fucked up to me??? So I think she's fine, and can rep Trans pride whenever she wants.) Anyways. She's lived the past TEN THOUSAND YEARS in a male body (sounds familiar.), having to stare at the face of her half-dead best pal whenever she intermittently had control of him! I can hardly imagine a better metaphor for dysphoria... forced to stare at someone other than yourself, someone who you care for on some level (it's you, after all.) but you know it's not REALLY you or your body. It's just your soul looking out of eyes that hardly belong to you. Her insistence on shaving her facial hair and hair-hair, even though it was only mentioned a handful of times, it really spoke to me. I hate seeing anything on my face, and I hate the mop of hair that my body makes. When she asked Pal if he could zap the follicles out of her chin, jod (lol) I felt that. There's also like, just how emotional she can be... (not really a trans-thing but more a TD (that's me) thing.) which speaks to me on a personal level 'cause of all these stupid new feelings I have to deal with. And just like, a lot of her dialogue. I don't know, maybe it's wishful thinking and the desperate need for a role model transplanting my own experiences onto a fictional character! Whatever! It's my head canon, and I'll do what I want with it! Edit; I FORGOR TO TALK ABOUT PYRRHA AND WAKE!!!!!!!!!! I can't be the only one (and I'm sure I'm not) that thinks that Pyrrha and Wake were far more intimate than Wake and G1deon, right?! It seems like all signs are pointing towards it, like Wake only included G1deon by accident because she wasn't aware of what Lyctorhood actually was! I think maybe they even loved each other, in a fucked up and supremely toxic way. Maybe Pyrrha would've actually helped her had she been in charge of G1deon's body at the time. ALSO What Trans woman isn't in love with a crazy fucked up woman? (or man, or enby, or someone outside or in between it all) I'd fall for Wake too, Pyrrha says she's got a thing for "Landmine People"? Wake is a fucking NUCLEAR BOMB!!!! I'd betray my jod to sleep with her too, WOOF!

Thanks for Reading!!! (Or skipping to the end to yell at me!) Please let me know what you think in the quotes, and I'm sorry to dammit-tazmuir if I accidentally pinged them or something, I'm still learning how to use tumblr!

ONE LAST THING!!!!! I will throw myself on a fence and haunt Tamsyn as a revenant for all eternity if Griddlehark doesn't get a payoff, you have been WARNED!!!!!!!!

[siilent-wanderer]

Halfway to Something

Summary: Y/N didn’t expect to get close to either of the Jang sisters — let alone both. But somehow, she gets caught between Wonyoung and Daah. Both close, protective, loyal. And somehow, they both start falling for the same girl.

Genre: love triangle :>

Word Count: 3.1k words

Jang Wonyoung x fem!reader x Jang Daah

A/N: not proofread nor do I think it's amazing but oh well, here it is

It’s a new term at Yonsei University and a few transfer students have been accepted to some select departments. Y/N wasn’t the “new kid” exactly, but new enough to be a name no one really knows yet.

During the university org fair, she signs up for two things: the creative writing club (because she’s always loved words) and the student volunteer network (because she was trying to be good this year — well-rounded, balanced, responsible).

And that’s where she meets them. At the same table.

A tall girl, wearing a leather jacket over a frilled dress, stands in front of the org booth with a clipboard in hand and a bright smile.

“Hi! Thinking of joining?” she says, cheerful and open, her long hair and wispy bangs catching the late afternoon light.

Right beside her sits a girl who resembles her to the tee, but less bubbly, more reserved. She’s reading something, a pen in her hand, barely looking up when she says, “You should. We do real work.”

Y/N blinks, caught between two voices, two presences. One warm. One cool. One inviting. One intriguing.

And for some reason, she can’t decide which one makes her chest feel tighter.

Miss-leather-jacket-girl laughs softly. “Ignore her. She scares off new recruits all the time. I’m Wonyoung, by the way.”

The one sitting down finally lifts her eyes. They meet yours — sharp, steady, searching. “Daah.”

“Are you two…?” Y/N asks, gesturing vaguely between them.

“Sisters,” they say at the exact same time.

From there, things just… unfold. Y/N becomes part of the org and gets to know them both — not at the same pace, not in the same way.

Wonyoung becomes her friend first. She invites Y/N to sit beside her in meetings, tags her in memes, drags her to milk tea runs. Wonyoung teases Y/N, calls her nicknames she comes up with, but there’s always a flicker in her eyes sometimes — like she’s hoping Y/N will see past the friendliness.

Daah is harder to get close to, but she notices everything. Remembers the kind of coffee Y/N likes. Calls her out when she’s zoning out during tasks. The older Jang doesn’t smile often, but when she does — just once, when Y/N offers to stay and help her clean up — it knocks the air out of her lungs.

In just a few months, the bond between Y/N and the Jang sisters deepen. Late-night walks after org events. Wonyoung’s fingers brushing hers. A quiet conversation on a library balcony. Daah looking at Y/N like she’s trying not to feel something.

The org is hosting a weekend planning session — nothing fancy, just a few members in a reserved campus conference room, surrounded by half-eaten snacks and open laptops.

As usual, Y/N was seated between Daah and Wonyoung. It wasn’t intentional.

At least… Y/N didn’t think it was.

Wonyoung leans closer to whisper something about how the meeting is dragging on, her breath tickling Y/N’s ear. Her fingers tap lightly against hers under the table. “If they spend ten more minutes talking about logistics,” she murmurs, “I swear I’m pretending to faint.”

Y/N bites back a laugh.

Across her, Daah glances up from her notes. She doesn’t say anything. Just watches. Quietly. Long enough that Wonyoung notices.

Wonyoung meets her gaze for a second too long. Then turns to Y/N again, all sugar and charm. “What do you think, Y/N-nie? Should we take over the org? Restructure the system?”

“That’s so Wonyoung of you,” you tease.

She winks. “You like that about me.”

And before Y/N can respond, before the heat in her chest calms, Daah speaks.

Flat. Calm. Measured. “Not everything has to be turned into a performance, Wony.”

The room quiets slightly, just for a beat. Wonyoung stiffens beside Y/N.

Y/N glances between them, unsure if she missed something.

The younger Jang smiles — a tight, practiced version. “It’s called charisma, unnie. Look it up.”

Daah exhales. “Charisma doesn’t always mean attention.”

Y/N shifts in her seat. It’s subtle, but she can feel it now — the current tugging underneath the surface of their closeness. They’re still smiling, still speaking politely, but something’s changed. They’re watching each other more carefully.

They’re watching Y/N more carefully.

And for the rest of the meeting, no one reaches for the snacks, because Wonyoung’s hand stays near Y/N’s, and Daah’s eyes never quite leave her face.

At the end of the meeting, Y/N is the last one to pack up — stuffing papers into her tote, unplugging her charger, trying not to think about how weirdly tense things got between the sisters. She tells herself maybe it’s nothing. Maybe they’re just... like that sometimes.

Daah’s still there when she zips up her bag. She’s waiting by the door, arms crossed, back resting against the frame.

“I’ll walk you,” she says simply.

Y/N hesitates. “Oh… Wonyoung already left?”

Daah nods. “Someone called her. She said she’d see you later.”

“Ah.” She slings her bag over her shoulder. “Okay.”

They walk side by side down the quiet corridor. It’s already dark outside, the soft glow of lampposts casting long shadows on the pavement.

For a while, neither of them speak.

Then—

“You’re close with her,” Daah says, not looking at Y/N.

She blinks. “With Wonyoung?”

A small nod.

“I guess so?” She replies, trying not to sound defensive. “She’s easy to talk to.”

Daah hums. It’s noncommittal. She kicks a small pebble down the sidewalk.

“She likes you.”

The air changes.

Y/N turns her head slowly, heart thudding. “What?”

“She does,” Daah says plainly. “I can tell.”

Y/N swallows. “Is… is that a problem?”

When Daah stopped walking, Y/N did too, one step behind.

The older Jang looks at her — really looks at her. Daah’s face is unreadable. Her voice softer this time. “Not if you like her back.”

Y/N wants to answer. But the words don’t come easily.

Because she doesn’t know. Because Wonyoung makes her laugh, makes her feel seen. But Daah makes her feel... steady. Held. Understood without trying.

“I don’t know,” She admits, almost whispering.

Daah exhales, slow. She nods. “Okay.”

And just like that, she starts walking again.

No pressure. No persuasion.

Just Daah, offering space.

But Y/N catches the way her hands curl slightly at her sides — like she’s holding something back.

The next morning, the group chat is buzzing with leftover chatter from the meeting, and Y/N’s nursing a half-full iced coffee on campus when Wonyoung slides into the bench beside her. She’s unusually quiet.

“Hey,” she says, lips tugging into a soft smile. “You walked home okay?”

Y/N nods. “Yeah. Your sister walked with me.”

Something flickers in her expression — a tiny twitch of the mouth, the briefest pause in her fingers twirling her straw. But Wonyoung recovers fast. She always does.

“Right,” she says, casually. “She mentioned it.”

She doesn’t ask what the two talked about. Doesn’t ask how it felt. But she leans just a little closer to Y/N now — elbow brushing hers, voice a little lower when she says, “You know you could’ve texted me too. I would’ve gone back.”

Y/N offers her a small smile. “I know.”

She doesn’t push. But her eyes linger.

And across the courtyard, Daah walks by — no words, just a nod in Y/N’s direction. A knowing look. And that’s all it takes for Wonyoung to straighten her posture slightly.

That afternoon, at the org’s informal prep meeting in the library, Daah takes the seat beside Y/N first. No one makes a big deal of it. It’s always been that way.

Well, except for Wonyoung, who comes in late and stops for just a second when she sees the two of them bent over the same printout, Daah’s signature pen in Y/N’s hand because she said “Here, I want you to highlight this part.”

Wonyoung sits on the other side this time.

It’s subtle. But Y/N feels it — a tension stretched so thin it’s almost invisible, until one breathes too hard and it snaps.

It’s after the meeting that Daah walks with Y/N again. This time to the cafeteria, both of them craving fries.

“I like how you think,” she says dryly, ordering the largest size on the menu without hesitation.

As Y/N sits across from her, dipping fries into shared ketchup, she says, “You looked tired today.”

Y/N shrugs. “Just overwhelmed. So many deadlines.”

The older Jang nods. Then, slowly, she slides her tumbler across the table. “It’s just water,” she says, “but you forget to hydrate when you’re stressed.”

Y/N blinks at her.

It’s nothing.

It’s everything.

And when Daah walks her back to her dorm entrance, she doesn’t say anything more than, “Get some rest, Y/N.”

But Y/N catches her glancing back once before turning the corner.

Wonyoung has been quiet the entire day, so a text message at 8:34 PM wasn’t expected.

Wonyoung: you busy tonight? thought we could do a night drive. just us, like before

Y/N hesitates.

Y/N: where to? Wonyoung: doesn’t matter. just need fresh air. and you.

Y/N meets her by the south gate after 9PM. She’s leaning against her cousin’s borrowed car, oversized hoodie, long hair braided loosely down her back. The streetlight hits her just right — like it always does.

“I missed you,” she says, tugging Y/N into the passenger seat.

The drive is quiet. They both hum along to the playlist Wonyoung always uses for late-night escapes. She talks about random things — how her professor keeps forgetting her name (a lie), how the milk tea shop near her dorm has new flavors (true), how she feels like everyone’s been “acting weird lately.”

Y/N glances at her. “Weird how?”

“I don’t know.” Wonyoung shrugs. “Just vibes.”

But then she glances at Y/N quickly, just once, before adding:

“You still tell me everything, right?”

Y/N breath catches.

Wonyoung doesn’t press further. Just reaches over to squeeze Y/N’s hand lightly, then lets go before the light turns green again.

They end the night at a quiet overlook, sharing fries and not saying the thing sitting between them. At least, not yet.

Three days later, Daah invites Y/N to study with her.

Her dorm is quiet — books stacked neatly, scented candle lit by the desk, an extra hoodie waiting for Y/N on the back of her chair.

“You always get cold,” Daah says when she puts it on.

The older Jang works with that sharp, focused energy Y/N’s always admired. No distractions, no fluff. But every once in a while, she leans over to explain a tricky concept, her voice low and steady, her hand brushing Y/N’s as she points something out.

When she notices the younger girl rubbing her temples, she silently slides a chocolate bar across the desk. Y/N glances at her.

She just says, “Sugar helps.”

Later, when the power flickers — a storm rolling in — the lights go out briefly. Y/N’s laptop screen glows faintly.

Without a word, Daah lights another candle. The soft amber glow casts warm shadows on her face.

“You okay?” she asks.

Y/N nods. “Yeah. Just… this week’s been a lot.”

She closes her notebook. “Want to talk about it?”

And Y/N does. About stress, org deadlines, everything and nothing — Daah’s quiet presence making it so easy to say things she didn’t know she needed to.

When it’s time to leave, the older Jang insists to walk her home.

“I just want to make sure you’re safe, Y/N.”

“It’s just a 15-minute walk. I also want you to be safe,” Y/N mutters.

To compromise, Daah walks her to the gate with an umbrella. Before she turns, the older Jang tucks Y/N’s hair behind her ear gently and says,

“Text me when you’re inside. Please.”

Now, Y/N can’t sleep. Not because of the readings. Not even because of her backlogged project.

It’s the hoodie still hanging on her chair — Daah’s. And the playlist Wonyoung made that won’t stop looping in her head.

She’s not blind. She’s noticed how they’ve been around more lately. How Daah waits for her reactions without asking for them. How Wonyoung suddenly leaves room beside her in every group photo, without saying a word, like that space is always meant for her.

And the worst part? Y/N doesn’t hate it.

She’s the one checking if Wonyoung’s online late at night. She’s the one holding on to the chocolate wrapper Daah gave her, telling herself it’s for a junk journal.

No, she’s not unaffected. She’s just scared of what it means — that choosing one might mean losing both.

The group’s planning the new upcoming university fair. Y/N was seated in the middle of the table. Wonyoung on her left, Daah on her right.

She doesn’t think it’s planned again — but it feels intentional.

There’s a point when everyone’s discussing logistics, and Y/N offers to handle the booth design.

Daah leans in first, voice low. “That’s a lot on your plate. Let me co-lead with you.”

Before Y/N can respond, Wonyoung cuts in, not unkind, but clear. “I can help too. I’ve seen Y/N’s drafts before.”

It’s not hostile. But the shift in tone doesn’t go unnoticed.

People glance. Someone raises a brow. Y/N laughs it off, saying, “Two’s enough. Wony, maybe you can handle printing?”

She nods. Says, “Sure,” but her eyes flick briefly to Daah.

Later, during a snack break, the three of them end up near the same corner table, the others still busy on the floor.

Wonyoung offers her drink first — Y/N’s usual, bought without asking.

Daah sets a pack of Y/N’s favorite biscuits in front of her — again, without needing to ask.

Y/N looks at both. Then down at the table.

“I feel like I’m in a very quiet war,” she murmurs, mostly to herself.

Neither of them responds.

But Daah smirks. And Wonyoung’s lips press into a soft line — not angry, just... calculating.

Because they both heard her. Because no one’s denying it anymore.

It’s another late afternoon meeting for the university fair team. Y/N is curled on the grass with her laptop open, a group of snacks between her, Chaeyeon and Yuri.

Everyone’s half-working, half-vibing. Wonyoung’s on the other side of the field, helping someone lift tarps. Daah is by the booth setup, deep in conversation with two logistics leads. Y/N has been pretending not to track either of them with her eyes.

Yuri, who’s been watching her for the past minute with that sly smile she saves for exactly this kind of thing, finally breaks the silence.

“So, Y/N,” she starts, plucking a chip from the bag, “how’s it feel to be the main character in a drama where the love interests are literal sisters?”

Y/N chokes on her iced tea.

Chaeyeon snorts. “Oh my god, Yuri—”

“I’m just saying!” Yuri raises her hands. “It’s giving Silent Rivalry: Blood Runs Thicker Than Crushed Ice.”

Chaeyeon giggles. “Honestly? She's not wrong.”

Y/N groans, covering her face. “You’re both delusional.”

But she’s smiling. Just a little.

Chaeyeon leans in. “Wonyoung walked you to your dorm twice this week. And Daah lent you her hoodie. And you wore it.”

“She gave me chocolate, too,” she mumbles, then instantly regrets it.

Yuri gasps. “See?”

“Guys—”

“We’re not judging,” Yuri says, voice lowering. “We’re just… worried.”

Y/N blinks. “Worried?”

“Yeah,” Chaeyeon says, her tone softening. “They’re really close. If this goes sideways… it won’t just be your heart on the line.”

That lands heavier than she expects. Y/N looks down at her screen, the cursor blinking like it's waiting for her to decide something.

Before she can respond, a shadow falls over the group.

Wonyoung.

“Hey, you okay?” she asks, offering you a cold drink. Her gaze briefly flickers to Chaeyeon and Yuri.

Y/N smiles weakly. “Yeah. Just talking.”

Wonyoung looks like she wants to ask more, but doesn’t. Instead, she sits beside Y/N — close enough that their arms brush each other’s .

Across the field, Daah looks over at that exact moment.

And their friends exchange a look that says oh no, it’s already too late.

After an hour, everyone’s packing up. Chaeyeon’s gone to grab food with some of the logistics team. Wonyoung offered to walk Y/N home again, but she gently said she’d stay behind to help Yuri gather the signages.

She’s not sure if it was an excuse or if she needed this quiet space with someone who’s been watching her without asking anything from her.

Yuri ties the last of the twine around a rolled-up banner. Then she turns to her best friend.

“Y/N,” Yuri says, not quite looking at her. “Can I ask something? No jokes this time.”

“Shoot.”

“Do you even know what you want?”

Y/N blinks. “That’s vague.”

“Is it?” She meets her eyes now. “Because I think you’re in the middle of something that doesn’t feel like a love triangle from the outside anymore. It’s real. And both of them — Wonyoung and Daah  — they’re not playing games.”

Y/N looks away, swallowing hard.

Yuri continues, gently, “I’m not telling you to choose right now. But you can’t keep playing neutral forever either. Not without hurting someone.”

“I know,” the younger whispers. “I just… don’t want to ruin anything. They’re sisters. And they’re so close. What if it all falls apart and I’m the reason?”

Yuri shifts beside her, resting her hand lightly on Y/N’s. “If it does fall apart, that’s not on you. You’re not a prize. You’re a person. You have the right to feel things, to figure it out. But promise me something?”

Y/N glances up.

“Promise me you’ll be honest with yourself first. Not just with them.”

She nods slowly and for the first time all day, the weight in her chest lightens a little.

At their shared apartment, Daah’s seated on the living room couch, reviewing a script. Wonyoung steps in with two glasses of water and sets one down on the table beside her older sister.

She sits on the other end of the couch. For a while, the only sound is the flipping of pages.

Then Wonyoung speaks, soft but clear. “You walked her home.”

Daah doesn’t flinch. “It was late.”

“You never walk people home.”

“I’ve walked you home.”

Wonyoung sighs. “That’s different, unnie.”

Daah sets the script down and finally meets her eyes. “Is it really?”

Wonyoung’s jaw tightens, but she’s calm. “She’s not just anyone.”

“I know.”

They hold each other’s gaze.

Then Daah says, “I didn’t plan this.”

“I know.”

Silence.

Wonyoung leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “I just need to understand something.”

“What?”

“Why her?”

Daah breathes in through her nose. “Because she looks at people like they matter. Even when she’s tired. Even when she’s not sure of herself. I saw that in her before I knew I’d… feel anything.”

Wonyoung blinks, eyes briefly wet, but she smiles.

“That’s exactly why I like her too.”

There’s no anger. Just a long, slow exhale from both of them.

Daah finally asks, voice low, “So what do we do?”

And Wonyoung replies, “We wait. For her. Not against each other.”

A beat. Then Daah nods.

And maybe, just maybe, the respect between them will survive whatever comes next.

The story branches into two possible endings: One where Y/N chooses Wonyoung, and one where she chooses Daah. There's no “right” choice — only the one that speaks to you most. Enjoy :>

Flowers and Firsts | Rain and Realizations

[jiminjeongsoldier]

ᯓᡣ𐭩 TAKE IT SOFT AND SLOW

PAIRING : crush! giselle x fem! reader

GENRE : fluff, gl, contains !soft smut¡

SYNOPSIS : you have feelings for giselle since a while now, and since the two of you became friends, you decided to make the move and invite her to the cinema, but looks like giselle had other plans in mind;)

NOTE : hi im back loves im so sorry for my inactivity these past few months have been so busy for me 😭 but i promise to post more fanfics from now on + that’s my first “soft smut” so plz be indulgent<3

———————————————————————

it’s have been a while now since you started to get feelings for giselle, this beautiful red haired girl with amazing curves. everyone at school at least already got a crush on her amongst their years at school, and you weren’t the exception to this rule

you craved so many times to tell her about your feelings, but you were so damn shy, and it was obvious to you that you’ll sound so stupid and pathetic in front of such a goddess as her, even though the two of you were friends

so, today, you decided to make things right for once, and since you were too shy to ask giselle right in front of her, face to face, you decided to sending her a message asking if she was okay with watching a movie at the cinema with you, of course, she accepted, as sweet as she is

and here you were, almost shaking in front of the cinema, waiting for giselle. you tried to dress pretty well since it was the first time since giselle and you were able to see each other out of school : you were wearing a mi-short skirt with a cute top, and you were secretly praying for giselle to notice

after almost ten minutes of waiting under the scorching heat of may, here giselle was, arriving in this cute black dress with her dark hair in a ponytail, and you immediately notice her lipgloss on her lips and you had to take all the strength in your body for keeping your composure in front of aphrodite’s daughter

“hi sweetie” giselle’s says in her signature soft tone, and as she says these words, she comes and hug you gently, and you feel your heart about to explode at her contact, but you try to keep your composure as always as you answer to her with a simple smile as you say “hi giselle”

giselle finally let go slowly from your embrace as she gives you this soft smile of hers as she asks “shall we enter? and you immediately nod as the both of you enter the cinema, and you could already feel your hands all sweaty

as both giselle and you enter the cinema room, you are surprised to see giselle requesting to seat in the last row of seats, at the very back of the cinema room and the big screen, but you simply nod gently as you sit next to her

while you see the amount of people seating at the row of seats right in front of the big screen, you can’t help but feel your stomach twisting as you know that there is just the two of you, giselle and you, at the very last row of seats, but you try your best to calm down as you see the movie starting

as the movie goes by, you can’t help but notice from the corner of your eyes giselle gently lifting up her black dress until you can see a bit of her inner thighs, and you even yourself starts to feel your body heating up at the sight of it, and now you can’t focus on the movie anymore but to giselle’s long thighs

giselle planned everything and was more than proud to see her plan going absolutely perfect, she smirks softly as she sees you trying to hard to focus on the movie while she exposes her legs like that. then, in one smooth move, she approaches her face closer to you until she reaches her ear as she whispers to your ear in a soft yet seductive tone “what’s going on sweetie, are you feeling a bit.. distracted?”

when you feel giselle’s lips so close to your ear as she whispers to you those deadly words, you can tell that she knows exactly what she is doing, so you simply shake your head slightly as your eyes focus almost immediately to the movie as you whisper in a soft yet shaking tone that immediately betrays you “i.. i’m all fine, thanks”

as giselle see you fighting so hard to keep your cool when she says these words as her lips remained close to your ear and her body almost pressed against yours, she can’t help but grin before she gently caress her arm up and down with her hand slowly as she says in a seductive and hot whisper “what a naughty girl, i know you’re lying cutie”

at giselle’s words as you feel her touch on your shoulder, you feel yourself slowly losing your cool, the most when you see giselle purposely touching her thighs, and you can’t help but bite your lower lips at her contact

giselle has been observing all yours reactions, and she is literally having so much watching you struggling so hard to keep your cool in this situation, and she smirks once more before she lets her fingers trailing from your shoulder to your stomach as she places her fingers on the hem of your skirt as she says in a hot and seductive tone to your ear “you’re struggling so hard to keep your cool, you’re so adorable love”

as you hear her words, you let out a shaky breath as you feel yourself getting hotter and the feeling of giselle’s hands on the hem of your skirt doesn’t helps you to calm down, and you could almost feel your legs shaking a little bit

when giselle notices your legs barely shaking, she can’t help but laugh to herself before she lets her fingers slipping down in your skirt, and you can’t help but immediately let out a soft muffled moan before you soon feel her fingers brushing gently on your underwear, and you find yourself suddenly getting uncomfortable on your seat as you sweat badly and you find yourself gripping the armrest of your seat so much that your knuckles turns white

giselle seems to enjoy every single moments of it as she sees you struggling so hard to keep quiet as she slipped her hand down into your skirt as she reached your underwear and started to brush it teasingly with her fingers before she comments in a hot whisper “you’re so damn wet, sweetheart. since when are you like that?” you don’t even answer to her words as you simply let out a soft sigh as giselle already has the answer and speak out once again in that seductive tone of hers as she keeps speaking to you to your ear “oh, i’m sure you’ve been that way since you saw me in that black short dress.. what a naughty girl you are baby”

as she said these words, she continued to rub her fingers against your clothed wetness playfully as you feel yourself genuinely losing your mind as all you wanted is feeling her, but you know it was too risky, there were people in this room, giselle and you weren’t alone, yet you can’t help but crave it more than anything

giselle keeps seeing all your little reactions and soon, you feel her lips on your neck as she places soft and seductively kisses all along your neck, and you dig your nails deeper in the armrest as you try your best to not let out any noises, even though little soft sighs keep escaping your lips

as giselle keeps planting kisses all along your neck, she doesn’t stop her moves on your underwear as she keeps rubbing it gently with her fingers before she says in a soft whisper “i wish i could make you right now, but it’s unfortunately too risky” as she said these words, you swear that you could hear her laughing almost mockingly as she continues to press kisses all along your neck

when the movie comes to end, you see giselle immediately slipping away her hand from inside your skirt as she immediately pulled it away as she also pulls her lips away from your neck, and you find yourself letting out a desperate and frustrated sigh as you see all the people leaving the cinema room

when you see everyone’s leaving it but not you and giselle, you feel your heart beating of anticipation and as you hear her hot whisper, you can feel your head almost spinning as she says “now that everyone left, let mommy taking care of you.. mhm?”

and that’s when a heated and passionate session starts between you and giselle all alone in the cinema room…

₊˚⊹౨ৎ ₊˚⊹ ₊˚⊹౨ৎ ₊˚⊹ ₊˚⊹౨ৎ ₊˚⊹ ₊˚⊹౨ৎ ₊˚⊹ ₊˚⊹౨ৎ

[the-golden-weapons]

I’d like to think Jay and Nya are very funny because they are both mechanics, but in entirely opposite ways:

Nya has all her tools in proper order. In her workshop, there is never any scrap part going unused. Any notes and blueprints since the ripe age of 12 have been carefully stored and saved, no matter how much she cringes when looking back on them. The Samurai X designs and revisions have their own file cabinet as well as digital backups. Her measurements are double and triple checked, even though she probably had it right the first time. Every choice she makes is calculated and buffed out, from the interlocking gears to the paint job. She prides on her work on being practical and aesthetic, thank you very much.

Jay, meanwhile, is the definition of fuck around and find out. Blueprints? Who needs em, anyways? The only thing vaguely resembling “notes” in his work area are scrap pieces of paper with the most round-about mathematics ever (complete with indecipherable short-hand and a stick figure drawing of Jay holding a blowtorch, naturally.) He will change up plans on the fly and casually stick his hands in very sharp moving parts like there is no tomorrow. Safety equipment? He grew up in a junkyard. He had a wrench in his hand before he could walk. Yeah, no, he’s pretty sure he’s fine, thanks.

[princessmacedon]

yuri, as he often tends to, appears with little more than a call of her name in greeting. “maria!” a lazy wave of one hand, the other raising a paper bag. “got some time to spare? i brought cake.”

he may not have been a student at the academy for long, but there's still plenty of corners in the monastery that he'd made his own secret getaways in that time. west of the cathedral is the goddess tower that students flock to; yuri much prefers the peace and quiet of the monastery walls past the nearby gate, with nothing mountains and trees as far as the eye could see.

that gate, like many other things, is broken now, but it makes the task of getting past it much easier. “i used to sneak out here to clear my head when i was still a student,” he says as perches where the wall is still intact and sets the bag down next to him. lilacs flick to maria, head inclining for her to join him. “i was a blue lion then,” he continues idly, pulling out two boxes of cake from the bag, then a third, smaller jewelry box that he sets in his lap, “just like you.”

“if you come at sunset, everyone's busy at dinner and you get a good view. keep it a secret, yeah?” yuri raises a finger to his lips with a smile before extending the jewelry box toward her. inside is a silver bracelet, a little mockingbird charm hanging from it. the symbol might not scare off the monastery's invaders, but it'll shoo off a bandit or three that would rather not risk the wrath of the savage mockingbird. “happy birthday, maria.”

"Hee hee... of course!"

She follows him somewhere, anywhere really, past the long years now scattered in the grass and through the half fallen gate that once kept them. Up the makeshift steps he goes with the grace she knows him for, and Maria -- well, she clambers after. Hers is a different sort of grace, a floating sort, all clouds gusting over meadows and not so experienced in creeping up crumbling stone, yet no less delighted for the fact she stumbles in her journey.

"A Blue Lion?" She echoes curiously, once she's settled with a giggle and her giggles are all settled. It's strange; she hadn't expected Yuri to have been a Blue Lion, but then-- a Deer? No way! An Eagle? Well... maybe? At this height, the breeze pushes past her face, and she holds up a hand to brace against it, squinting at them between sun and wind, as if looking will make more sense.

In does, in a way. There is some quiet satisfaction she finds in some quiet answer, silence balanced by the blare of a toothy grin pulled cheek to cheek. A finger rises to her lips in playful mimicry, a smile halved yet a doubled joy.

"I promise!" Maria breathes her laughter and the awe that follows, opening the box by the smallest sliver she may and stealing a tiny glimpse, never mind the fact it was a gift freely offered. A flash of silver, a fluttering of lashes -- she dares to open the box further and gasps softly when she does.

For once, she doesn't rush headlong into her words, merely slipping her wrist through the loop, holding her hand up to the mellowing light. The charm turns warm under the sunset, and --

"Hee hee... heeheehee!" When she splays her fingers, an entire sky of warm colors greets her back. Rose-red eyes dart toward Yuri with the barest turn of her head.

"Yuri, did you know?" She laughs again. "You just gave me two presents instead!"

Pulling her hand to her face, she presses her cheek against her knuckles, bracelet and charm dangling from her wrist. Hardly the most elegant way to show off her new treasure, but any good gift pairs well with happiness and appreciation, and both of these the little princess has in spades.

"--Thank you, though." Her expression turns soft as she thinks of it, holding the bracelet gently to her heart. "This makes me really... really happy. I mean it! I'll wear it every day!"

The silver bird spreads its wings and Maria wonders if it means anything; has it stowed away any wishes in its heart? A bid for whimsy, or even freedom? Whatever it is, the little princess lets it keep them, and hers along with it. They will never know that she has never felt at ease at an empty table, silly as it may sound. There is no need to, for now the whole sunset holds the secret Yuri shared with her; now the whole sunset is her friend, and the youngest daughter of Macedon will never eat another lonely dinner again.

[spikedfearn]

Bloodbound

one-shot

Remmick x fem!reader

summary: In Godthrone, Mississippi, salvation comes at a cost: one girl, every ten years. Bound beneath a blood moon to Remmick, you become more than offering. You become his. He tastes your terror like honey, drinks your arousal like wine, and marks you in ways no god could forgive. Through soul-binding magic and whispered vows carved into skin, you learn that some monsters don’t take—they tether. And once you're his, there's no such thing as free will.

Only desire. Only devotion. Only him.

wc: 15.3k

a/n: I don’t even know where to begin—I’m still trying to process the fact that Brittany Broski posted Mercy Made Flesh to her insta story like it was just another Saturday and not the coolest thing that's ever fucking happened to me 😭 I’ve been writing these aus with my whole heart, but I never expected the absolute avalanche of love and support these past couple of weeks. The comments, the reblogs, the screaming in the tags. It’s meant more than I can say, you have all helped me find the joy in writing again, I promise I’m just getting started <333 and an extra big thank you to Liz @fuckoffbard for swooping in and not only beta reading but posting the fic from my account with her laptop bc Tumblr mobile kept crashing on me every time I tried to edit it. Not all heroes wear capes

warnings: possessive vampire, blood kink, bite kink, soulbonding, dubcon elements, obsession, marking, monsterfucking, ritual sacrifice, forced proximity, loss of agency, manipulation, primal sex, size kink, somnophilia (implied), power imbalance, breeding kink (suggestive), Southern Gothic horror, emotional coercion, sacred corruption, body worship, predator/prey dynamics, fear kink, aftercare, blood drinking, religious overtones, stockholm syndrome elements

tags: @sweetheart2210, @seashelleseashellsbytheseashore, @cosmicneptune (comment if you wanna be added to the tag list)

likes, comments, and reblogs always appreciated, please enjoy!!

They told you not to cry.

The priestess with the burnt fingertips and clinking bone necklace—she gripped your chin between cracked fingers this morning and said it soft, but firm: “He won’t choose the ones who cry. He likes a little fight.”

You didn’t ask who he was. Everyone knows. They say his name like the air around it might curdle. Remmick. No surname. No title. Just Remmick, the vampire king of the blighted woods, the monster who made your town a deal eighty years ago and never broke it.

Not once.

The sun rose slowly this morning, heavy with heat that made the back of your dress stick to your spine before you even got out the door. The August air tastes like rot and copper. You dressed in the church’s parlor room, with the other girls. Seventeen of you. All local. All barely women, but old enough for sacrifice. The law calls it The Binding, but everyone calls it what it is: Bloodbriding.

Your dress is cotton muslin, faded sky-blue with a high collar and puffed sleeves. You think it used to be a baptismal gown. It’s been worn before, passed from girl to girl, all of them marked and married off to the dead. It smells like dried lavender and fear. The buttons up your back had to be done by the priestess. You couldn’t stop trembling.

The town of Godthrone, Mississippi was dying even before the Great Depression turned fields to dust and fathers into ghosts. But they say things changed in 1853, when Remmick came up from the swamps with hunger in his eyes and a deal in his mouth. He would protect the town from sickness, starvation, and war. No one from Godthrone would suffer famine, plague, or enemy. In return, every ten years, a bride would be chosen.

One bride. One binding. One soul fed to the dark.

They tried sending soldiers once, back in 1891. Sixteen went into the woods. None came back whole. Some came back dead. Some came back wrong. One woman started speaking tongues until her mouth filled with spiders. After that, they stopped questioning the pact. Instead, they polished it, sanctified it. Made it a ceremony. A celebration.

Tonight, the Choosing will be held in the town square. You will be walked up barefoot, hair unbound, throat bare. They say the mark will bloom on the girl he wants. A burning, black sigil over the heart. Like a brand. Like a marriage license signed in blood.

Your fingers clutch the hem of your dress. Your name is somewhere on the roster. Somewhere between Eleanor Avery and Ruth Jameson, though it's hard to keep track when the names aren't arranged in alphabetical order.

You haven’t eaten since yesterday. You haven’t even had your first kiss and you’re ridiculously terrified. Because you’ve dreamt of serrated teeth in the dark for weeks now. Because your skin itches like something under it wants out. Because when you close your eyes, you swear you can feel someone watching. Someone already choosing.

And the sun is starting to go down.

They say only the pure get chosen. But that’s a lie. You’ve seen who’s been taken before.

Rebecca Sue, who slit her baby sister’s throat in a fever dream. Agnes Miller, who used to take men’s teeth as trophies.

None of them were pure. They were just...unlucky. Or pretty. Or strange enough that no one would miss them.

You’ve always known you were one of those girls. Born during a blood moon, baptized late because no one could find your daddy until spring thaw—when they fished him out of the river with his eyes missing and his hands gnawed to bone. Your mama didn’t cry. Just braided your hair tighter that morning and told you to never kiss a man with a gold chain or blue eyes. Said they never bring nothin’ but grief.

She died a year later. Something in her blood turned sour. The town doctor wouldn’t touch her. Said it was Remmick’s curse, passed down from when she laid with a man not her husband. Said that’s what happens when women sin.

You were seven when she died. You remember the flies buzzing in her throat. You remember how quiet the house got after. They moved you into the orphan house at the edge of the bog. You learned quickly not to cry at night. Crying brought the wrong kind of attention. So you got good at being quiet. Good at disappearing. Good at keeping secrets under your tongue until they turned bitter and black.

You never learned to curtsy right. You never kept your head bowed during sermons. But you were beautiful, and that was enough. Curious eyes, soft demeanor, a voice like river water. You didn’t want to be, but beauty in Godthrone is a death sentence wrapped in silk.

And now here you are.

Twenty-one and cursed with symmetry.

Chosen to stand under the sickle moon tonight, wearing a dead girl’s dress and nothing else beneath it. Your whole life leading to this—one slow march toward a monster’s mouth.

The town pretends this is holy. They hang garlands on the chapel door and sing hymns in minor chords. The mayor’s wife gave you perfume, lemon balm and sugar, and told you to “make the town proud.” Her eyes didn’t meet yours.

You think about running. You always think about running. But there’s nowhere to go. Not with that feeling in your chest. That strange pull. That sense of something waiting. Something with teeth.

And a name you never dared say out loud until last night. Whispered into your pillow like a prayer. Like a confession.

Remmick.

Your skin burns when you think about it now.

There are stories, of course. Every girl who grows up in Godthrone hears them. They start as whispers during thunderstorms—told under quilts with a candle burning low, shared like secrets between girls too young to know better and too scared not to listen.

“He walks on graves and doesn’t leave footprints.” “He drinks from animals and people, unless he’s claimed you.” “If he marks you, you’ll never want anyone else. Even if you try.”

But the worst ones are the quietest. The ones passed from dying lips to trembling ears. The ones that don’t sound like warnings—they sound like wishes.

“He touched me once. I haven’t known peace since.”

There was one girl—Celia Mott—who came back. Just once. Just long enough to be seen. The Binding year of 1911. She walked into the town square three years later, barefoot and smiling with red-stained teeth. Hair grown long and wild, white dress yellowed with age, eyes gone black. She didn’t speak. Not even once. Just walked right into the chapel and curled up on the altar like a dog. They found her there the next morning, hands folded on her chest, body cold as the river.

No one talks about Celia. But everyone remembers her. You remember her.

You were only thirteen, peeking through a knothole in the chapel wall. You watched as they wrapped her in burlap and buried her deep. You remember thinking she looked peaceful. You remember being jealous. That was the first time you ever said his name, whispered into the dirt above her grave. Not out of fear. Not even hate. Curiosity.

Because what kind of man makes a girl lie down and die smiling?

You used to wonder what he looked like. The other girls said he was monstrous, with claws for hands and eyes that burned like oil lamps in the dark. But that never sat right with you. You don’t think a creature that ancient would need to be grotesque to be feared. You think he’d be beautiful—awfully, unnaturally beautiful. The kind of beautiful that keeps you up at night, sick with craving.

And that’s the part that terrifies you most. Because somewhere in the dark part of you—the part that still dreams of blood-slick mouths and hands around your throat—you want it.

You want to know if he’ll kiss you first or just bite. You want to know what it feels like when the bond takes. You want to know if the mark will hurt as much as it’s supposed to. You want to know if you’ll scream.

You press your palm flat to your chest. Nothing yet. No mark. No burn. No claim. But you swear—you swear—you can feel something there. Like a match waiting to strike. Like teeth ghosting your skin. Like someone’s already touching you from the other side of the veil.

The sun is sinking lower. The bell will ring soon.

And then—the chapel doors open like a serpent unhinging its maw.

Wood creaks. Heat rushes in. And for a second, you don’t move. Then the priestess nods. Just once. That’s your cue.

You step forward on bare feet, feeling every splinter in the boards, every grain of dirt that clings to your soles as you pass the threshold and step into the sweltering dusk. The sky bleeds orange and purple, clouds dragging low like bruises. Somewhere, a cicada screams. And just like that—it begins.

The town square is only five blocks away, but the walk feels like miles. You don’t look at the people lined along the street—don’t dare. You can feel their eyes anyway. Heavy as wet cloth, pricking your skin like pins. Old women in rust-stained aprons. Young boys clutching their mothers' skirts. Men who won’t meet your gaze but still lean in for a better look.

It feels like being paraded through the gallows. Or the garden before slaughter.

The other girls walk ahead and behind you, a procession of blue and white and shaking, anxious limbs. No one speaks. Even the priestess has fallen silent. The only sound is the crunch of gravel underfoot, and the dry shush of cotton brushing thighs.

Your heart beats so loud it’s all you hear. It doesn’t sound like fear anymore. It sounds like an invocation.

The town square unfolds in front of the old courthouse, the brick stained dark from a fire no one talks about anymore. There’s a raised wooden platform at the center—built just for this, just for tonight. The gallows rope is still looped overhead, a relic from older rituals, back when Binding meant hanging the chosen until they gasped awake with his name on their lips.

Now it’s cleaner. More sacred.

They say he prefers it that way.

Gas lanterns flicker along the perimeter, casting warped shadows over the crowd. Wreaths of night jasmine hang from the eaves, their scent thick and cloying in the heat. Everything smells like smoke and sugar and sweat. It makes your stomach roll.

The girls are led to the platform and lined up—seventeen of you, barefoot on the warm planks, hands clasped at your waists like dolls posed for judgment. The crowd stares. Some murmur prayers. Some cry. And some just watch.

You keep your chin up. Not out of pride. But because you know he’s watching too. Somewhere. Behind the crowd. Behind the dusk. Behind the veil of what’s seen and what isn’t.

You can feel it. That tickle at the base of your spine. That breath against your collar. That heartbeat that doesn’t match your own.

The mayor steps forward. Fat and red-faced in a linen suit too tight for the heat. He clears his throat. The priestess lights the ceremonial flame in a basin of copper and bone. She whispers in a language that isn’t English, isn’t Latin, but makes your skin crawl all the same. The fire flares blue.

The bell tolls from the chapel behind you. One. Your pulse stutters. Every eye is on you. Two. You glance down. No mark. Just the flutter of your own chest, just the sickly thrill under your ribs. Three. You feel the wind change. Just slightly. Like something just arrived. Four. The bell keeps tolling, steady as a countdown. Or a death knell.

You don’t flinch, but your knees feel loose. Like they’re no longer yours. Like the wood beneath your feet is suddenly shifting grain, trying to swallow you whole.

The priestess raises both arms. Her voice, when it comes, isn’t loud, but it carries. Thin and sharp and dry as snakeskin. “By covenant sealed and blood remembered, we offer our daughters.”

The crowd murmurs the response: "May He spare the many, and take only the one."

Five. You keep your eyes straight ahead. The girl next to you, Ruth Jameson, is breathing so fast she sounds like a kettle about to boil. She’s a preacher’s daughter. Always wore gloves, even in the summer. Once slapped you for speaking during Sunday reading. You almost hope it’s her.

Let it be her. Or Eleanor Avery. Or Violet Price with the thick braid and expensive teeth. They’re prettier. Cleaner. More practiced in obedience. You’ve heard the whispers that the vampire favors grace, not sharp girls who talk too little and think too much.

Six.

You exhale slow through your nose. Try to imagine the town square without people in it. Try to remember how it looked in winter, dusted with sleet and full of silence. Try to picture yourself anywhere else. You can’t.

The priestess begins the litany. A string of old names, spoken in a dialect that feels like ash in your ears. “Ishari. Vael. Thorne. Kelrem. Narthyx…”

The words twist like vines around your ankles, tight and burning. They say the names are the True Ones. The old ones. The first vampires. Remmick’s forebears, or his victims, no one’s really sure. You doubt there’s a difference.

Seven.

The wind shifts again. This time, everyone feels it. A ripple goes through the crowd—silent, almost reverent. A little boy starts to cry and is shushed immediately. You don’t dare move. You feel it too. It’s like being brushed by something that isn’t there. A pressure. A pull. Like your body isn’t entirely your own anymore.

Still, no mark.

You wonder if you’ll even know when it comes. If it will be sudden. Sharp. Like lightning. Or if it’ll be slow. Like seduction. Like being kissed where no one else can see.

Eight.

The priestess’s eyes are closed now. The other girls tremble. Someone is crying. You’re not sure who. You dare a glance to your left. Eleanor’s lips are moving, silent prayer or quiet bargaining. She looks ready to faint. Her hands are shaking. You look to your right. Ruth’s eyes are squeezed shut, lashes wet. No one is looking at you.

Good. Let it be one of them. Let it not be you. Please.

Nine.

The priestess holds up a small obsidian dagger. Cuts the palm of her hand and lets the blood drip into the blue flame. It hisses, high-pitched and eager.

You smell it instantly.

Not like iron. Like something older. Like the scent of a crypt cracked open.

Ten.

The bell stops. The crowd holds its breath. The fire roars. The flame in the basin spits.

Blue arcs to white. The heat radiates across the platform, and the priestess steps back, blood dripping down her wrist like ink on a parchment soaked too long. Still no mark on your skin. Still no voice in your ear. Still no rush of fire behind your ribs.

You let your shoulders lower a fraction, just enough to feel the strain begin to ease. Just enough to believe—maybe—it’s not you.

Maybe you were only ever meant to stand here, to be one of the extras. The backdrop to someone else’s fate. One of the girls who’ll go home tonight, pale and trembling and untouched.

You could live with that. You could learn to breathe again.

You could get married someday to someone simple and safe. A man with kind eyes and a little farmland. You could forget this ever happened, could press it flat like a pressed flower between the pages of your life. You’re almost ready to believe it.

Until the silence begins to stretch. And stretch. And stretch. Too long. Too unnatural.

The crowd is still holding its breath. But now, they’re waiting. Expectant. The air isn’t quiet—it’s thick. Charged. Like a storm that hasn’t broken yet, a scream that hasn’t been released. You swear the ground hums.

Your skin itches.

Not with sweat. Not with fear. But with awareness.

The priestess’s head cocks slightly to the left. She doesn’t move otherwise. Doesn’t blink. Doesn’t speak.

And then the lamps flicker. All at once.

Not a breeze. Not a draft. It’s something deeper. Something below.

A mother in the front row lets out a sob. Her child starts crying again. No one hushes him this time.

The flame gutters low.

You see your breath fog in front of you.

It’s August. The air should feel like soup. But all at once, it’s cold.

A cold that doesn’t touch your skin—it touches your soul. And that’s when you feel it.

Not a mark. Not yet. But the presence. The knowing. It’s here. And it’s looking at you.

You don’t see him at first. You feel him.

Like being plunged into deep water. That gut-punch plunge, that pressure in your ears, that moment of suspended breath where your body forgets how to float. The world narrows. The noise dulls. Every hair on your body rises like it’s been called to attention.

The flame sputters. The priestess lowers her head, and the entire crowd follows. All at once, the square is bowing. No one told you that would happen. The girls beside you drop their gazes. You remain upright.

Too stunned. Too still.

And then you hear it.

Bootsteps.

Slow. Measured.

Bootsteps on gravel, a sound far too ordinary for something this monstrous.

And still, you don’t look. You can’t.

Because your chest is burning.

It starts beneath your collarbone. A single point of heat, sharp as a blade, blossoming outward like ink in water. You gasp, clutch at your heart—but nothing’s there.

No wound. Just pain. Just…change. You look down and see it bloom.

A mark.

Black and bright and moving, like a tattoo drawn by something alive. Swirling patterns, sharp edges and curling lines that twist and wind down your chest. You hear someone cry out—a choked sound, like a girl breaking open—but you don’t realize it’s you until the priestess grips your arm to keep you from falling.

She’s smiling. “The chosen,” she whispers.

And that’s when he speaks.

Not loud. Not rushed.

But his voice cuts through the air like a blade through silk.

“Lift yer head.”

You don’t mean to obey. But your chin rises.

And there he is. At the base of the platform. Not monstrous. Not grotesque.

But broad and pale, dressed in black that doesn’t shine, hair slicked back like wet ink, and eyes the color of dried blood and dying embers. There’s no mistaking him. No imagining he might be a man. He is not a man.

He is the end of prayers. The promise of ruin. The reason the dark exists. Remmick. And he’s looking only at you.

Possession, raw and ravenous, carved into every angle of his face.

“C’mere, little bride,” he says, softly.

And when you step forward—shaking, burning, claimed—it’s not because they all told you to. It’s because you want to.

You step down from the platform one trembling foot at a time.

The crowd doesn’t make a sound. No cheers. No wails. Not even a rustle of skirts or a cough from the old men lining the back.

Just silence.

The kind that feels held—like a breath everyone’s too afraid to release.

Your bare feet meet the packed earth. It’s warm from the heat of the day but it may as well be ice. You can’t feel anything but the burn of the mark, pulsing like a second heart beneath your skin. Every beat of it syncs with something that doesn’t belong to you. Something older.

Remmick waits at the bottom step.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink. He just watches you walk to him—like he knew you’d come, like the ceremony was nothing more than a formality. A ritual to dress up inevitability.

You stop just before him. Close enough to feel the wrongness that coils around him like smoke. It doesn’t repel you. It draws you. Makes your blood thrum, makes your mouth dry, makes your thighs clench in a way that shames you instantly. You pray he can’t tell.

Then he lifts a hand. And brushes his thumb lightly across the mark.

Your knees nearly give.

The touch is not cruel. It’s not even forceful. But it ignites something deep, something coiled and ancient inside you. The mark responds—flaring hotter, the lines shifting under his skin like they recognize him.

And then his eyes meet yours. That red glint beneath the dark, sharp and knowing.

“Felt ya long before this,” he murmurs. His voice isn’t deep. It’s smooth. Clear. Cold. “Y’cried my name in yer sleep last week.”

Your breath catches. You didn’t even remember dreaming. But he speaks it like truth. Like he was there.

“Almost took ya then,” he says, dragging his gaze down your body, slow and deliberate. “But this here's cleaner.”

He leans in. And you flinch.

He pauses—just a hair—and then his mouth is at your ear.

“Like when they tremble,” he whispers, voice full of something dark and warm and terrifyingly pleased. “But I like it more when they beg.”

Your breath hitches so violently it hurts. And then his nose drags along the line of your throat. He inhales. A shiver tears through you, sharp and helpless.

“Smell like mine.”

He says it like a promise. Like a curse. Like a man who doesn’t need to raise his voice to ruin you.

The mark burns.

And your body answers with something shameful and wet.

His hand slips to the back of your neck, cool fingers cradling the base of your skull. “I can feel ya now, little bride,” he says, voice softer. Hungrier. “Every shiver. Every ache. Every time yer thighs press together ‘cause yer thinkin’ of me.”

You want to say no. You want to say stop.

But your lips part— —and all that comes out is a broken, traitorous moan.

The crowd still doesn’t move. The priestess watches with her hands folded. And Remmick, smiling now, presses his lips to your jaw—not a kiss, not yet—and whispers:

“We begin tonight.”

They don't clap. No one dares.

The moment he speaks, the crowd begins to part like a body splitting open. Quietly. Obediently. As if on cue.

Remmick doesn't take your hand. He doesn’t have to. You follow him. You don't look back.

The crowd watches in total silence, as though afraid that one misstep, one murmur, might draw his attention. You feel their eyes on you—burning, curious, afraid. But none of them move to stop you. No one calls your name. No one tries to say goodbye.

And somehow that hurts worse than if they had.

The mark on your chest is still searing, like hot iron beneath your skin. But it’s not just pain anymore—it’s pull. With every step you take behind him, it feels stronger. Hungrier. You feel him through it now. A weight in your gut. A throb between your legs. An ache in the part of you that shouldn’t want this, but does.

You wonder if he feels it too. You don’t have to wait long to find out.

Halfway down the path, Remmick pauses, turns his head just slightly—not enough to see his whole face, just the ghost of a smirk at the corner of his mouth. “Stop squeezin’ yer thighs together like that,” he says without looking at you. “Ain’t polite.”

Your cheeks go hot. You hadn’t even noticed you were doing it. Instinct. Reflex. Shame flickers to life—but it doesn’t stay long. Not when he glances back, finally, and meets your eyes with something wicked and low in his voice.

“Though I do like it.”

You don’t answer. You can’t. You just keep walking.

Remmick’s estate lies on the edge of the woods, past the last row of homes where the gas lamps thin and the road turns to dirt. The air shifts the moment you cross the boundary—cooler, thicker. It feels like stepping into another world. A forgotten place. The trees here lean too close. The moss drips like old lace. You see stones sunk into the earth along the path, names long worn away. Grave markers, maybe. Or warnings.

The carriage is waiting for you.

Sleek, black, quiet. Not pulled by horses—those would never make it through these woods. Instead, it waits unnaturally still, shadows wrapping around its wheels, as if it simply appeared when called. Remmick holds the door open for you.

You pause.

Not because you’re afraid. But because everything in you wants to go in.

You hate how much you want it.

Inside, the cabin is too dark. Too cold. The seat cushions are velvet, the color of dried wine. There are no windows. Only candle sconces that haven’t been lit. You sit, carefully. Your thighs still sticky from earlier. You press your knees together and fold your hands in your lap like a good little bride.

Remmick follows. Closes the door behind him with a click.

You’re alone. Utterly, entirely alone.

And you feel the silence tighten around you like a glove.

Then he speaks. Low. Deliberate. “Take off the dress.”

You don’t move. You don’t breathe.

The words take off the dress still hang in the air—heavy, impossible to grasp, clinging to your skin in ways you can’t shake.

Your fingers twitch in your lap.

The candle sconces haven’t been lit, but you can see him anyway. The dark doesn’t seem to touch him, not really. His eyes are brighter in it. Redder. Watching you the way a wolf watches a trembling rabbit—not out of pity. Not out of malice, either. But with the certainty of hunger.

He leans back, legs spread, one arm resting along the velvet seat. Casual. Patient. Like he’s giving you a choice when you both know there isn’t one. “I won’t ask twice, sweetheart.”

The term of endearment doesn’t sound kind. It sounds dangerous.

Your breath comes shallow. You reach for the first button.

The collar is stiff, the thread old. You fumble. Your fingers feel clumsy, not from fear—but from how aware you are of his gaze. It traces every movement. Tracks the tremble in your hands. Watches your chest rise with every breath.

You get the first button undone. Then the second. The third.

The dress loosens across your shoulders. The mark, still searing hot and alive, seems to pulse brighter in the air between you. It aches when you drag the fabric down your arms, exposing more of it. The gown drops to your waist, then your hips. You shift to slide it lower.

Remmick still hasn’t moved.

But the air has. It feels denser now. Like you’ve stepped inside his lungs and forgotten how to breathe on your own.

When the dress slips past your thighs and pools at your feet, you’re left in nothing.

No underthings. No slip.

Just bare skin and that still-burning sigil over your heart.

Your hands twitch up to cover yourself—reflex, instinct, shame—but his voice stops you before they reach your chest.

“Don’t.” One word. Quiet. But it scalds.

You obey. Your arms drop.

He finally leans forward.

His palm drags over his jaw as he takes you in, slow and deliberate. You expect him to leer. To lick his lips or reach for you like you’re already his. But instead, he just looks.

Like he’s seeing something holy.

And then, softly—more to himself than to you—he says, “Fuckin’ beautiful.”

You bite your lip.

Something twists in your belly. Something hot and low and helpless.

He leans in, elbows resting on his knees, and murmurs: “Y’don’t even know what yer feelin’, do ya?”

You try to speak, but your throat’s too dry.

He tilts his head, watching the way your thighs inch together again. “That’s the bond, love. That ache? That throb in yer cunt? That heat sittin’ behind yer ribs like a sin waitin’ to be confessed?”

His voice drops even lower.

“That’s me.”

You shudder. The mark pulses.

And Remmick, grinning now—slow, sharp, possessive—reaches out, thumb brushing just under the curve of your breast, not quite touching the mark but close enough that it sparks again behind your ribs. “Y’feel me yet?” he asks.

You nod. Barely.

He laughs, soft and cruel and pleased. “Good. Then let’s make it permanent.”

Your breath stutters.

His thumb still lingers just below your breast, not quite touching the mark, but the heat from his skin radiates into yours like an ember pressed to parchment. You feel it coil low in your belly, tight and trembling.

And he sees it.

Of course he does.

“Look at that,” he murmurs, voice like smoke curling around your neck. “Already buzzin’ for me. And I haven’t even laid a proper hand on ya yet.”

He lets his fingers trail lightly down your sternum. Not rushed. Not greedy. It’s almost reverent—if reverence could be soaked in hunger. His fingertips drag over your ribs, then down to the soft dip between them, tracing lazy circles that never quite reach where you want.

The bond throbs between you like a living thing.

It doesn’t just burn. It pulls.

Each touch sends something electric singing across your nerves, as though your body’s not fully yours anymore—shared now, tied to something dark and breathing. Every sensation is heightened. The velvet seat beneath you feels too soft. The air feels too tight. And his touch?

His touch feels like command.

He leans closer. You feel his breath on your throat before you see his mouth. “Tell me where it hurts,” he whispers, and his tongue brushes the shell of your ear.

Your hips shift without permission. “Lower,” you manage, barely above a whisper.

Remmick hums. A dark, pleased sound. “Aye. Thought so.” He brings his hand to your thigh, palm broad and cool, fingers spreading to grip you firm. Not harsh. Not rough. But with purpose. Like he’s claiming the space. Like he already owns it. He pushes your legs apart slowly, and the bond sings when you don’t resist.

When you offer.

His gaze dips down.

And he groans—quiet, guttural. “Sweet fuckin’ Christ.”

You’re soaked.

Your body, treacherous and needy, has already given itself over. The mark glows faintly in the dark now, pulse-for-pulse with your heartbeat, lighting the curve of your breast and the sweat beading along your collar.

“You know what this is, don’t ya?” he says, dragging a finger up your inner thigh, stopping just shy of your center. “The bond’s settin’ in. Claimin’ ya. Makes every nerve scream for me. You’d let me do anything right now, wouldn’t ya?”

You want to say no. You really do. But your body says yes in a dozen ways. The way your breath shakes. The way your thighs tremble. The way your hips rock forward, desperate for any friction, even the ghost of it.

You meet his eyes. “Please,” you whisper. It slips out before you can stop it.

Remmick’s grin turns sharp. Triumphant. “Say it again.”

Your cheeks burn. But your body doesn’t hesitate. “Please.”

He moves then.

Not fast. Not rough. But with absolute, devastating intent.

He sinks to his knees in front of you. Not in worship. Not in submission. But in devouring anticipation.

His hands slide up your thighs, spreading them wider, and he presses a kiss just above your knee. Then another, higher. And another. Each one closer to the place that aches. The place he’s not touching.

Yet.

“You don’t even know what I’m about to do to ya,” he murmurs, mouth against your skin. “But yer body’s already beggin’.” He nips just above your hip, tongue soothing the sting. And finally, finally, his hand reaches the mark again—palm flat over your heart.

You jolt.

It feels like fire licking up your spine. Like something ancient waking up. Like something that says: Mine.

“Y’ready, little bride?” he asks, voice rough with hunger, reverent with power.

Because this is more than lust.

This is binding. This is belonging. And you’re about to be his—in every sense.

Your heart is a drum. A hammer. A hymn.

And Remmick holds it in his palm like he’s already broken it open and tasted what’s inside.

He watches you. Eyes dark, pupils wide, mouth parted—not in awe, not in shock, but in possession. Like a man handed his favorite weapon after years of war. Like he knows exactly how to use you. “Keep yer eyes on me,” he says softly.

You do. Because you can’t look away.

His thumb strokes over your mark, slow and possessive. The moment he presses down—just the lightest pressure—you gasp, full-body and shaking. It doesn’t hurt. It’s worse than that.

It undoes you.

Your back arches off the seat. A whimper slips past your lips, high and humiliating, and the fire under your skin blooms wider, deeper, lower.

“Good,” Remmick breathes, as if your body’s reaction is all the permission he needs. “Let it take ya.” He leans in again, lips brushing over the curve of your breast, just below the glowing sigil etched into your flesh. His mouth is soft. Cool. But where it touches, heat follows. Magic, maybe. Or something far filthier.

You shiver.

He trails his tongue in a slow, careful circle around the mark. Not kissing. Not biting. Just tasting.

You make a sound—something raw and helpless—and Remmick laughs, low in his throat. “Feel that?”

You nod, dazed.

He hums like he’s proud of you. Like he owns every breath you take now. “Bond’s startin’ to root,” he says against your skin. “It’s in the blood. In the muscle. Every heartbeat yer body makes now? It’s for me.”

His hand moves lower.

Fingers dragging down your belly, past your hip, settling between your thighs where you’re soaked and trembling and already spreading for him without thought. “You feel like sin,” he murmurs. “Gonna taste like salvation.” And then he finally, finally presses his mouth to the center of you.

You jerk. It’s too much. It’s not enough.

His tongue is slow at first, lazy, almost cruel in how lightly he licks. As if he’s savoring the fact that you’re shaking under him already. You try to move—try to rock against him—but his hands grip your thighs, holding you open, holding you still.

“This ain’t just fuckin’,” he rasps, voice muffled by your body. “This is the bind. This is me settin’ my claim.”

You moan. You whimper. And when his mouth closes over your clit and he sucks, your vision shatters.

It’s not just pleasure. It’s magic.

You feel it in your bones, in the roots of your teeth, in the back of your throat. You feel the bond snap into place like a tether. You feel him inside you—his hunger, his need, his desire—mirroring yours, amplifying it, turning you both into a single, burning thing.

You’re panting now. Desperate. Gone. “Remmick—” you gasp.

He groans like your voice alone could finish him.

You feel his tongue again—harder now, faster, coaxing your orgasm to the surface like a secret—and you give it to him. You give everything. You come with a cry, eyes wide, hips shaking, the mark on your chest glowing like fire in the dark. And Remmick?

He doesn’t stop.

Not until you’re slumped against the seat, legs still twitching, the bond humming under your skin like a satisfied beast. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Smirking.

“First part’s done,” he says, voice wrecked. “Now we finish it.”

He stands. Unbuckling his belt. Unbuttoning his trousers.

And between your thighs, your body begins to ache all over again.

You’re still trembling when he rises.

Remmick towers over you in the low flickering dark, the glow from your mark throwing soft gold light across the sharp bones of his face. He looks half-saint, half-devil—something carved out of hunger and patience, restraint and ruin.

He doesn’t touch you yet. Not again.

He just watches as you breathe, chest heaving, legs still slack and parted. And for a heartbeat, he says nothing. He simply drinks you in like a man parched. And then his voice cuts through the silence again—low, velvet-rough, intimate as a mouth pressed to your spine. “You’re takin’ it real pretty,” he murmurs, thumbing the buttons on his trousers loose one by one. “Didn’t think you’d fold that fast. But fuck, I felt it.”

Your body answers with a pulse.

You want to close your legs, to pull your dress back on, to shield yourself from how open he’s left you—but the bond won’t let you. It aches when you think about hiding. It pulls you back toward him, like a tide. Like gravity.

And he knows it.

He steps out of his slacks and lets his shirt hang open, chest pale and cut with the kind of lean strength you’ve only read about in books meant to be hidden under your mattress. His body is strong, scarred, real. A monument to the centuries he’s outlived.

Your eyes drop lower. And—god.

You freeze.

He’s hard already, thick and flushed, hanging heavy between his thighs, and for the first time since the mark bloomed, you feel a new kind of fear coil in your gut.

He’s going to ruin you.

And you want it so badly you could cry.

Remmick sees the way your gaze lingers. “‘S alright,” he says, stepping closer. “I’ll go slow. First time’s meant to sting a little.” His hand drags down your cheek, thumb brushing your lips. “But y’won’t be scared of the pain. Not when I’m the one givin’ it to ya.”

You make a sound in your throat—something small, breathless, wanting.

He strokes your jaw, then cups the back of your neck, guiding you gently down, down, until you’re laid out across the velvet bench seat. He doesn’t climb on top of you right away. He kneels beside the bench, one hand splayed wide across your ribs, the other pressing just above the mark on your chest.

The weight of it grounds you.

“Last chance, little bride,” he says softly, and there’s something raw beneath the teasing now. “After this, there ain’t no undoing it.”

You look up at him. And despite everything—despite the fear, the heat, the bond that feels like it’s branded your soul from the inside out—

You nod.

Remmick’s smile is slow. Tender. Like a secret finally answered.

“Atta girl.”

He leans down.And when his mouth presses over the mark—soft, sure, claiming—you swear your body catches fire all over again. His mouth seals over the mark, and it’s like being opened. Not physically—not yet—but inside. Beneath your ribs. Somewhere sacred.

You feel it the way thunder rolls over land—first a hush, then a tremble, then a crack that splits you straight down the middle. His lips part just enough for his tongue to drag across the sigil, and something ancient stirs to life.

The mark glows white-hot.

Your back bows off the seat. Your fingers clutch at velvet, at air, at him. A gasp tears from your throat, raw and keening.

Remmick moans against your chest. “There she is,” he rasps, mouth dragging lower, down the slope of your breast. “Fuck, yer soul’s singin’ for me now. Y’feel that? That little ache in the base of yer spine?”

You nod, frantic.

“It’s me,” he says, hand sliding back between your thighs. “That’s me growin’ roots in ya.” His fingers tease your slick folds, feather-light, not giving what you need, just promising.

You whimper.

Remmick watches you writhe, his cock hard and leaking, resting heavy against his thigh. “Spread ‘em wider, sweetheart. That’s it. Just like that. Let me in.”

You do as you’re told. You’d do anything he asks right now. Not because he’s taken your will. But because he’s claimed your want.

He climbs over you slowly, one knee pressing between your thighs, his body blanketing yours with terrible warmth. The feel of his skin against yours makes your mark pulse like it’s alive. He lines himself up, dragging the head of his cock against your soaked entrance, letting it slip through your folds, slicking himself in you.

You gasp.

“Remmick—”

He cups your jaw, thumb stroking your cheek, voice low and hoarse. “I’ve got ya. Gonna go slow.” He pushes in.

God.

It’s thick. It stretches. It burns in the best, most ruinous way. You clutch his shoulders, nails biting into his skin as he inches deeper—slow, agonizing, precise. Every breath is a plea. Every heartbeat is his. You feel the bond knot tighter, pulling you to him with every inch he sinks into your body. Halfway in, and you’re already fluttering around him, body shaking, eyes wet.

Remmick groans, low and wrecked. “Fuckin’ hell,” he grits out. “You’re tight as a fist. Grip me like you were made for it.” He rolls his hips forward, just a little deeper.

You cry out—more overwhelmed than hurt. Pleasure is coiling inside you like a scream wound too tight to release.

“‘S alright,” he murmurs. “Yer takin’ me so well. Gonna have all of me soon.”

He kisses your temple. Then your cheek. Then your jaw.

“Y’wanna say it?” he asks.

You blink up at him, dazed.

He smiles against your throat. “Say yer mine.”

The words curl on your tongue, fever-warm. “I’m yours.”

His hips snap forward, burying himself in you to the hilt.

You shatter.

You can’t breathe. Not properly.

Not with him buried that deep inside you—thick and unyielding, pressing against something that makes your vision go white around the edges. The stretch burns and soothes all at once, every nerve pulled taut, every inch of your body drawn to his like a tide to the moon.

Remmick doesn’t move right away. He just holds himself there. Letting you feel the full weight of what he’s done.

What he is doing. What you’ll never come back from.

You whimper, your hips twitching, the pressure too much and not enough and perfect. And all he does is lean in close, his voice curling against your ear like the heat of a candle’s flame.

“There it is,” he murmurs. “Feel me in ya? That ache in your belly? That’s me settin’ in, stretchin’ ya out, makin’ room.” His hand cups your jaw, gentle but firm, tilting your face toward his. He watches you—hungry and soft all at once, like a man who’s both starving and reverent. “Y’wanna know somethin’, sweetheart?” he asks, hips giving one slow, rolling thrust.

You gasp, back arching, lips parting in a helpless cry.

He groans, deep in his throat, and stills again. “You’ll never forget this feelin’,” he says. “No matter what happens after. No matter where you run. This right here?” He shifts inside you, not pulling out, just moving deep. “This bond’ll hunger until I feed it.”

You can’t speak. Your body is writhing under him, hips tilting instinctively, needing more, needing movement. The bond is humming now—hot, thick, vibrating under your skin like a wire ready to snap.

And then he starts to move.

Slow. So slow it feels lethal.

He pulls out an inch. Pushes back in. Again. And again.

Each thrust is a deliberate claiming—grinding against the deepest part of you, igniting something wild and ancient in your blood. You moan with every slide, and his name slips out of your mouth between gasps like a prayer, like a curse, like you don’t care who hears.

“R-Remmick—”

He shudders above you, burying his face against your throat.

“Fuck, say it again.”

You do. You can’t stop. “Remmick. Remmick—” Your fingers dig into his back, pulling him closer, urging him to move faster, harder, deeper.

But he won’t. Not yet.

He keeps the pace slow, grinding into you with the kind of restraint that hurts, like he wants to ruin you one slow breath at a time.

You’re sobbing now. From pleasure. From pressure. From the overwhelming rightness of being filled by him.

He kisses the corner of your mouth. Then your jaw. Then the spot where your pulse pounds like a war drum. “Let it take ya,” he whispers. “Let me in. All the way.”

You don't have to let it take you. It's already happening.

Every roll of his hips, every grinding thrust, buries him deeper—not just into your body, but into your very being. You feel him threading through your blood, knotting himself into the soft, wet, secret places no one else has ever touched. You feel him becoming part of you.

And it’s bliss. It’s agony. It’s everything you never dared want.

Remmick groans into your throat, the sound rough and ragged, and you realize—he’s shaking. His arms bracket your head, muscles tense, as if he’s holding himself back with the last threads of a fraying leash. "Fuckin’ hell," he rasps against your skin. "You don’t even know what yer doin’ to me, do ya?"

You moan when his hips shift again, a slow, brutal grind that rubs against something deep inside, sending another crack through your already crumbling self.

"You’re burnin’ me up from the inside," he breathes. "Claimin’ me right back without even tryin'." He thrusts again, a little harder this time.

Your nails rake down his back, and he hisses, the sound sharp and desperate.

"Y’hear that, little bride?" he pants. "The bond’s snappin' shut. Lockin’ us together. Ain’t no prayers that can undo it now."

You whimper under him, nodding frantically because words are gone. Lost. All you can do is feel. All you can do is take him. The magic between you stretches taut—white-hot and endless—pulling tighter with every slow, deep stroke.

Remmick lifts his head. Looks at you. Really looks at you.

And something raw, something wild flashes through his crimson eyes.

Not cruelty. Not hunger. But devotion. The kind of devotion that ruins. That razes. That rebuilds.

And his voice—Christ, his voice—comes soft and reverent, like a prayer said in a burning church. "Mine." He pulls almost all the way out.

Your body cries for him.

And when he slams back in, burying himself to the hilt, the bond explodes.

You barely have time to scream. It rips out of you as Remmick drives back into your body with a force that shatters something deep inside—not bone, not muscle, but something older. Something tied to the very breath in your lungs and the heat in your blood.

The bond snaps tight. It doesn’t just settle between you—it erupts.

A wave of heat crashes through you, stealing your sight, your breath, your thoughts. The air around you blurs and sharpens all at once, everything too bright, too loud, too much. You feel him in every corner of your being—his hunger, his lust, his need crashing against yours in a brutal, endless tide.

Remmick groans low in his throat, a broken sound, like he’s barely holding himself together. "That's it, love," he pants, thrusting deep and sure now, fucking you through the bond’s collapse. "Feel it. Feel me." Each thrust drives him deeper than flesh, branding his presence into you so thoroughly you don't know where you end and he begins.

Your fingers scrabble at his back, nails dragging across his spine. You clutch at him like drowning, like if you let go you’ll be ripped apart.

And maybe you would.

"Yer mine now," he growls against your neck, voice shaking with the force of it. "Every heartbeat. Every breath. Every fuckin’ drop of blood in that sweet body—mine."

You sob beneath him, helpless.

Because it’s true. It’s so true it hurts.

He fucks you harder, hips slamming into yours, the slick sound of your bodies joining filling the dark carriage. Every inch of you aches for him now, craves him. The pleasure is brutal, endless, washing over you in thick, consuming waves that blur the edges of the world. "Say it," he snarls. "Say who owns ya."

You can barely get the words out, your voice broken and gasping between thrusts. "You—Remmick—I'm yours, I'm yours—"

He groans, loud and wrecked, driving himself deeper. "Again."

"I'm yours!" you cry, clinging to him, legs wrapping around his waist without thought. "I'm yours!"

The bond screams its satisfaction, magic sealing tighter, brighter, a perfect, eternal tether. Remmick’s rhythm falters—just for a heartbeat—and then he lets go completely. He fucks you harder, faster, rougher now, as if trying to stamp himself into every molecule of your body. As if the bond isn’t enough, as if he needs your body to remember what your soul already knows.

You’re close again. Closer than before.

Tears leak from the corners of your eyes, not from pain—but from the overwhelming rightness of it. The way your body, your magic, your very soul sings under him.

"That's it," he grits out, teeth scraping against your jaw, your throat. "Gimme one more, sweetheart. One more, and I'll fill ya. Mark ya up proper."

You sob something desperate and broken against his shoulder.

And then you fall apart.

Your body breaks first. You cry out, a sharp, ragged sound, thighs locking around Remmick’s hips as your climax rips through you like a flood that’s been dammed too long. It’s blinding—so much more than pleasure. It's surrender. It's consummation.

The bond erupts under your skin, a wildfire racing from your chest outward—your limbs, your heart, your mind all filled with him, only him.

Remmick snarls low in his throat when he feels it—feels you milking his cock, spasming around him, clutching him so tightly you might tear him apart if he were anything less than what he is. "Fuckin’ hell, there’s my girl," he growls, voice thick, shaking, barely human. "God, yer perfect—perfect for me."

You barely hear him over the rush of blood in your ears, the way your heart stutters and kicks under the strain of the bond locking into place. You feel like you’re dying, being reborn, consumed.

And then—

His hand fists in your hair, yanking your head back to bare your throat.

You don’t resist. You can’t.

You offer it to him. Begging without words.

Needing it. Needing him.

Remmick’s breath sears against your pulse, a guttural sound of want breaking free from his chest. "Mine," he rasps, and then— He sinks his fangs into your throat.

You scream—not from pain. From release. From completion.

The moment his teeth pierce your skin, it’s over. The bond seals so violently you swear you feel the whole world lurch.

You feel his cock throb inside you as he spills himself deep, hips jerking hard against yours as he empties everything into you—claiming you, breeding you, binding you. His moan vibrates against your throat, a filthy, possessive sound, full of ancient, ruinous satisfaction.

You convulse around him, helpless, drowning in the force of it—your orgasm crashing into his, a tangled knot of pleasure and magic and hunger so overwhelming you stop knowing where you end and he begins.

Everything collapses into him. His taste. His scent.

His voice murmuring ragged, half-spoken promises against your bleeding throat.

"Never lettin’ ya go." "Made ya for me." "Gonna fuckin’ ruin anyone who tries to take ya." "My sweet girl. My bride."

The world fades to black around the edges.

Not death. Not fear. Just him. Only him.

You don't know how long you stay like that. Him buried deep inside you, teeth still sunk into your throat, body trembling with the aftershocks of the bond and the brutal, gorgeous wreckage he’s left behind.

When he finally pulls his fangs free, you whimper at the loss—but he shushes you gently, lapping at the puncture marks with slow, lazy strokes of his tongue. Sealing the wound. Marking you further.

His hand cups the side of your face, thumb stroking the corner of your mouth like he's calming a horse that’s been run too hard. "There she is," he murmurs, voice low and thick with satisfaction. "My little bride."

You blink up at him, dazed, boneless, ruined.

He smiles.

It’s not kind. It’s not soft. It’s something far worse. Worship.

"You feel it, don't ya?" he whispers. "That ache behind yer ribs? That’s me sittin’ in yer soul now."

You nod weakly. You can still feel him inside you—hot and sticky, filling you in every way a man can. The bond thrums between you like a heartbeat shared.

And he’s not done.

You see it in his eyes. That hunger. That certainty.

He presses a kiss to your forehead, then your nose, then your mouth—slow, claiming kisses, each one staking a piece of you deeper than the last. "You’ll never want anyone else again," he promises, voice almost tender. "Yer mine now. Body, blood, soul."

And somehow, impossibly—

You don't fear it. You crave it. You crave him. Forever.

The carriage rocks gently as it moves, but you barely notice. You’re sprawled across the velvet seat, bare and boneless, your limbs too heavy to lift, your skin humming with the aftershocks of what just happened.

Of what you are now. Of what he made you.

The mark on your chest still glows faintly, a soft pulse in the dark, echoing your heartbeat—and his. It thrums in your veins, in the tender ache between your thighs where he spilled himself so deep you can still feel the heat of it. You don’t know where your body ends and his begins anymore.

Maybe there’s no difference. Maybe there never was.

Remmick sits at the far end of the carriage now, leaned back lazily against the seat, trousers still open, hair a mussed halo around his head like he’s been through a war and came out smiling.

He watches you. God, he watches you.

Eyes dark and glittering, hungry and satisfied all at once, a predator marveling at the way his prey still twitches even after the final blow.

He’s in no rush. He’s got you now.

Forever.

And you feel it—the first thread of it tightening low in your belly.

A throb. A pulse.

Your body responds instantly to his gaze, hips shifting, thighs pressing together, nipples tightening in the cool air. You bite your lip, trying to smother the shameful rush of heat flooding you again, but it's impossible.

Because now—

Now he feels it too.

A low, wicked chuckle rumbles from his chest. "Aw, sweetheart," he drawls, the accent thick and syrupy, heavy with cruel affection. "Already missin’ me inside ya?"

Your face burns. You shake your head, a weak, pitiful denial—but the bond betrays you.

He tilts his head, the smile on his lips turning downright vicious. "Don’t lie to me," he says, voice dropping low and rough. "Not now. Not when I can feel every twitch of that sweet little cunt clenchin’ on nothin’."

You whimper, curling in on yourself without thinking.

But he doesn’t let you hide for long.

In a blink, he’s across the carriage, hands bracketing your hips, dragging you back flat against the seat. He crowds over you without even touching you fully, his presence alone suffocating, his body heat pouring into you like a second, darker sun.

"You’re open to me now," he murmurs, brushing your hair from your face with almost obscene tenderness. "Every want. Every ache. Every filthy little thought—" He presses the flat of his palm to the mark. You jerk under him, helpless "—I feel ‘em all."

His thumb strokes slow, lazy circles over the mark, and each touch sends new ripples of need spiraling outward—your body trembling, your thighs wet and slick all over again. "You’re gonna learn real quick, love," he says, grinning as you whimper, as you arch into his touch without meaning to. "Ain’t no hidin’ from me now."

He leans down, mouth brushing your ear. "Every time you ache, I’ll know."

"Every time you touch yerself, I’ll feel it." "Every time you think about me splittin’ you open again—"

He rocks his hips against you, not entering, just letting you feel the thick, hot weight of him. "—I’ll be right there, cock hard, ready to remind ya who you fuckin’ belong to."

You sob, overwhelmed.

And his voice goes velvet-soft, coaxing. "Beg me, little bride," he whispers, lips dragging down your throat, over your mark, down the trembling plane of your belly. "Beg me to fuck ya again. Right here. Right now. Fill ya ‘til there’s nothin’ left but me."

You’re already halfway there. The bond shudders and pulls tight, a perfect, beautiful noose.

And you know— You’ll never be free again.

You’ll never want to be.

You don’t even realize you’re begging at first. It’s not words—

It’s sounds.

Soft, desperate little whimpers that slip from your mouth without permission, without shame. Your hips rock up toward him, seeking friction, seeking him, even though there’s no chance of satisfaction without his mercy.

Remmick smiles down at you, all lazy, wicked patience. His thumb strokes your mark again, and your whole body jolts, back arching beautifully off the velvet, nipples peaked, thighs slick. “C’mon, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice low and rich. “Know you can do better’n that. Gimme what I want.” His other hand slides between your legs, fingers ghosting over the soaked, swollen mess he’s made of you.

Barely touching. Barely giving.

You sob out a broken little sound, your hips chasing his hand, your body betraying how desperately you need him to touch, to fill, to take.

Remmick chuckles, a dark, filthy sound that rumbles deep in his chest. “You’re already cryin’ for it, aren’t ya?” he says, tapping your clit lightly with two fingers just to hear the whimper it wrings out of you. “Poor thing. Poor messy little bride. All knotted up and nowhere to go.”

You bite your lip, trembling.

And finally, finally, you find your voice. “Please,” you gasp. “Please, Remmick—please, I need you—”

His breath hitches. He feels it through the bond.

Your honesty. Your surrender. Your helpless, soaking, wrecked want.

His hand fists in your hair, tugging your head back to make you look at him. “Say it proper,” he growls, eyes glowing deep red in the dark. “Say what you want.”

You sob again, blinking up at him, undone and aching. “Please fuck me,” you whisper. “Please—fill me up—make me yours—” You don’t even know what you’re saying anymore.

You just mean it. You mean every breathless, desperate word.

Remmick’s whole body shudders. “Fuckin’ hell, you’re perfect.” He doesn’t make you wait after that. He grabs your hips, hauling you down the seat, lining himself up again with ruthless, hungry precision.

You feel the head of his cock slide against your entrance, hot and heavy and inevitable. You whimper, trying to push down onto him, but he holds you still.

“Easy, love,” he murmurs, voice thick and rough. “Gonna give it to ya. Gonna fuck ya slow. Deep. Like you deserve.”

You cry out, nails digging into the velvet, the anticipation unbearable. And then—

He pushes inside. All the way.

Inch by inch, deliberate and slow, stretching you open, filling you so completely you can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t be anything but his. Your head tips back, mouth open in a soundless moan, tears slipping from the corners of your eyes.

Remmick groans like he’s dying. “Christ, yer fuckin’ perfect inside,” he pants, hips rolling slow, deep, dragging against every tender, swollen place he touched before. “Tight little thing. Made to take me.”

You whimper under him, arms thrown around his shoulders, legs locked around his waist, pulling him deeper, begging without words for more, more, more—

“Shhh, I got ya,” he soothes, kissing the corner of your mouth, your jaw, your throat where his bite still aches. “Gonna take care of ya, little bride. Gonna fuck ya full. Keep ya full. Never gonna let ya go.”

The bond hums louder. Hotter.

Closer.

You can feel yourself already climbing again, your body desperate to fall with him, for him, because of him.

And Remmick—

Remmick feels it too. Feels it through the bond, through your trembling body, through the desperate clench of your cunt around his cock. “That's it,” he groans, pace picking up, thrusts slow but brutal, deep enough you swear you feel him in your throat. “Milk me, love. Show me who ya belong to.” You don’t realize you’re crying again until his thumb brushes the tear slipping down your cheek.

Not hard. Not cruel.

Gentle. Tender.

Like he’s savoring it. Like he’s proud.

“Look at ya,” Remmick murmurs, still grinding deep inside you, the head of his cock dragging over that sensitive, aching place that makes your toes curl and your thighs shake. “Cryin’ so sweet for me.”

He kisses the tear away. Slow.

Lingering.

And then he pulls back just enough to watch your face as he thrusts deep again—slow and rough and devastating—the velvet seat creaking under you both.

You sob, hips rolling to meet him without even thinking, chasing the friction, the fullness, the ownership.

“That’s it,” he pants, voice ragged with pleasure. “Good girl. Good fuckin’ girl. Always knew you’d take me so pretty.”

You cling to him now—arms thrown around his neck, nails raking down his back, legs locked around his hips like your body’s trying to weld itself to his. The bond thrums, vibrating louder, hotter, tighter, until there’s nothing in the world but him—his cock splitting you open, his hands anchoring you down, his mouth whispering filthy worship against your throat.

“Yer built for me,” he growls, teeth scraping lightly against your skin. “Every inch of ya. Every little flutter of this sweet cunt—made to squeeze the life outta me.”

You keen high in your throat, mindless.

Gone.

And Remmick knows it. Knows he’s breaking you. Knows he’s ruining you.

And he loves it.

“You ain’t ever gonna want anyone else,” he murmurs, slowing his thrusts even more, dragging them out until each one feels like a lifetime. “Ain’t ever gonna even think about lettin’ another man touch ya. Not when I’ve already marked ya this deep.”

You whimper, nodding desperately, nails digging into his shoulders.

“Say it, love,” he urges, voice rough and sweet and brutal all at once. “Say yer mine.”

“I’m yours,” you sob, clenching around him so tight he curses under his breath. “I’m yours—I’m yours—only yours—”

He thrusts deeper, harder, driving you up the seat. “Good girl,” he growls, voice wrecked. “Fuck, you’re perfect.”

Your climax builds again—fast and brutal—pleasure knotting behind your ribs, behind your spine, the bond squeezing tighter, ready to snap.

And he feels it. His hand slides between your bodies, finding your clit with ruthless precision, thumb circling it in time with his deep, devastating thrusts. “Gimme another one, sweetheart,” he pants, hips snapping harder now, cock hitting so deep you swear you feel him in your fucking soul. “Wanna feel you fall apart around me. Wanna drown in it.”

You moan—high and desperate—and the pleasure crashes over you without warning.

You shatter. You scream.

Your body locks up tight, clamping around him, pulsing, milking, owning him as much as he owns you.

Remmick roars against your throat, hips jerking wildly, and then he’s spilling inside you again—hot and endless, filling you so deep you swear you can feel it leaking out around where you’re still clenching him tight.

He bites your shoulder this time—not hard enough to break skin, just hard enough to mark—and the bond howls in satisfaction, sealing it even deeper.

He doesn’t pull out. He doesn’t move.

He just lays there, trembling over you, cock still twitching inside your soaked, fluttering cunt, breath ragged against your skin.

“Mine,” he whispers again.

A vow. A sentence. A promise.

And you—You cling to him like you’ll never let go.

Because you won’t. Because you can’t. Because you’re his. Forever.

You wake in his bed.

You don't remember how you got there.

One moment, you were in the carriage, trembling and wrecked in his arms. The next, you were here—on soft linen sheets, the scent of smoke and leather and Remmick sinking into your skin with every breath you take.

It’s still dark outside. Still heavy.

Still thick with the weight of what’s been done.

The mark over your heart burns dully now, a steady throb like a brand set into your flesh. Not painful. Not exactly.

But constant.

A reminder. A tether.

You reach for him instinctively, seeking the heat of his body against yours—but find only cool sheets where he should be. You sit up, heart stuttering, chest tightening so fast and sharp it’s like you’ve been punched.

Because he’s gone.

He’s not in the bed. Not in the room.

And the bond—The bond screams.

The ache blooms under your ribs, a sick, gnawing hunger that has nothing to do with fear and everything to do with absence.

You feel wrong without him. Empty. Fractured.

You clutch the sheet to your chest, trembling. “Remmick?” you whisper into the dark.

No answer. Just the slow crackle of the fireplace across the room.

Your thighs are sticky with the remnants of him. Your body aches in places you didn’t know could ache. And still—it’s not enough.

Your body wants him back. Needs him back.

You bite your lip, rocking slightly where you sit, trying to soothe the gnawing ache, the gnashing hunger spiraling tighter inside you.

And then—

You feel him.

Not physically. Psychically.

A thread tugging between you.

You squeeze your thighs together, trying to suppress the fresh wave of heat pooling low in your belly—but it’s no use. The mark flares hot.

You whimper.

Somewhere—wherever he is—you know he feels it too.

Because a voice curls into your mind. Low. Rough. Amused. "Miss me already, little bride?"

You gasp, hands flying to your chest, clutching the mark like it might stop the flood building under your skin. “Remmick,” you whisper, voice breaking.

His laugh—low and dangerous—echoes in your mind. "Can feel ya squirm from here."

You shudder violently.

He's not even touching you—and still, he unravels you with nothing but the bond. With nothing but his voice.

"Bet yer soaked again already." "Bet yer clenchin’ that sweet cunt, achin’ for me." "Bet you’d beg real nice if I told ya to."

You whimper, rocking helplessly on the bed, the sheet sliding down your body, baring your breasts to the cold night air. You squeeze your thighs tighter—but it only makes it worse. The bond thrums between your legs like a second heartbeat, cruel and constant.

And Remmick—

Remmick drinks it in.

"Touch yerself," he murmurs in your mind, voice thick with heat and wickedness. "C’mon, sweetheart. Let me feel it."

You shake your head, trembling.

You don’t want to. You can’t. But your hand is already sliding down your belly, shaking, betraying you.

The bond rejoices.

Your fingers trail lower. Soft. Tentative. Shaking.

You’re not thinking anymore. You’re feeling.

Feeling the mark pulsing hot against your ribs, feeling the bond pulling you forward like a hook in your chest, feeling Remmick’s presence wrapped around your mind like smoke.

You part your thighs slowly, the sheet falling away completely. The cool air brushes your skin.

Your slick heat clings to your thighs. You’re already soaked for him.

And he knows it.

"Tha’s it," he drawls into your mind, voice rich with wicked satisfaction. "Good girl. Show me how much ya miss me."

Your fingers slip between your folds, gathering the mess he left inside you.

You whimper. Just from the first touch.

It’s almost too much—too raw, too sensitive—but you can’t stop. Your body won’t let you. Not when the bond is throbbing so hard it feels like a second heartbeat inside your cunt.

You circle your clit with slow, trembling motions. Your back arches. Your breath shudders. “Remmick,” you moan into the empty room, thighs trembling. You swear you can feel him groan from wherever he is—like the sound of your pleasure punches through the bond and wrecks him too.

"Sound so fuckin’ sweet when ya moan for me," he murmurs, rough and reverent. "Could listen to ya all night, little bride."

Your fingers move faster, hips lifting off the bed, chasing the friction, chasing the edge. But it’s not enough.

You whimper helplessly, frustrated tears welling in your eyes. You need him. You need more.

And he feels your desperation.

"Poor thing," he croons. "Can’t even make yerself come without me now, can ya?"

You sob out a broken little “no.”

Because it’s true. The bond won't let you. You’re too tightly strung, too deeply tethered to him. You’re trapped in a pleasure you can’t finish without his touch. Without his voice coaxing you over the edge.

And Remmick? He sounds delighted.

"Good," he growls. "You shouldn’t be able to. Yer mine now, body and soul. Only come when I say so. Only break when I make ya."

Your fingers tremble between your legs, still circling, still trying.

And then—

His voice drops into a low, filthy purr.

"Tell me what you need, sweetheart." "Tell me what you’re beggin’ for."

You choke on a sob, panting. “I—I need you,” you cry. “Please, Remmick—I need you—inside me—on me—anything—please—”

The bond tightens, wrapping around you like iron and silk all at once.

And then you feel him move.

Not just through the tether. Physically.

Heavy, sure footsteps across the wooden floorboards.

You twist on the bed, gasping, heart hammering—

And there he is. Leaning against the doorframe.

Shirtless.

Trousers unbuttoned and slung low on his hips.

Eyes glowing deep red.

Cock already hard, leaking, ready.

He licks his lips slowly, predatorily, as he watches you spread out on his bed, hand between your thighs, body trembling with the need he’s been feeding from a distance. “Aw, sweetheart," he says out loud now, voice thick with hunger, accent curling around every syllable. "Look atcha. Fallin’ apart without me."

You shudder violently, reaching out toward him, tears spilling over.

“Please.”

Remmick’s grin turns sharp. Dark.

Triumphant.

“Don’t worry, love," he purrs, crossing the room in three slow, deliberate steps. "I’m gonna take real good care of ya.” The mattress dips under his weight as Remmick climbs onto the bed.

You tremble, thighs still parted, hand still slick and shaking where he caught you mid-plea, mid-fall. But the second his body covers yours—solid, hot, real—you sob with relief.

The bond sings. Bright and brutal.

Tightening like a velvet noose around your heart, your spine, your slick aching cunt.

He hovers over you for a moment, just looking—eyes burning, mouth parted, chest rising and falling with wrecked, hungry breaths. “So fuckin’ pretty when ya beg," he murmurs, voice low and gravelly, all wicked affection. "Could watch ya cry for my cock all night."

You arch up without thinking, hands grabbing at his hips, desperate for him to move, to fill, to own you again—

But Remmick just chuckles. Slow. Dark. Cruel.

"Nuh-uh," he says, catching your wrists easily in one hand and pinning them above your head. "You wanted me, little bride. Now you’re gonna take it."

You gasp, blinking up at him, helpless under the steady weight of his body, the heat of his cock dragging against your dripping folds, heavy and leaking and so close.

He shifts his hips, just enough to tease you—rubbing the head of his cock along your slick entrance, sliding through the mess he already made of you, pressing against your clit with maddening, lazy circles.

You cry out, hips jerking.

But he doesn’t give you what you need. Not yet.

He leans down, nose brushing yours, lips ghosting over your mouth. "Patience," he murmurs, soft and deadly. "Gonna make ya feel it."

And then he moves. Slow. Devastating.

He presses inside an inch. Then stops.

You sob under him, back arching, cunt fluttering helplessly around the stretch.

Remmick groans low in his chest, forehead pressing to yours. "Christ, love," he pants. "Yer still so fuckin’ tight for me."

He pushes deeper. Another inch. Another.

Your legs wrap around his waist automatically, desperate to pull him closer, to drag him deeper, but he only smirks against your skin.

"Greedy little thing," he murmurs. "Can feel it. The way yer suckin’ me in."

You whimper, blinking up at him through a haze of need and tears. "Please," you whisper, broken.

He kisses your forehead. Then your nose. Then your trembling mouth.

"Beg prettier," he growls against your lips.

You cry out, the bond pulling tighter, demanding. "Please, Remmick," you sob. "I—I need you—need all of you—please, please, fill me up—"

And that’s what does it.

His patience breaks. With a low, snarling groan, he slams the rest of the way inside you—burying himself to the hilt in one brutal, perfect thrust.

You scream—high and raw and wrecked—as he stretches you open all over again, thick and deep and claiming.

The bond flares.

Brighter. Hotter. Tighter.

You feel him everywhere.

And he doesn’t move at first—just holds you there, trembling around him, stuffed so full you swear you can feel his heartbeat through the walls of your cunt. "That’s it," he pants against your throat. "Take it. Take all of it."

You sob, clenching around him, desperate for more, for anything, for everything.

And Remmick—Remmick fucking smiles.

"Good girl," he breathes. "My good little bride."

He holds still for just a moment longer.

Lets you feel it. The stretch. The fullness. The way your cunt pulses helplessly around him, like your body’s already trying to keep him, even before he’s started moving.

Remmick’s breath fans hot across your cheek. “You feel that, sweetheart?” he whispers, voice low, reverent. “That’s what it means to be bound.”

You moan beneath him, tears slipping down your temples into your hairline as your fingers tighten around his arms—his name clinging to your tongue like prayer, like poison, like you’d die without it.

He begins to move. Slow.

Deep.

Each thrust rolls through you like thunder, like ritual, like a man grinding his soul into yours one inch at a time. He pulls back until only the tip remains inside—then sinks in again, long and devastating, pressing into every tender spot he’s already mapped with hands, teeth, and magic.

You cry out.

The sound is wrecked. Raw.

Remmick groans into your neck. “Fuck, you sound like heaven,” he pants, thrusting again—deeper, harder, making the bed creak beneath you both. “Takin’ me so fuckin’ good. Like you were made for this.”

You nod—wild, desperate.

Because you were. Because that’s what it feels like.

You were made for him.

The bond throbs between you, singing at every point where your skin meets his—breast to chest, hips to hips, heart to heart. It doesn’t just tether. It entwines.

You feel him inside you in ways that have nothing to do with flesh—his hunger, his need, his worship burning through the tether like fire licking silk.

“Never lettin’ you go,” he murmurs, fucking you deeper now, his rhythm building. “Gonna keep you right here—under me, around me—'til you can’t remember what breathin’ feels like without my cock inside ya.”

You sob—moaning, wrecked, grateful.

He lifts your leg over his shoulder without asking, pressing deeper, grinding his hips down to fill every inch of you, dragging another scream from your throat. “That’s it,” he growls. “Squeeze me, love. Just like that. Milk me dry.”

His hand slides between your bodies, thumb circling your clit with perfect, devastating pressure, like he’s already memorized how to tear you apart.

Your back arches, vision blurring.

You’re close. So close.

Remmick feels it. Through the bond. In your body. In the way your cunt flutters, begging to break again. “Come for me,” he rasps. “Come with me inside you. Let the whole fuckin’ world know who you belong to.”

You can’t stop it. You don’t even try.

You break.

Harder than before—clenching around him, crying out his name, the bond lighting up like a wildfire behind your eyes.

Remmick groans loud and possessive above you, hips snapping hard, fast, until he’s burying himself one last time and spilling into you with a sound you’ll never forget. “Mine,” he chokes out. “Fuck—mine. Mine—”

You don’t know who’s shaking more.

Your hands. His voice. The world.

He stays inside you. Doesn’t pull out.

Just holds you. Breathes you.

Like he needs to.

The bond simmers between you, satisfied and sealed, humming like a beast at rest. You reach up, hands trembling, and cup his face.

He leans into your touch like it hurts not to. “Y’feel it now?” he whispers, barely audible. “That ache when I’m gone?”

You nod, eyes wet.

“Good,” he says. “Because I fuckin’ feel it too.”

You wake up sore.

Sweetly. Brutally. Deep in the muscles of your thighs, between your ribs, in the soft swell of your cunt—filled and used and claimed. You shift under the heavy quilt, blinking into the low golden light of the fire across the room.

There’s birdsong. Faint. And the low simmering hum of the bond still thrumming in your chest like a second heartbeat.

It’s quiet here. Peaceful, almost.

Except for the ache between your legs and the warm, terrifying weight of him behind you.

Remmick.

He’s still there.

One arm curled heavy over your waist, bare chest pressed to your spine. You feel the slow, lazy drag of his breath against your shoulder—calm and even, like a man who’s slept deeply. Like he’s sated.

He doesn’t stir when you shift slightly.

But the bond does. It tightens, warm and low, like a pulse at the base of your spine. Like a hand slipping between your thighs. Like a warning.

Don’t move. Don’t leave. You’re his.

You lie there, heart pounding quietly under his hand.

And then—

His voice. Low. Rough with sleep. Slipping against your skin like silk over a bruise. “Where d’you think yer goin’, little bride?”

You freeze.

His fingers flex over your belly, lazy but firm, tugging you back against his chest until you feel the unmistakable weight of his cock, already thick and half-hard between your thighs. He presses his face into the crook of your neck, breathing you in like he’s starving again.

“I wasn’t,” you whisper. “I wasn’t going anywhere.”

A soft, dangerous hum in your ear. “Good.”

You stay still.

The silence stretches, warm and weighted, as his hand strokes lazy circles over your stomach. He’s not trying to arouse you—not yet. Just remind you. That he’s here. That he feels you. That he owns every flutter of your heartbeat before you even register it.

“You dream last night?” he murmurs.

You swallow hard. You had.

Dreamt of him. Of his hands. His mouth. The way your legs shook when he told you to beg. The way you liked it.

“I don’t remember,” you lie softly.

Remmick laughs against your throat, lips brushing the skin he bit just hours ago. “Liar.”

His hand slides lower. But slower now. Less demanding. More like he’s testing something. Watching how your body answers to his. How the bond hums in response to every breath between you.

“You’re thinkin’ too loud,” he says, nuzzling behind your ear. “I can feel it.”

You tense. Just slightly.

His hand stills over your hips. Then his voice, softer this time. “You scared of me, love?”

The question sinks into your ribs like a needle. You’re not sure how to answer.

Yes.

And no.

And not enough.

You don't answer right away. How could you?

Your throat is tight. Your body too sore, too raw. The ache between your legs still pulses in time with the bond, and Remmick’s presence behind you—his breath on your neck, his cock hardening slowly between your thighs—makes it worse.

Makes it better. Makes it everything.

And still, that question hangs in the air like smoke:

“You scared of me, love?”

He doesn’t say it cruelly. He doesn’t laugh after. He just waits.

His hand stills on your belly, fingers splayed wide over the skin he’s already touched with tongue and teeth and blood.

You swallow hard, voice soft, barely audible.

“Yes.”

Remmick doesn’t tense. He doesn’t growl. He doesn’t punish you.

He exhales slowly through his nose, like the answer had been expected. Maybe even hoped for. “Good,” he murmurs. “Y’should be.”

You blink—heart thudding once, hard, behind your glowing mark.

His thumb strokes your stomach, just above your navel. “You should be scared,” he says again, slower this time. “I’m not a man, sweetheart. I ain’t some boy who’ll kiss your hand and promise forever under a moon I don’t get to stand under.”

He kisses your shoulder instead. Soft. Lingering.

A contradiction to the words in his mouth.

“I’m what waits under the bed,” he breathes. “What knocks at the door when you pray it won’t. What takes instead of asks.”

You shiver. Not from cold.

From the way your body doesn’t recoil.

From the way your hips push back against him without thinking.

Remmick hums against your skin. “Scared of me,” he repeats, voice lowering to a hush, “but still so wet for me you’re stickin’ to my sheets.”

You whimper, cheeks burning.

And still—he doesn’t move.

Doesn’t rut into you. Doesn’t force.

He just holds you tighter. Because this is worse than violence. Worse than taking.

This is knowing.

He feels everything. Not just your body.

Your shame. Your desire. Your ache for him.

And he loves it.

“You think I don’t feel what that fear does to ya?” he murmurs. “How it curls low in your belly, how it sweetens the way you clench when I talk like this?”

His teeth graze your throat again. Gently this time. Carefully. “You’re scared,” he says, “and still, you’d let me put a baby in you if I told you to.”

Your breath catches.

Your body answers before your voice ever could—heat surging between your legs, thighs squeezing together around nothing, cunt fluttering at the idea of it.

He feels that too.

“Ohhh,” he groans, laughing low and pleased. “There she is.”

He doesn’t rush you. Doesn’t flip you over. Doesn’t tear you open.

Doesn’t bare his teeth and fuck you through the mattress, even though you can feel how badly he wants to.

Instead—Remmick slips down your body slowly.

The quilt is pulled aside with a lazy flick of his wrist, exposing your bare skin to the cold air and to him. You shiver, more from anticipation than chill.

He kneels at the edge of the bed, dragging your hips to the edge like you’re something soft and sacred he’s about to set on fire. The bond buzzes between you, a hot, pulsing wire strung from your cunt to his mouth, taut and trembling.

You bite your lip. And you don’t dare move.

Because the look in his eyes—

Low. Hungry. Worshipful.

It pins you to the sheets like a hand to the throat.

“Still scared?” he murmurs, kissing the inside of your knee.

You nod. Barely.

He smiles. Slow. Honest. “Good. Don’t stop bein’.”

He kisses higher. The curve of your thigh. Then the crease.

Then—

Close.

Not touching. Not yet.

But watching you twitch. Watching your hips roll up in a silent, shameful plea.

Remmick groans softly. “You think that fear makes me less gentle?” he asks, voice hushed, like confession. “Nah, sweetheart. Makes me tender. Makes me want to ruin you slow.”

You gasp as he finally presses a kiss to your cunt.

Soft. Closed-mouth.

More reverent than filthy.

It’s worse than teasing. It’s adoration.

He parts you with careful fingers, breath ghosting over you until your legs shake from the not-touching, the almost, the please.

And then his tongue finds your clit.

Just once. A soft drag.

Then again. Slower. Wetter. More precise.

Your back arches off the bed.

Your hands reach for something to hold—sheets, the edge of the headboard, the carved wood posts—but Remmick grabs your thighs and holds you down.

“Mmm-mm,” he hums, tongue circling slowly. “Don’t run.”

You moan—loud, needy—and he groans in response, mouthing at you deeper, filthier, gentler.

“You taste scared,” he mutters between licks. “And it’s makin’ me hard enough to fuckin’ kill for it.”

Your legs twitch.

You’re soaked. He’s drinking you in. Taking his time, tongue slow and firm, lips wrapping around your clit like he’s savoring your fear, your sweetness, your surrender.

And still—

No rush. No cruelty. Just… devotion.

Monster-shaped.

Blood-warm.

Endless.

“You’re mine,” he murmurs against your cunt, voice almost broken. “Even when you’re shakin’. Even when you flinch. Even when you don’t fuckin’ understand what I’ve turned you into yet.”

You sob.

Because he’s right. You’re his.

Even in the fear.

Especially in the fear.

And when he sucks your clit slow and deep, the pressure spiraling out from your spine in white-hot coils, you don’t try to hide the tears.

You don’t want to anymore.

You break the second time he moans. Not from the sound alone—though it’s low and thick and filthy, vibrating through your cunt like a prayer that never belonged to God—but from the way he presses his tongue flat, dragging it slow and steady through your slick folds like he’s starving and you’re the only thing that’s ever tasted like salvation.

Your thighs tremble around his head.

You try to close them. He doesn’t let you.

Strong hands pin your legs open, thumbs digging into the meat of your thighs as he devours you—hungry, tender, relentless.

You sob. Tears spill freely now. Not from pain. Not even from overstimulation.

But from the unbearable, overwhelming worship.

He licks you like you’re sacred. He sucks your clit like it’s a rosary bead caught between his lips.

“Please—” you gasp, voice catching. “Please, I—I can’t—”

But you can. He knows you can.

“Y’can,” he growls into your cunt, mouth soaked, voice wrecked. “Y’will.”

His tongue flicks faster now, swirling pressure tight and perfect, designed to drag you toward the edge.

“Gonna come for me, little bride,” he murmurs, biting your inner thigh. “Gonna give it to me. Right fuckin’ now.”

And you do. You shatter.

The orgasm tears through you like lightning—white-hot, blinding, burning you open from the inside out. You scream his name, thighs locking around his head, body writhing, breaking.

Remmick groans like your pleasure’s feeding him, like it’s going to his head, to his cock, to the thing in him that isn’t human and never pretended to be.

You’re still shaking when he moves.

Rising up over you. Dragging his cock along your twitching folds, hard and slick and soaked with the mess you just made.

“You’re still scared,” he says, watching you with eyes too dark and too red to be anything but wrong.

You nod.

Because it’s true. Because it always will be.

And he smiles.

Soft. Loving. Terrifying.

“But you want me anyway,” he whispers, lining himself up.

Your lip trembles. “Yes.”

He kisses you.

Then pushes inside.

Not hard. Not brutal.

Just deep.

He sheaths himself in your still-pulsing cunt like he belongs there. Like the bond’s waiting to welcome him back.

You cry out, arms wrapping around his shoulders, clinging to him like you might fall through the bed otherwise.

Remmick groans, low and aching, forehead pressed to yours. “That’s my girl,” he breathes. “Takin’ me even when you’re scared. Clenchin’ like you don’t ever wanna let go.”

He starts to move.

Slow. Rhythmic. Ruinous.

And you sob against his mouth—not because it hurts. But because you’ve never felt so full of something you’ll never understand.

“Say it,” he pants, each thrust dragging a cry from your throat. “Say the fear don’t matter. Not if it’s me.”

You nod, dizzy and wrecked, tears slipping down your cheeks.

“It doesn’t,” you whisper. “Not if it’s you.”

Remmick groans, fucking into you harder now, the bond singing through your bones. “That’s it,” he growls. “That’s mine. All of it. All of you.”

You nod again.

You don’t fight. You don’t flinch. You give in.

You don’t know how long he stays inside you.

Could be minutes. Could be hours. Could be forever.

Time doesn’t work the same anymore. Not when your body is bonded to his. Not when your soul is stitched to something ancient and starving.

He holds you through every aftershock. His hands stroke your skin as if memorizing the shape of you, the feel of you, the way your body softened under his until it didn’t know where it ended and he began. Eventually, he moves—slowly, gently, as if reluctant to leave the heat of you even for a moment.

You expect him to pull out and clean you, maybe carry you to a bath, maybe tuck you against his chest again and fall into that peaceful quiet you’d been drifting in before.

But instead—He kneels between your thighs.

Again.

Eyes glowing in the low firelight. Expression unreadable. Mouth blood-red and reverent.

“Remmick?” you whisper.

And then you see it.

His knife.

The blade is old. Dark. Iron and bone. Etched with something that moves if you look too long.

He doesn’t raise it. Not yet.

He looks at you with the kind of stillness that makes you forget how to breathe. “I need to finish it,” he says.

You blink. “I thought we already did.”

He tilts his head, eyes trailing down your sweat-slick body, pausing at the faint glow of the mark over your heart. “Nah, love,” he says quietly. “We did the binding. The claiming. The taking.”

He presses the knife to his palm.

“But not the keeping.”

He slices. Clean. No flinch. Blood wells thick and slow from the cut, dark and rich and wrong.

You sit up slightly, heart pounding.

He holds his hand out to you. “Drink,” he says.

You stare. Then whisper, “Why?”

His voice doesn’t shake. It never does.

“Because this world don’t care what I’ve claimed.” “Because someone’ll try to take you from me.” “Because I need them to know you’re mine before they even open their mouth.”

Your breath catches. “Remmick…”

“They’ll smell it on ya. Feel it in your blood. The burn of me, buried under your skin. It’ll make ‘em hesitate. Make ‘em hurt when they touch you.”

You swallow hard.

Your legs are still trembling from his last claiming. You can feel his seed still dripping from you. You can feel his breath in your lungs, the bond in your spine, his mark over your heart.

And still—he wants more.

You crawl toward him. Hands shaking. And press your lips to his palm.

The taste is sharp. Sweet. Thick with something that isn’t just blood.

Power.

Magic.

Hunger older than this country, older than the woods, older than God.

Remmick groans low in his throat, watching you lap at the wound like you’re starved for it.

Maybe you are. Maybe you always have been.

When you’ve had your fill, he pulls you up into his lap, cradling you there like a bride carried across a threshold made of ash and bone. His mouth finds your throat again. Kisses it. “I’ll kill for you,” he whispers. “I’ll burn for you.”

You press your forehead to his. “I know.”

“I’ll never let you go.”

“I don’t want you to.”

His arms tighten around you. One hand slides over your belly. The mark is glowing again. Dimmer, but pulsing steady. “You’ll carry my blood now,” he says, voice soft and ruined. “One day you’ll carry more.”

You don’t answer. You don’t need to.

The bond answers for you.

You are his.

Forever.

Not because he took. But because you gave.

Because when the dark came knocking—when it whispered promises of pleasure and fear and ruin—

You opened the door. You bared your throat.

You said yes.

And now, when they speak of the bloodbound bride of the most dangerous vampire in the Delta, they won’t whisper in pity.

They’ll whisper in awe.

Because you didn’t run. You didn’t cry. You stayed.

And when they ask you why—if you’re ever foolish enough to speak to mortals again—you’ll say the only truth that matters anymore.

“I was scared.”

And then, with a smile, with teeth, with Remmick’s fire burning behind your ribs—

“But I loved him more.”

[goose-books]

The Ghost of Christmas Past shows up and you’re like, “Ohhhhh for fuck’s sake,” but you’re in your childhood bedroom so it’s kind of on you. The ghost seems offended. She crosses her arms. She looks like you used to, with the pigtails.

“No way,” you say. “Don’t start.”

“I am the—”

“The Ghost of Christmas Past, I know, I know.” Because she looks like you, and it’s Christmas Eve, so what else. Your parents used to read you the story every year. Even when you were old enough to read on your own, it was better in your dad’s voice.

“You came home for your parents,” the ghost says, solemn. “It’s time to tell them.”

“No, like, ‘when you’re ready’?”

“You are ready,” she says, “or you wouldn’t have come back.”

Which is so stupid, because you weren’t on the moon, you were at college, and it’s only been two months of shots, you don’t even have a mustache. “Fucking leave me alone,” you say, so she does the ghost thing and takes you to a ten-years-ago Christmas. The living room. Your parents. Your fledgling self on the carpet with your stocking, the one you can’t look at anymore because when you were a baby your parents patiently hand-stitched the fucking name.

“Maybe they’ll make you a new one,” says the ghost.

“You don’t know that.” Bullshit ghost powers.

“You were happier back then. When they knew you.”

“Everyone was happier back then. It was, like, 2008.”

“There was a recession,” says the ghost.

“Shut up! Shut up!” You turn over in bed. For a second you expect to roll onto child-self-you curled up next to you. Probably crush the life out of her. You got good at that. It’s her bed, her room, pink covers, cat posters.

“This is so stupid, this Dickens thing,” you say. “I’m not even Christian anymore.”

“Tell your parents that second,” the ghost suggests.

“Oh my fucking God I’m not telling them anything can’t you go bother Jeff Bezos.”

“I’m just doing my job,” says the ghost, and vanishes.

#

The Ghost of Christmas Present has an acne problem. As soon as you open your eyes you say, “Oh my God,” and they say, “Hi,” and you say, “You better not be the fucking Ghost of Christmas Present,” and the Ghost of Christmas Present says, “I am.”

Which you knew.

“Why me?” you say, pink comforter bunched around your waist. “I didn’t do anything. Scrooge was mean to orphans.”

The Ghost of Christmas Present shrugs. “It’s the job.”

“Are you gonna show me my parents now?”

That makes them look kind of embarrassed.

“Well, don’t,” you say. If your parents are talking in the other room, huddled up conferencing with the lights off, you can’t hear it over the heater buzz. But you can guess what they’re saying: you went to school with a shitty pixie cut and worse eyeliner, and you came back with a real haircut and a permanent frown and a bunch of new friends you play sentence Twister to avoid pronouning. “I know they’re nice people, I got it. I’m just not ready.”

“It’s just—you’re kind of waiting for them to ask?” says the Ghost of Christmas Present. They scratch their face, where they have spectral sideburns coming in. “Your dad thinks you have a head cold. ‘Cause of your voice. But your mom’s starting to get it.”

You pull the covers over your head. “Cool, awesome, didn’t ask.”

“She isn’t going to ask,” the ghost says. “She wants you to tell her.”

You stick your middle finger out from underneath the covers. When you check, the room is empty again.

#

The Ghost of Christmas Future doesn’t say anything. Just looks at you. You look back. You probably have bedhead. You fixed your daytime wardrobe but your pajamas are still lacy and purple.

“How come you’re a man?” you say.

He says, “I think you know.”

“Fucking—go away.”

“I have something to show you first.”

“Are we going to the goddamn graveyard?”

He doesn’t say anything but then you’re in the goddamn graveyard. Together. Looking at your headstone. The dates are close enough together to make you kind of sick.

“They went with the full name,” you say.

The ghost nods.

“Not even the nickname. My nice gender neutral nickname.”

The ghost shrugs. You kind of want to throw something at him but you’re just looking at it now. Chiseled in marble. Immovable. What’s that thing bigots on the internet say, about someone digging up your jawbone two hundred years from now? You always wanted to think you wouldn’t care.

The Ghost of Christmas Future’s pretty quiet. This is the part where Scrooge goes full breakdown. Tears, begging, promises.

“I’m not gonna cry on you,” you say.

“Okay.”

So neutral. “Man, what do you want me to say?”

“Nothing,” says the ghost. “I think you’re there.”

You can’t stop looking at the headstone. “God fucking damnit shit. You promise they’ll be cool?”

“Nothing’s promised,” the ghost says. He gestures at the graveyard. “Except for this.”

“Awesome.” Cryptic cliche philosophical ghost bullshit. Yada yada. Death and taxes. Not with that name on your headstone, though. Not with that name on your tax forms, either.

You turn to tell him that and then you’re blinking in bed. There’s still one glow-in-the-dark star stuck to your ceiling where the glue never wore out. You put those up like ten years ago. Maybe longer. The light in the room says it’s morning. You swing your lacy-pajama legs over the side of the bed and go to ruin Christmas.

[5sospenguinqueen]

Tantrums | Lewis Hamilton x Reader

Summary: After 10 years together, Lewis keeps pushing back the date on when “forever” can start. Realising that forever applies to her job and not their relationship, she makes it clear that she’s had enough. 

Warnings: slight age gap, reader is 32. angst, heavy on the angst. 

Requested: @madelynn-sienna (sorry it took so long. i didn’t think i was gonna do it ngl to you because i don’t really write for lewis)

F1 Masterlist

next.

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yn_ln just posted

liked by carmenmmundt, alexandrasaintmleux and others

yn_ln when he feels bad that he’s on the other side of the world for your birthday 

4,444 comments

lewishamilton happy birthday, love. i’m so sorry i’m in australia and not with you but i promise i will make it up to you when i’m home. roscoe promised me he’d spend the day spoiling you 

→ roscoelovescoco yes i’s did’s 

user1 oh to be loved the way y/n is loved by lewis 

user2 no one makes me feel as single as lewis and y/n do 

carmenmmundt @/georgerussell63 take notes

→ yn_ln you tell him, hun

→ georgerussell63 i buy you flowers all the time! 

f1 we’re sorry that a race fell on your birthday. we’ll ask the fia to fix the calendar next year so this doesn’t happen again

mercedesamgf1 we’d give him back if we could. happy birthday, yn

georgerussell63 hang on a second. you’ve not left us yet. that’s not the right car

→ charles_leclerc that’s the perfect car 

→ yn_ln i didn’t buy the car. i just jumped behind the wheel

user3 not me hoping she’d be getting a ring for her birthday 

→ user4 we’ve been waiting for this for the past 8 birthdays

→ user5 it’s been 10 years. we were expecting two rings and a few kids by now

→ user6 i mean, he just bought her a sports car. not very kid friendly 

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lewishamilton just posted

liked by francolapinto, sebastianvettel and others 

lewishamilton happy 10 years to the love of my life. every moment with you is an adventure i never want to end

9,448 comments

yn_ln forever with you ❤️ mainly because i can’t be bothered to train some new guy to photos that good of me

mercedesamgf1 can’t believe it’s been 10 years already. it feels like only yesterday yn was making her paddock debut. here’s to another 10 

→ user7 not mercedes commenting like they’re a part of this relationship 

→ user8 well he’s been with yn almost as long as he’s been with mercedes so they practically are at this point 

user9 my favourite f1 couple

user10 i love their rich money vibes

roscoelovescoco happy’s anniversary’s mum and’s dad 

→ yn_ln my precious boy 

→ user11 now she needs a real baby 

danielriccairdo i can’t believe she’s managed to put up with you for ten years 😂 huge love to you both

→ yn_ln ngl, it’s been tough

→ lewishamilton i’m taking the ferrari back 

user12 wedding and baby when? 

georgerussell63 happy 10 year anniversary. yn is my favourite part of you being my teammate 

→ carmenmmundt can we keep her when you go to ferrari?

→ charles_leclerc no. it’s my turn now 

→ lewishamilton i think you’re all forgetting that she’s mine 

mercedesamgf1 just posted

liked by georgerussell63, kimi.antonelli and others 

mercedesamgf1 GET IN THERE, LEWIS 🏆🥇 LEWIS HAMILTON IS YOUR BRITISH GRAND PRIX WINNER 

23,441 comments

yn_ln my love. i honestly have not stopped crying since you crossed that line. i’m so proud of you. you deserved this and proved to everyone why you’re a motorsport legend

→ lewishamilton couldn't do it without your support 🩷

→ mercedesamgf1 it’s true. the mechanics were uncomfortable when they realised they couldn't just keep giving her tissues

georgerussell63 you deserve it, mate

valterribottas well done champ

user1 can’t believe he won silverstone the same weekend he celebrated 10 years with yn 

→ user2 she’s always been his good luck charm. he performs so well when she’s watching

→ user3 they’re the dream team together 

user4 the fact that yn is the only one he responded to

user5 she’s getting it good tonight

skysportsf1 posted a new interview

user6 oh no, lewis…

user7 lewis, she was asking what was next for you and yn, relationship wise

user8 oh, that’s not quite

user9 i hope yn doesn’t see this otherwise i fear lewis might be in the doghouse tonight 

→ user10 i hope she does see it so that she knows he’s not thinking of her future in the same way 

user11 i always thought lewis loved yn as much as yn loved lewis but now i’m not sure

user12 it’s the fact that the poor interviewer looked upset at his answer as well. like she hoped for better

→ user13 we all hoped for better 

user14 it’s the fact that she’s always talked about wanting kids and getting married but has always said they’re waiting until lewis is ready

→ user15 the fact that every year passes and he never indicates that he’s ready for any of it though 

replies to @/F1Wags

user1 lewis still follows yn

→ user2 and still has all of his photos up, including their anniversary post 

→ user1 i’m hoping this means he’s in denial and is still trying to win her back

user3 i can’t believe this is real. she went all the way back and deleted everything related to him in 10 years. even edited posts to delete slides he was in

→ user4 dedicated queen

user5 just fell to my knees in walmart

user6 i’m devastated but i also hope this means she finds a man who will be prepared to give her the life she wants 

→ user7 well, more fool her for staying this long

→ user6 not really. ever think she wanted those things because she wanted them with lewis

→ user8 don’t break my heart like this please  

replies to @/WeDon'tThink

user9 okay but your pen was on fire when you wrote that 

user10 he literally had the best weekend of his life with a 10yr anniversary, winning silverstone and then clearly messed it all up somehow in the end 

user11 if sir lewis hamilton can’t even do right, what hope do the rest of us have in finding a decent man

→ user12 no because they looked just as in love as they did 10 years ago and he still fumbled

user13 i saw rumours it was because he gave her an ultimatum and she didn’t take the path he wanted 

→ user14 what do you mean?

→ user13 apparently “close sources” said that he told her if she wanted kids, she couldn't have him and so she left 

→ user14 wtf!!! good on her for dumping his ass

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calvinklein and yn_ln just posted

liked by nicorosberg, fernandoalo_official and others 

calvinklein @/yn_ln is stunning in calvin klein underwear. shop the collection now 

5,533 comments

yn_ln oh okay. i look goooood 

→ alexandrasaintmleux i would let you take me home

→ carmenmmundt me too

→ georgerussell63 excuse me, i don’t agree with this

user1 aha, nico we see you 

→ user2 and fernando

landonorris oh so he fumbled bad 

→ oscarpiastri they’re going to take your social media off you again

user3 is this her version of a revenge dress?

→ user4 more like undress

user5 not sure why you wouldn’t want to marry and give a baby to a woman like that 

→ user6 okay, ew

user7 can we appreciate how she’s handled this with class. instead of speaking out against lewis, she’s been booked and busy and flitting about europe on modelling jobs 

→ user8 just further proof that he managed to lose the best woman ever 

roscoelovescoco you’s look’s nice, mum

→ user9 i know lewis hires someone to run this account but what are the odds that he’s actually behind it now so he can stalk yn 

yn_ln please can we all focus on the clothes and support how hot i look by buying some! 

→ danielricciardo don’t even have tits but you convinced me to buy a bra

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lewishamilton just posted

liked by valterribottas, scuderiaferrari and others 

lewishamilton mixed feelings about today. obviously happy for a win but very disappointing for george and the team missing out on a 1-2

7,744 comments

georgerussell63 we put up a good fight today

user1 not really a deserved win though, is it

user2 you fumbled yn and now you’re fumbling wins. you only got this because merc screwed over george 

roscoelovescoco well’s done’s dad

user3 see what happens when you play a good woman, you get a dirty win

user4 man needs to act his age. can’t believe at the grand age of 39, he strung along a girl who loved him more than anything for 10 years

→ user5 destroyed my faith in men for real 

user6 robbed a win from george like you robbed 10 years from yn 

(comments on this post have been limited)

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I wrote this out and was really proud of it and then when I was adding the other driver’s versions on, I realised it was the same principal as Daniel’s so I’m so sorry for the repeated plot

Baby Fever Angst Masterlist

requests are open

[whoevenisjavier]

EROTICA

part 1 | part 2

pairing: no outbreak!joel x reader

The plan was to finish your thesis. You didn’t actually want to meet a neighbor with a past you can google and a history caught on tape. Or did you?

a/n: the adult content t-shit gave me ideas. btw, my first story here and I swear this is not a TED talk about morality. critical thinking? yes, bc the story needs it. moral lectures? absolutely not. porn? you'll see. this is just for fun — enjoy, i guess. the storys finished already, so I'll post the next chapter soon.

additional tags/warnings: 18+, mdni. reader is 26, joel is 50ish. no outbreak. joel is a dad. conversations about porn. inaccuracies about joel miller (I know his parents aren't chilean but bear with me). javier peña is there too. do I have to add anything else here? I don't know how to do these things.

wc: 9k

This time, your parents aren’t waiting for you at the bus terminal like they’ve done every year for the past three. It’s a good thing, a sign you’re standing on your own now, with your own car, but you still miss seeing their smiles through the fogged-up bus windows.

That moment always made you feel like you belonged somewhere.

Driving through the streets of Lake Placid on your way home feels like walking through your childhood memories. The stores look almost the same — sometimes with a fresh coat of paint — and the people, though not exactly familiar, are the daughters and grandsons of the adults you grew up around before moving to New York. Their faces carry just enough resemblance to make you do a double take.

When you park in your parents’ driveway and pick up your phone for the first time in two hours, there’s a message from your mother.

“We’re in the backyard having a welcome barbecue for the new neighbor! You can go up to your room and rest if you want some time alone or come eat. Can’t wait to see you. X.”

You smile as you step out of the Jeep, the door creaking behind you, and breathe in the cold, clean air rolling down from the mountains and the lake that wraps around the village where you were born. Your parents’ house sits above Mirror Lake Drive, right at the edge of the hill on the northeast side of the village, and from your bedroom window on the second floor, you can see the lake and the distant peaks of the High Peaks.

A far cry from the view outside your New York apartment: nothing but gray swallowed up by buildings. It’s the perfect setting to finally finish your thesis.

As you grab your two suitcases from the back seat, your eyes wander to the house next door, which had been empty for the past three years, mostly because the previous owners were asking too much for it.

Buying real estate in Lake Placid takes careful thought, since turning a profit is unlikely even with upgrades and expansions – the village is just too isolated. So if you’re buying here, it’s not for the money. It’s because you want a life far away from the city.

The house in question is a larger and more luxurious version of your parents’, made of gray stone, with cute white-framed windows, and for the first time in months, you see the lawn freshly trimmed and a new pickup truck parked in the driveway.

Probably the new family your mom mentioned.

The house is empty when you walk in, but you can hear laughter and voices drifting up from the backyard. You head the opposite way, climb the stairs to your room, drop your bags, take a shower, and spend a good while debating whether to sink into sheets that smell like home for the first time in ten months or go downstairs and find something to eat.

Hunger wins.

You throw on a warm sweater and go down. When you open the back doors, six pairs of eyes turn toward you, but it’s your mother’s squeal that makes you smile, followed by the tight hug she and your father give you.

“There’s our girl,” your father says to the others, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as he says your name. You give a small wave. “She always comes home for the holidays.”

The couple sitting together you recognize. They’ve been friends with your parents for years.

But you don’t know the woman who smiles sweetly at you, and you definitely don’t recognize the man, at least twenty-five years older than you, who keeps a neutral expression as he sips from a beer can. He doesn’t seem particularly friendly, but maybe that’s just the impression left by the slightly graying mustache and broad shoulders.

Two minutes later, you’re settled into a lounge chair with everyone in the backyard, a warm burger on your plate and a cold beer in your hand.

“I told Joel he’d have trouble with the house,” says the sweet-smiling woman to your parents, continuing the conversation they were having. “But he really wanted a place here, so I just supported him.”

“What kind of trouble are you having with the house?” your mom asks Joel — the mustached man, now officially identified.

“Nothing major,” Joel replies in a deep, firm, polite voice. “Had to redo the plumbing in two of the bathrooms and fix the heating in the kitchen sink, but it’s all fine now.”

“And are you liking it here?” you venture. You glance at the woman. “You and... your wife?”

Joel gives a faint smile.

“Tess isn’t my wife. And yeah, I’m liking it. It’s peaceful. Not too many teenagers. Feels like paradise.”

“What’s with the teenage hate?” you ask, half-joking, half-serious, silently filing away the Tess isn’t his wife detail.

“Fewer teenagers means fewer cell phones.”

Your response is a light laugh that earns a slight eyebrow raise from Joel, but you go back to your burger and let him be.

The conversation between the adults shifts to Fleetwood Mac, Lake Placid families, suggestions for places Joel should check out, and gossip about someone’s daughter who apparently got knocked up by the neighbor’s grandson, or something like that. You listen in, partly because you’re curious about the latest news (true or not) in the town you grew up in.

Your parents mention that you’re staying longer this time to get a change of scenery and finally work on your thesis, and that’s when the dreaded question comes. From Tess.

“And what’s your thesis about?”

Your mother holds back a laugh, because despite the seriousness of the topic, the initial reactions are always the same.

“I study anthropology,” you say. “My thesis is about the influence of pornography on male behavior over the years.”

That’s because the way men acted around you had always bothered you. When you were ten, wearing a cute chiffon skirt to the grocery store, they stared. When you were fifteen, walking home from school in your uniform, you heard disgusting things shouted at you on the street.

It wasn’t until you got older and realized that behavior like that isn’t natural (and why would it be, if women don’t do it?) that all your anger turned into the foundation for your research.

Tess raises her eyebrows and smiles slightly while the older couple gasps in surprise. Joel doesn’t react at all, except for rubbing the condensation on his beer can with his thumb.

“That’s a very interesting topic,” Tess comments, glancing at Joel, who briefly looks at her, then back at you. “Do you have any conclusions yet?”

“A few,” you say, though you already know the core of your research is the objectification of women’s bodies for the industry’s gain. “But I don’t want to bore you—”

“What’s your research method?” Joel cuts in before you can finish.

“Sorry?”

“Your research method. The system you’re using for the thesis.”

“Mixed methods,” you say, but you sense something more behind the question. Something slightly aggressive that you can’t fully pin down. “I did some fieldwork in New York.”

“Did you interview anyone from the industry?”

You shake your head.

“No one agreed. At least not the newer actors and actresses. The more established ones charged absurd fees just to answer ten questions.”

Joel says nothing, and the silence is broken when your father makes a joke about the topic. Everyone laughs—including you.

The barbecue lasts another hour at most before people start saying their goodbyes. Your mom wraps up two burgers for Joel, and he thanks her sincerely.

Then he turns to you and says:

“Good luck with the thesis, sweetheart.”

You nod, and you could swear you catch a faint smirk at the corner of his lips before he waves goodbye and walks off.

You run into Joel again at the market three blocks from home, standing in front of the fruit display, looking stuck between red grapes, green grapes, and oranges.

Joel’s voice comes suddenly from your left.

“What deep philosophical truth are you hoping those grapes will reveal to you?”

You startle, turning toward him with your hand over your heart as if that could slow it down. Joel raises one eyebrow as he begins placing seedless green grapes into a plastic bag.

He’s wearing worn jeans and a plaid flannel shirt over a white T-shirt. Thin-rimmed glasses rest on the strong bridge of his nose.

He smells like pine and something expensive—you guess it’s aftershave.

“Hi,” you say first, then quickly add, “I was trying to decide between grapes and oranges.”

“Grapes are sweeter this time of year.”

“But I like sour fruit.”

“Then go for the oranges.”

“But grapes are easier to eat. More practical.”

Joel gives you an impatient look, and you answer with a laugh. You grab a plastic bag and start selecting oranges.

After a short silence, while Joel ties off his grape bag and begins picking oranges too, you ask:

“Are you liking it here?”

Joel murmurs:

“There are some interesting things. Sarah likes it.”

“Your wife?” you ask quickly. Too quickly.

“My daughter. Just turned fifteen.”

Oh. Great. He’s a dad. You glance at his hand but see no ring. Joel notices.

“What’s with the marriage obsession?” he asks, although not rudely.

You shrug.

“I’m just curious. And you’d better brace yourself. The older ladies in Lake Placid are going to eat you alive with questions about your relationship status.”

“Really? Why do you think that?”

You freeze with your fingers wrapped around a particularly juicy orange. Without meaning to, you basically confessed that you think he’s a catch: attractive, polite, middle-aged, apparently wealthy, and tall. What other reason would the ladies have to shift their attention from their knitting?

You avoid his eyes.

“You bought the house that had been on the market for years. They’ll want to know who the buyer is,” you say, a half-truth.

He grunts, as if to say he doesn’t care about any of that, ties his orange bag, and places it in the cart. He glances at your basket, scanning the hygiene items (specifically the pads) and the chocolate bars.

“Did you drive here?” he asks.

You shake your head. He does too.

“Then let’s go. I’ll give you a ride home. It’s raining.”

His tone doesn’t invite objection and you don’t want to argue. Silently, and after grabbing a bag of green grapes too, you follow him through the market. He picks up a box of chocolate cereal, milk, kale, and oats, and then you both head to the checkout line.

You pay for your items first, so you end up waiting under the automatic doors, arms crossed beneath the blasting air conditioner.

People come in shaking umbrellas, mumbling about how unexpected the rain is or how cold the drops feel.

Older women walk in, spot Joel, and start whispering to each other with that smile every woman — no matter her age — immediately recognizes. The universal woman-smile.

He, seemingly unaware to all of it, pays with his card, grabs the bags with one hand, and walks over to you.

“Need help?” he asks, motioning toward your three bags.

You shake your head. He nods once and tilts his head toward the door, signaling for you to follow him across the crowded parking lot.

His pickup truck is parked near the exit—big and sturdy. You both get in at the same time. The inside smells good but feels stuffy from the rain, so he turns on the A/C and runs his hand through his graying hair to shake off the water.

“It rains a lot here,” he mutters as he starts the engine and buckles his seatbelt. You do the same. “Not sure I like this humidity.”

“Where were you living before?”

“Los Angeles.”

Your eyebrows rise. You can’t picture him with the stereotypical California vibe. It doesn’t fit.

So you ask the million-dollar question:

“What did you do there?”

The sound of the windshield wipers is your only response for a few seconds. Long enough for you to wonder if you crossed a line.

“A bit of everything,” he finally says, and you understand that he doesn’t want to talk about it. Yeah. You were being nosy.

Weird. Joel is weird, and everything about him makes you feel like you should think he’s an assassin, or a retired California mobster, anything that would kick your survival instincts into gear. You probably shouldn’t be sitting in a closed space with him like you’ve known him for years.

“Nothing illegal,” Joel adds when your silence starts to stretch.

That makes you laugh.

“Very reassuring.”

He smirks. At a red light, his fingers tap lightly on the leather steering wheel.

“How’s the thesis going?” he asks.

“Honestly? I haven’t opened the file since I got here.”

“Procrastinating?”

You hum in agreement, resting your head against the seat.

“I think I’m stuck.”

“Yeah? Why?”

“I need to watch some films to move forward.”

He freezes. Then he lets out a low chuckle. You defend yourself:

“I’m serious. I need to understand which narratives work best and why, and connect that to how they influence real-life behavior.”

“Makes sense,” Joel says.

“It does,” you reply, a little proud. You glance at him. The shape of his nose, the mustache, the gray-streaked beard. Then you add, “But it feels weird watching porn in my parents’ house, even if it’s for educational purposes.”

“Porn isn’t always for educational purposes?”

You gasp in horror.

“No!” you exclaim. “Porn is not educational. People don’t have sex like that in real life.”

“Hm…”

“You disagree?”

“I do,” he says plainly. “People do have sex like that.”

“I didn’t mean physically, Joel. Sex is easy: a good position, one thing inside the other, and done.” You catch yourself, because not all sex involves penetration, and something about Joel makes you think he wouldn’t mind sitting through a lecture on inclusivity if it came to that, but you add: “What I meant is that sex doesn’t happen like that. It’s not normal to open the door for the pizza guy and two seconds later be bent over the couch.”

“Says who?”

The frustrated growl that escapes you seems to amuse him. You know he’s teasing, and his grin proves it, but you can’t resist continuing.

“Not to mention the incest plots or the underage fantasies. Do you really think sex happens like that?”

His smile disappears instantly.

“You’re changing the subject.”

“No, I’m not. You can’t separate porn genres like some are less harmful than others, because even the ones that seem ‘harmless’ fuel the same industry that writes those sick scripts.”

“We’re here.”

He cuts you off with that simple phrase, and when you look out the window, you realize he’s right — you’re in front of your house. You turn your gaze back to him, and he meets it firmly, returning all the intensity you just threw his way.

You swallow and reach for your bags.

As if you hadn’t just delivered a monologue on the ethics of pornography, you simply say:

“Thanks for the ride.”

He doesn’t respond. You step out of the truck and walk to the door of your house, feeling like a kid who just got scolded, which is ridiculous. But even more ridiculous is the fact that Joel only drives away after he sees you walk safely inside, even though he literally lives next door.

You meet Sarah — Joel’s fifteen-year-old daughter — the next day.

After running along Mirror Lake Drive, you get home with your lungs burning and your body drenched in sweat, the elastic band of your pink sports bra stuck to your back. As you’re kicking off your sneakers at the door, you spot a pair of pink Converse, way smaller than anything anyone in your family would wear.

In the kitchen, there’s a skinny, unfamiliar girl sitting at the counter, two open books spread across the marble, her curly hair pulled up into two puffs.

She lifts her head, and her brown eyes hit you with a soft echo of familiarity.

“Hi,” you say, as if it’s totally normal to have a stranger in your house.

She waves back. Before you can ask “who are you?”, your mom walks into the kitchen and calls your name.

“This is Sarah, Joel’s daughter. Sarah, this is my daughter I was telling you about.”

Sarah gives you a shy little smile, and you smile back, a bit frozen by the fact that you’re standing face-to-face with Joel’s daughter. You’re not even sure why it freezes you.

“Joel had to spend the night out because he needed to go to New York, and he asked if Sarah could stay with us,” your mom explains.

“I’m old enough to stay alone, but my dad’s crazy,” Sarah chimes in, and you laugh.

You don’t think she’s old enough to stay alone, especially in a new town, but you don’t say that.

What you do say is:

“So, Sarah... what are you studying?”

Sarah needs help with her social studies homework, so after you shower and change into something comfortable, you sit down next to her and go over the assignments together. That’s when you realize she’s ridiculously smart and funny, slipping little jokes into the conversation, blending internet memes with historical facts, and talking to her turns out to be genuinely easy and fun.

Your mom serves dinner, you both eat, and then you settle onto the couch with your Kindles, each of you leaning against an end and your feet meeting in the middle of the cushions.

You’re in the third chapter of Ghost Radio when she calls you.

You peek over the top of your Kindle to let her know you’re listening.

“How old are you?” she asks.

“Twenty-six.”

She looks up at the ceiling as if doing mental math. Then, reaching some conclusion, she raises her eyebrows.

“Why?” you ask.

“No reason,” she shrugs, turning back to the book she was reading. Another question follows, this time without looking at you. “Are you dating anyone?”

“No. I ended my last relationship six months ago.”

“Was he older?”

“No,” you say with a laugh. “I mean, yes, but only by about three years. Why do you ask?”

Sarah wiggles her feet like she’s a little too excited about something.

“Just scientific curiosity,” she says, but her tone sounds more like a villain plotting something mischievous.

The next morning, Joel comes to pick her up at eight o’clock. You’re the one who opens the door since your parents left early to go to the farmers’ market to buy honey and vegetables.

He’s standing on the porch, wearing a thick leather jacket, jeans, and heavy boots. He looks exhausted, and the two-day beard growth makes him even more intimidating.

“Good morning,” you say.

Joel looks you up and down in your pajamas: heart-printed pants and a tank top. You realize too late that you’re not wearing a bra.

“Good morning,” he replies, lifting his eyes back to your face. “I’m here to get Sarah.”

“She’s finishing breakfast. Come in.”

Before he can protest, you turn on your heel and walk away, leaving him no choice but to step inside and follow you to the kitchen. You hear his slow, hesitant footsteps as he returns to the room filled with the smell of butter and coffee.

Sarah is sitting at the counter, devouring pancakes. Joel walks over, presses a kiss to the top of her head, and they exchange a few quiet words before he says something that makes her nod and hop down from the stool, leaving the kitchen.

You hear her going upstairs, probably to grab her things.

“How was the trip?” you ask, filling a mug with coffee and placing it in front of him on the marble.

Joel stares at the pink mug like it’s a threat but eventually wraps his big hands around it. You take a sip from your own cup and look at him over the rim, just the counter between you two.

“Good,” he says simply. He gestures toward the coffee. “Thanks. I needed that. Drove back and forth without stopping to rest.”

“Just thinking about it makes my back hurt.”

“I want my bed.”

You watch him over your cup, blowing on the surface of the coffee. You imagine him in the silence of his own house, in his bedroom, in his own bed. You wonder what color the walls are, what the sheets look like, and whether he sleeps clothed or not.

“Sarah’s really smart,” you say, pushing away the mental images.

That earns a small smile from him.

“She’s fantastic, my girl. But she’s cocky, so don’t tell her that.”

“She takes after someone.”

“I’m not cocky.”

“I’m joking,” you say lightly, offering peace because you don’t want to relive the animosity from the last time you saw him. “Is the coffee good?”

“Very.”

“Want to take some pancakes? Bet you’re hungry. I’ve eaten, Sarah’s eaten, and my parents always grab breakfast out when they leave early.”

Joel drums his fingers against the ceramic, looking like he’s fighting an internal battle, as if accepting food from you would be a terrible crime. Still, you take his silence as a yes and start stacking the remaining pancakes into a thermal container.

When you’re done, you walk around the counter and hand him the container with both hands.

“Here.”

Joel takes it with his left hand. With his right, he reaches out and gently pinches your chin between his thumb and forefinger.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he says quietly, and you freeze.

He walks past you, saying something to Sarah, who apparently has come back downstairs. Feeling a warm flutter deep in your belly, you turn and follow them to the living room. You hug Sarah goodbye, promise to send her books for her Kindle, and then walk them to the door.

You smile when Joel thanks you for looking after Sarah and asks you to pass his thanks to your parents as well.

You watch them cross the lawn between your gardens, and just before Joel enters his house, he turns to look back at you.

You could swear he deliberately and slowly sweeps his gaze over your body—from your feet to your head.

And then he goes inside.

And you have to mechanically force yourself to close the door.

That same night, you start watching the films.

As you work through your research, you put together a report listing the names of the ten most famous stars from each decade between 1970 and 2020, five male, five female.

You already have a pretty clear idea of what defined the main point of pornography in the ’70s: the start of structured scripts and absurd, fantastical narratives that, one way or another, tied a woman’s pleasure directly to a man’s. Like in Deep Throat, where they came up with a story about a woman whose clitoris is located at the back of her throat. You can already guess what the most "effective" method of stimulation would be.

Porno chic was created to make adult content more palatable to the general public, especially as debates about the legality and morality of filming started to gain traction during that decade.

Sitting on your bed with your laptop open in front of you and your tablet resting on your lap for notes, you watch the films at 1.5x speed while eating green grapes.

You knew you might get aroused watching them, because dopamine responses are inevitable, but apparently there's nothing about '70s pornography that even remotely stirs your body. It feels like you're watching a National Geographic documentary.

You can't push away what Linda Lovelace wrote in her autobiography about the most famous film of that time, the one that made millions of dollars: There was a gun pointed at my head the entire time, she said.

You swallow hard and return to your notes.

By the end of the first week of this stage of your thesis, you finish watching the films from the '90s. You note the radical shift in the female body ideal — all the actresses with breast implants — and the peculiar aesthetic of VHS tapes, since this was the era when films started being widely distributed in that format.

What stands out most, though, is the shift in perspective. Gonzo-style pornography centers the camera exclusively on the man, making him the sole focus, and by extension, reducing women to mere tools for male pleasure. The camera's focus on women's bodies is restricted almost entirely to their genitals, which explains a lot about the birth of violent pornography during that time.

If women exist solely for male pleasure, then it’s no problem if they’re violated, right?

And just like that, the normalization of male domination in pornography begins, which, of course, spills over into social behavior.

You shut the laptop in front of you and lie down on the bed, closing your eyes. You doubt even a sixteen-year-old boy has seen as much porn as you have in the past few days, and there’s still so much left to do.

You reach for your tablet and pull up the list of male stars from the 2000s.

Tyler Cross, Javier Peña, Max Thunder, Ryder Grey, and Clint Fury.

Is there someone in the industry whose only job is coming up with these ridiculous pseudonyms?

You get up, leaving everything behind, and head toward the kitchen to find something to eat. It's already past eleven at night, your parents are asleep, and the only light in the living room comes from the lamp. On tiptoe, you’re halfway to the kitchen when the doorbell rings.

You freeze like you're in the middle of a crime scene.

A doorbell ringing at eleven at night in Lake Placid? Something must be on fire.

When you open the door, it’s Joel standing there on your parents' porch, looking anxious.

“Hi,” he says. Another meeting where you're in pajamas and he's fully dressed. “It's dangerous to open the door in the middle of the night like that.”

“Great way to start a conversation. I'm calculating how many seconds it'll take me to get to the kitchen and grab a knife.”

You get a somewhat tense smile.

“I’m still not used to these small-town habits.”

“I get it. I would never open the door for anyone after eight p.m. in New York, but here it’s normal.”

He nods, then asks,

“Were you sleeping?”

You wrap your arms around yourself as a cold breeze sweeps by.

“No, I was studying. Is everything okay?”

“I need a favor,” he says bluntly. “Sarah’s asleep, and I have to head back to New York. Can you stay at the house tonight?”

“Is everything okay?” you repeat.

“My brother’s wife just went into labor. He asked me to be there. I should be back tomorrow night.”

Your eyes widen, and Joel nods as if to say, “Exactly, got it?” You hold up a finger to ask for a minute, then run upstairs to grab your slippers, your robe, and your phone. When you come back, Joel is still on a call but waits patiently until you close the door before leading you to his house.

He lets you step inside first, and even with the urgency of the situation, it feels a little like you’re a twenty-year-old girl walking into a guy’s house for the first time, especially when Joel shuts the door behind you, finishing up his call.

The house is warm, clearly lived in by a family. There’s a big rug in the living room, a brown leather couch, and pictures of Sarah hanging in the hallway: lifting a soccer trophy, carrying a skateboard, the two of them at the beach. A line of photos shows her growing up, from a baby all the way to now.

The last photo is of her at Jewtraw Park, right here in Lake Placid.

“You can sleep in my room if you want. If that’s too weird, the couch is really good too. I left some blankets and a pillow right there,” he says, pointing to the armchair. Then he adds, “Everything’s clean. The guest rooms aren’t ready yet.”

You roll your eyes.

“I know, Miller. Relax. I’ll manage.”

“Okay. Give me your number. I’ll text you so you have mine. And if you need anything, call me.”

You say your number, and he types it into his old, barely-hanging-on iPhone.

“Thanks,” Joel says, genuine. “Really.”

You smile and give his arm a quick rub without even thinking about it.

“No problem. Just let me know if you need anything.”

After showing you where Sarah’s room is, where the extra blankets are, and telling you about ten times you can eat whatever you want, he leaves. You quickly text your mom, explaining the situation and letting her know you’re staying at Joel’s, then settle down on the couch.

Little signs of Joel are scattered around the house. The reading glasses forgotten on the coffee table, the suede jacket hanging by the door, the boots by the entryway, the faint smell of the same lotion you caught on him at the store.

You feel a little like a criminal as you get up and start quietly wandering through the rooms.

The kitchen is beautiful and organized, but there are a few dishes left in the sink. Since you’re still awake, you start washing them.

You move on to the dining room, all wood furniture and a classic chandelier, and then to a small office off to the side. It feels almost too empty except for the bookshelves. Just a desk with a laptop sitting on it, making you think it doesn’t get much use.

You head upstairs.

Sarah’s door is closed, but you walk softly down the carpeted hallway to the room at the end.

You push the door open, heart pounding like you’re about to find a monster—or Joel sitting on the bed saying, “Snooping where you shouldn’t be?”

Instead, you find a huge bed neatly made with gray sheets, dark curtains, and matching desks on either side. There’s a closet and a door leading, you assume, to a bathroom.

It’s empty in the way you’d expect a fifty-year-old man’s bedroom to be.

You almost give in and crawl into his bed but force yourself back downstairs, turn off the main lights, and curl up on the couch, which really is pretty comfortable.

It takes a while to fall asleep in a strange house, but when you finally do, your dreams are filled with gray beards and gray sheets.

You wake in the middle of the night to the ping of your phone. You rub your eyes, still dazed from sleep, and grab the phone from the pillow beside you.

4:47 a.m.

It’s a text from an unknown number:

“Hi. Joel here. Sorry for the hour, I hope you’re sleeping. I just got to New York. Please let me know when Sarah wakes up. I’ll need to call her.”

A sleepy smile tugs at your lips at how formally he writes, no abbreviations at all. You save his contact as Miller.

You type back:

“hey. don’t worry. I’ll let you know. everything ok over there?”

“Why are you awake?”

You don’t tell him it was his text that woke you.

“New place… light sleeper.”

“I see.”

An “I see” with a period and everything. Then another message:

“Yes, everything’s fine. I’m in the waiting room, and Tommy’s with his wife. She’s been in labor for seven hours.”

You type: “ouch. hoping all goes well. lmk if u need sth”

“What kind of vocabulary is that?”

“don’t you have bigger things to worry about, grumpy?”

The impossible happens: Joel Miller sends you a smiling emoji.

You reply with one sticking its tongue out.

His next message comes in text again:

“Tell me about your thesis.

“you’re really curious about it.”

“It’s an interesting topic.”

“sure… men and their obsession with porn.”

“I’m not obsessed with porn. I don’t even remember the last time I watched it.”

Your fingers freeze over the keyboard—it sounds way too intimate.

You type back:

“last time I watched was this afternoon.”

You get a single question mark in response: “?”

You clarify:

“for my thesis. I’m at the stage where I have to watch films.”

“Oh. How are you doing that?”

“picking stars from each decade and watching two movies for each. starting with the 2000s tomorrow.”

Joel reads your message but doesn’t reply right away, which is odd. He had been responding immediately. You wonder if something’s happened at the hospital, if everything’s okay with his sister-in-law.

You stare at the screen until it goes black. Three minutes later, his reply pops up:

“Who are the stars from the 2000s?”

“looking for suggestions?”

“No.”

You open your report from iCloud and copy the list of male and female stars from the 2000s. You send it over.

He reads it. Another little pause.

“I see.”

Then another question:

“And how are you watching? Like a documentary?”

“yeah, pretty much. I put on the films, watch them critically, and take notes.”

“And they don’t affect you?”

“in what way?”

He reads the message but doesn’t answer. After ten minutes of staring at the ceiling, you take a deep breath and type courageously:

“are you asking if I get turned on?”

Again, no response.

Still, you type back:

“i do. it’s inevitable and natural. but only starting with the '90s films. the ones from the '70s and '80s were way too gross for that.”

This time, a reply comes.

“Gross?”

“yeah. the men were really disgusting. it’s obvious they had no idea how to have sex to actually please a woman.”

“I see.”

You picture Joel Miller, tall and broad-shouldered, sitting in a sterile hospital hallway, texting you about porn while waiting for his nephew to be born.

The thought makes you smile to yourself. You burrow deeper under the blanket and decide to be a little bolder.

“do you have a favorite genre of those movies?”

“To watch?”

You frown. What else would it be for?

“yeah”

“I don’t watch them.”

“okay, but if you were going to watch one today, what type would you choose? one with a storyline, straight to the point… what? help me out for the research.”

You almost chew on your lower lip as you watch the little “typing” bubble appear and disappear three times. Finally, he sends a simple response:

“No storyline, not a lot of talking. Something filmed in the morning, in bed, right after waking up.”

“morning sex?”

“Yes.”

Before you can stop yourself, your mind fills with images of Joel’s bed, the same gray sheets now rumpled and tossed aside. The cold morning light pouring through the window, the scent of him still on the fabric, the warmth of sleepy skin, the scratch of his beard against the sensitive part of your neck.

A big hand adjusting and lifting your leg into the right position, low, sleepy moans filling the space.

You snap your eyes open wide.

“got it,” you type back, heart racing.

“Do you have a favorite genre?”

“i hate porn,” you reply.

“Okay. But if you were going to watch one today, what would you pick?”

He’s throwing your own question back at you, meaning you can’t dodge it.

You type the whole answer at once but hesitate a dozen times before finally pressing send, knowing Joel will understand exactly what you mean and exactly what you like. It’s probably not right to tell your parents’ neighbor, who’s at least twenty years older, but you don’t take it back.

“in the car. an age gap where he looks a little older than her, slightly graying, and he’s desperate for her, desperate to do things to her in the backseat.”

“Things?”

“you know what I mean.”

“Say it clearly.”

“desperate to go down on her.”

And again, he responds:

“I see.”

Your cheeks burning, you turn off your phone screen.

But another message buzzes through:

“Good choice.”

You cross your legs and lock your phone again.

The next time you wake up, it’s to Sarah poking your cheek with an insistent little finger. She’s standing over you by the couch, looking at you like you’re a science experiment.

The sunlight pouring through the living room windows makes you wonder if it’s already past ten.

“What are you doing here?” she asks, still poking your cheek.

Yawning, you answer,

“You’re about to have a baby cousin.”

Sarah squeals.

Joel calls her twenty minutes later, right after you text him—carefully avoiding rereading the messages you sent each other during the night—that she’s awake.

Afterward, you eat breakfast together, and Sarah gets ready for school, where she’ll stay until six in the evening. You wait until the bus picks her up before going back to your house, crawling into bed, and sleeping a little more.

When you wake up again, it’s time to log onto a video call with your boss, even though you’re technically on vacation.

You help your mom with some work in the garden, bake muffins, and by late afternoon, you lock the door to your bedroom, find a cozy spot in bed and open your laptop again.

2000s.

Now all the actresses definitely have implants, bleached hair, heavy makeup, thin eyebrows, and elaborate hairstyles: exactly the fantasy for any guy with a DVD player and one hand free.

But it’s also the beginning of the internet era, meaning access to all of it is even easier than it ever was with VHS tapes.

Roleplay everywhere. Boss and secretary, student and teacher, best friend's mom, best friend's dad. A fantasy world that definitely fried a lot of men’s brain circuits.

You start with the male stars.

First up is Tyler Cross. He's a tall actor with spiky, gelled hair, a tribal tattoo on his left bicep, and a defined six-pack.

You watch a POV movie, new at the time, and another where he plays the older brother’s best friend. It’s set in a girl’s pink-walled bedroom, teddy bears thrown to the side, and it’s all absolutely disgusting.

You glance at the clock after finishing Tyler Cross’s films. 5:55 p.m. You figure you’ve got about fifteen minutes before Sarah gets home, so you decide to at least start Javier Peña’s movies.

You type his name into the search bar.

The results flood in. One of the first titles you see: No Overtime for the Babysitter: Daddy Comes Home Early!

You roll your eyes. Great, now they’re coming for babysitters’ labor rights too.

You click the movie. It takes a moment to load.

The cover stares back at you while the loading icon spins.

The actress is gorgeous, with breasts you immediately envy and long black hair. Her lips, glossy and slightly open, look like she’s mid-moan. She’s one of the first actresses you’ve seen who isn’t drowning under a pound of makeup.

The scene starts with her dusting some furniture in the living room.

She’s wearing a mini-skirt and a light blue crop top made of thin fabric that shows her stomach. Definitely very appropriate attire for her job.

The sound of a door unlocking fills the room, and then it swings open.

The actress sighs:

“Oh! Mr. Peña! You’re home early!”

The camera pans to Mr. Peña. You blink at the screen.

Javier Peña has that classic '80s kind of handsomeness. He’s tall, lean but broad-shouldered, his dark hair messy in a way that somehow suits him. The thick mustache above his tight lips and the long sideburns give him the look of an old-school movie star, and you have to double-check the release date of the film. 2002.

He’s wearing a button-down shirt and a loose tie, his gray blazer slung over his left shoulder. But it’s his brown eyes that catch you — because they’re familiar. It feels like you know them.

“The meeting was canceled,” Peña says, tossing the blazer onto the couch. “My daughter’s asleep? You can go now.”

The gasp that escapes your mouth is quickly muffled by your hand when Javier Peña’s voice fills your ears through the headphones, because you immediately realize where you know it from.

The voice is a little softer, younger, with more of an accent — but it’s the same voice.

Joel Miller’s voice.

“She is,” the actress says sweetly, crossing the room. Javier looks her up and down — from her bubblegum-pink painted toes to the way her chest strains against her top. “Are you sure, Mr. Peña? You seem really stressed out. Can’t I help you with something?”

You freeze where you are, heart hammering against your ribs. Holy shit.

“Help how?” Javier asks, raising an eyebrow, pretending to be disinterested.

She smiles, grabs his hand, and leads him to the couch, urging him to sit.

You’re almost ready for her to drop to her knees in front of him, because that would be the obvious next step, but that’s not what happens. The actress — Mila, her name — circles behind the couch, leaning over him to start unbuttoning his shirt.

“You’re so tense, Mr. Peña,” she says, pouting as she undoes each button. “Taking care of the house by yourself, your daughter…”

The shirt falls open, revealing a firm, broad chest.

“So responsible… No one to help you out…” She leans in and whispers against his ear: “No one to suck your cock.”

The shocked laugh that bursts out of you is immediately covered by your hand again.

Javier’s shirt falls completely open, and he takes Mila’s hand, guiding it straight to his pants, her long red nails vivid against the gray fabric.

“I’ve got you for that.”

“Mmm…” the actress moans, massaging him through the fabric. She runs her hands back up his shoulders. “That’s right. You do.”

She moves to kneel in front of him, but Javier clicks his tongue and says:

“Take off your clothes.”

You feel a pulse low in your stomach. The actress smiles and obeys.

Once she’s fully naked, she starts to kneel again, and Javier spreads his legs wider, tossing his shirt aside.

She massages him through his pants for a few more seconds before tugging the zipper down and pulling his pants down with both hands. He’s not wearing underwear, of course he isn’t, and suddenly, you’re staring straight at Joel Miller’s cock.

Large, hard, slightly veiny, every inch of it.

Javier shifts on the couch, gathers all of Mila’s soft hair into one hand, and with the other, guides himself to her mouth, and—

Someone knocks on your bedroom door and you nearly slap the laptop closed.

“Honey, I think Sarah’s getting home from school. Aren’t you going to greet her?” your mom asks.

“I am,” you say, but your voice comes out too soft. You clear your throat and try again: “I’m going, Mom. Just a second.”

“Okay!”

Your mom leaves you sitting there, staring at the wall with wide eyes and a racing heart, so much slick between your legs you have to stand up, clean yourself, and change panties before going downstairs to greet Sarah.

She gets home, you both go into Joel’s house, you make her a sandwich, and she heads upstairs to shower. You stay on autopilot, your head still completely full of Javier Peña... and Joel Miller.

Holy shit.

The man was a porn actor.

And apparently, a very successful one, because you distinctly remember seeing that his films topped the charts for years. Is he still doing it?

You rub your eyes and fight the urge to shove your fist in your mouth and scream.

The irony is almost too much. Fate is throwing a former porn star into your lap when it knows all too well the thesis you’re writing, and all your hatred for the industry.

You order pizza for you and Sarah. You eat while watching a cheesy teenage romance movie that keeps her glued to the TV. When she’s yawning hard, you ask if she has any homework (she doesn’t) and send her off to brush her teeth and get into bed.

She hugs you goodnight and heads upstairs. You hear her brushing her teeth, then the door to her room closing.

You take a deep breath. Pull your phone out of your pocket. You type in the search bar: Javier Peña. The image results flood the screen.

Joel Miller in a thousand different styles. At industry parties in clothes that scream early 2000s, at photoshoots with other actresses, even holding up a trophy that reads—

You lean in closer to make sure you’re not misreading it.

Longest Cumshot of 2006.

Wow. Congratulations.

The Google summary confirms it: Joel Miller, born in 1981 in Arlington, Texas, to Chilean parents. Porn actor, best known as Javier Peña. Joel Miller became an advocate for porn actresses’ rights, one of the main reasons he left the industry in 2010.

One of his last public appearances as Javier Peña was in 2016, co-hosting an adult film awards show alongside Tess Servopoulos, his former career agent. Since then, very little is known about Joel Miller, though several producers have tried to lure him back with massive paychecks, even for solo work.

You hear the key turning in the lock.

You lock your phone at record speed and sit up straight on the couch, eyes wide open. Joel will probably think that you’ve been doing cocaine on his coffee table.

He walks in, shrugging out of his coat, and looks at you.

“Hey,” he says, kicking off his boots. “Everything okay?”

You nod, then try to use words:

“Hey. Yeah.”

Joel gives you a strange look, glancing up the stairs.

“Sarah’s asleep?”

You nod again.

Oh, Mr. Peña. You must be so tired. Can I help you? My God. You’re the babysitter working overtime.

“Are you really okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Um… I…” you rub your hands over your thighs. “I’m just tired. That’s all. Is everything okay with your sister-in-law?”

“She’s fine. I’ve got a nephew now,” Joel murmurs, collapsing onto the couch across from you, legs spread, hands over his eyes. “And he’s so small. I almost didn’t have the nerve to hold him. I don’t even remember Sarah being that tiny.”

“Ha ha.”

At your awkward laugh, Joel drops his hands and studies you carefully, narrowing his eyes. He watches you for a moment, like he’s seeing right through you.

Joel says,

“You found out who Javier Peña is.”

You freeze, hands clenched in your lap. Joel rubs his temple with a heavy sigh and sits up straighter.

“Which one did you watch?”

You swallow hard.

“The babysitter one.”

“You’re gonna have to be a little more specific than that, sweetheart.”

“The film’s from 2002. I think the actress’s name was Mila? She was trying to comfort you about being a single dad.”

Joel raises both eyebrows.

“I know the one,” he says with a dry, humorless laugh. “Right. Here it is. I was Javier Peña for ten years. I guess I still am, when the paycheck’s good enough. I made porn movies. They’re out there.”

“Still are?”

“Not for films. Just for appearances or special gigs at awards shows.”

“Oh.”

He says your name firmly.

“That industry — it’s your thesis. You know those actors and actresses are real people. I’m one of them. Are you going to stop treating me like a normal person now?”

“It’s weird,” you say softly. “Sorry, Joel, but it’s weird seeing you like… that… and then coming here and seeing you being Sarah’s dad, being… Joel Miller.”

“Okay.”

“Don’t be mad at me.”

“I’m not,” he sighs, collapsing back onto the couch. “I’m way too tired to be mad, honestly. We can talk more about it later if you want. I’ll even help you with your thesis if you need. But not tonight.”

“Okay.”

“Thanks for staying with Sarah, seriously,” he says, shifting back into Dad mode. “Let me pay you.”

“No way,” you say quickly.

He opens his mouth to argue, but you cut him off:

“You said you’d help me with my thesis, right?”

He just looks at you. You explain,

“I’ll take that as payment.”

Slowly, he nods. And just like that, you have a deal.

That night, you head upstairs again and lock the door.

You open your laptop, type Javier Peña into the search bar, and scroll through the films. One title catches your eye: Neighbors: The Lust Lives Next Door.

The irony.

The title is ridiculous, sure, but the movie isn’t. He’s the married woman’s neighbor, and when her husband goes out of town, Javier shows up at the door asking if everything’s alright because he heard a noise and got worried.

He’s wearing tight jeans and a short-sleeve, light pink button-down shirt.

They head upstairs to check the bedroom.

She sits at the edge of the bed while Javier kneels down to look under it, but when he straightens up again, he sees the actress isn’t wearing any panties. Of course.

Two minutes later, Javier spreads her legs and goes down on her for a good while, his dark eyes locked on hers. And you could swear the moans are real. Either that, or she’s a damn good actress.

It’s when Javier starts whispering in her ear — loud enough to be picked up by the mic, but low enough to sound private — that your own fingers hover at the waistband of your pajama shorts.

He grips her thigh firmly, legs wide open, about to sink into her, both of them watching where they meet.

“Like this?” Javier asks.

She nods.

He licks his fingers and touches her clit. Her left leg trembles slightly.

“Sensitive? You’re not gonna come again for me?”

You swallow your shame and remind yourself that no one will ever know about this.

You slip your hand into your panties.

You close your eyes, listen to Javier whispering filthy things into the actress’s ear, and feel your pulse thudding in your ears and the slickness between your fingers.

[tedmustache]

In sync

Pairing: Jack Abbott x Wife!Reader

Warnings: none

Summary: Two doctors work in perfect sync, sparking curiosity among new interns. After shift, subtle truths begin to surface.

Requests are open | Main Masterlist

[...]

The Pitt was humming with life, chaos, and fluorescent light. It was one of those shifts where no one had time to breathe, much less eat, yet somehow, Dr. Jack Abbot and Dr. Y/N L/N never missed a step.

It wasn’t flashy. It was like muscle memory, the way they moved together. Jack would glance at a monitor, and Y/N would already be adjusting a vent setting. She’d murmur a stat order under her breath, and he’d be handing over the form before she finished.

“Jesus,” Whitaker muttered as he watched them intubate a patient in tandem. “It’s like they’re… psychically linked.”

“Or they have earpieces we can’t see,” Javadi whispered, eyes darting back and forth between the two attendings.

“They don’t even look at each other,” Dr. Santos added. “It’s eerie. What are they? Married or something?”

“Old,” came a voice from behind them. Dr. Robby strolled by with a chart tucked under his arm and a half-grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Old and terrifying. You’ll get there in ten years.”

The newbies blinked. Still, none of the new hires knew the real kicker.

Because no one told them.

The nurses, the residents, even the cafeteria staff. They all kept the secret locked tight behind knowing smirks and barely-contained laughter. It was tradition.

And tonight, the setup was perfect.

The shift ended just past 8:00 p.m. The team trickled out to the park across from the hospital. An unofficial post-shift ritual. Six-packs were cracked open, greasy takeout was distributed, and bodies collapsed onto benches and grass with groans of exhaustion.

Jack sat down on the bench beneath the park’s old oak tree. Y/N followed a moment later, plopping down beside him and handing him a cold beer without a word. He took it, nodded once in thanks, and rested his hand casually behind her on the bench’s backrest.

The newbies were huddled together with their drinks, watching the two of them closely.

“She just… handed him a beer. Didn’t even ask.”

“He just leaned closer. Did he smile?”

“Is this… are they…?”

And then, it happened.

Y/N, hair frizzed from the day, leaned her head gently onto Jack’s shoulder. He didn’t flinch or look surprised. He just shifted slightly so she’d be more comfortable, gave her a kiss at the cheek, and took a slow sip of his beer.

Javadi gasped audibly.

Robby was right there. He stood up with theatrical slowness and clinked his bottle against Jack’s with a smirk. “About time. PDA on the first date, huh?”

Jack rolled his eyes, and Y/N chuckled, nudging him with her shoulder.

“Wait, wait, what?” Whitaker sputtered, beer halfway to his mouth. “Are they together?!”

Dr. Santos, three bites into her falafel wrap, didn’t even look up. “Called it”

"We are married" Y/N said with a chuckle

“What?!”

Jack reached into his scrub top and pulled out a thin chain. On it, a modest gold band. Y/N mirrored him, revealing the matching ring around her neck.

The interns looked like they’d just been hit by a trauma case themselves.

“Four and a half years,” Y/N said with a shrug, sipping her beer.

“You knew?” Mel asked Langdon, stunned.

Langdon snorted. “Of course I knew. Everyone knows.”

“Everyone?” Javadi asked, eyes darting around.

A chorus of nods followed

Matteo added “We like to see who figures it out. It’s the only entertainment we get some nights.”

The newbies just sat there, stunned.

Jack and Y/N? Married? The most professional, zero-nonsense duo in the hospital?

Robby smirked at their dumbfounded faces and muttered to Jack, “Still can’t believe she said yes to you, man.”

Jack didn’t respond. He just leaned a little closer to Y/N, who was now resting comfortably against his shoulder, completely at ease.

And in that moment, everything felt exactly where it was supposed to be.

[mind-empty-just-fictional-people]

I would love to see jack abbott with a sunshine reader i adore the grumpy sunshine dynamic.

Like Dana, she gets hit. She debates on telling him, but maybe robby lets it slip to Jack, and he ofc freaks out (i mean, the guy carries an ultrasound machine in a go bag)

His Rock

main masterlist | the pitt masterlist

pairing: dr. jack abbott x female nurse!reader

rating: PG-13

word count: 1.4k

warnings: violence (reader gets punched)

author’s note: thank you so much for the request! sorry for the part that’s so similar to the show. hope this was worth the wait!

The first date you had with Dr. Jack Abbott was at a nice restaurant. You two hit it off instantly, and no one in the world could make him laugh the way you did. Something about your energy really complemented his. You would be chipper and fun and full of life, while he’d be groaning about the amount of patients he had on his plate. You were never too chipper for him, though. You were just chipper enough. You knew when to be serious and when he needed a good laugh to brighten his day.

You remembered the first time he lost a patient while you two were together. You sat with him on the roof after his shift as he contemplated life. You held his hand and kissed it gently as you both sat in silence for what felt like hours.

“Thank you,” was all he said before he stood up, helped you stand up, and you both drove your separate ways home.

There were also times when you weren’t chipper. Then it was up to him to cheer you up, though he wasn’t as talented at it as you were. But he was there for you, and that’s all that mattered. Through ups and downs, he was always there, and before you knew it two years flew by.

**

You felt your phone buzz in your pocket when you realized something. Jack was late for his shift. He was supposed to be there ten minutes ago. You pulled out your phone and saw a text from Langdon, something about getting a drink with a few of the doctors after work. You replied with an excited “yes” before you texted your boyfriend.

You asked him why he was late, and he simply replied with “traffic”. Your heart stopped racing when you read the text. He was fine.

When he finally did enter The Pitt, you were there to greet him with a big smile and a tight hug.

“Good morning,” you all but squealed.

“It’s seven in the afternoon,” he grumbled. 

“But you just woke up, so for you it’s morning,” you reasoned. “I love you.” You got on your tiptoes and planted a kiss on his lips.

“I love you, too,” he replied

**

“Why not?” a patient asked you the next day. He had been trying to get you to go on a date with him for the past two hours and wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer.

“Because, like I’ve said many times now, I have a boyfriend,” you repeated slowly.

He completely ignored your reason and continued to ask you out again. You simply rolled your eyes at him with a scoff.

**

You were outside taking a much-needed (very quick) breather when someone came up behind you.

“Hey, nurse,” the man snarled before punching you square in the face with his right hand. You fell to the floor in pain, blood gushing from your nose.

“Fuck,” you exclaimed.

After lying there for a moment, you picked yourself up carefully off the pavement and headed inside.

When Robby saw you, he came rushing over.

“Oh my god,” he exclaimed, seeing the blood on your face. “Grab some ice,” he told Mateo, who hurried to do so. Robby ran up to you and held your face in his gloved hands so he could get a good look at your face. “What happened?”

“Just got punched, I’m fine,” you said. “It’s not as bad as it looks.”

“Come sit down.” He guided you to a chair nearby and got down to your level so he could examine the injury. “Can you go get Ahmad, please, Dana?” he asked her before she nodded and left.

“I’m fine, Robby, really,” you persisted.

“Did you hit your head?”

“Yeah, I think so,” you answered honestly. “But I didn’t black out or anything, just a bloody nose.”

“I’m gonna apply pressure,” Perlah said before pressing a cloth to your nose.

“Okay, okay,” you winced. “I’ve got it.” You replaced her hand with your own.

“Any trouble seeing? Any double vision?” Robby asked you. “What about a headache?” 

“No trouble seeing, I‘ve got a bit of a headache, yeah,” you said.

“I’m gonna grab you new scrubs,” Nurse Kim said, and she left to do so.

“You’re gonna need a room,” Robby said.

“C’mon, Robby, I don’t need a room, I’m fine!”

A nurse ran to go and prep a room.

“Follow my finger,” Robby instructed, holding his pointer finger in front of your face. “Right, left, up, down. EOM is intact.”

“Who did this?” Ahmad asked you. 

“Just a pissed off patient but he split so just forget it,” you said, sounding on the verge of tears.

“Hell no! I want a name,” he persisted.

“Harrison Elliot,” you admitted.

“The asshole that was hitting on you?” Mateo asked, and you nodded.

“I’m calling the cops,” Ahmad said as he left.

Robby pulled out his flashlight and waved it in front of your eyes. “Pupils are equal and reactive,” he said. He shone the light up your nostrils before saying, “No septal hematoma. Tell me when it’s sore.” He began applying light pressure to your face, starting at the cheekbones and heading for your nose.

As he got closer to your nose, you gasped in pain and asked him to stop. 

“Tender at the nasion. CT head and maxillofacial,” Robby said.

“I’ll give them a heads up,” Mohan said before she left as well.

Dana began wiping the blood off your face and neck as you asked Robby, “Is that really necessary?”

“You have at least one facial fracture,” Robby said. “With the headache and the fall, I want to rule out anything intracranial.”

“I’m fine,” you assured him, but he just shook his head with a small smile. 

“Want me to call Jack?” Robby asked.

“Hell no, I don’t want to worry him.”

“I think he has every right to worry about you if he wants.”

“Don’t call him, Robby,” you said, and he nodded.

**

“Jack’s gonna be worried,” Robby commented when he visited your room.

“I’ll just tell him I bumped into a door, he’ll believe that, right?”

“Sure,” Robby scoffed. “CT results came back, you’re free to get back to work… or go home.”

“I don’t wanna go home,” you said.

“You still haven’t called him?”

“He’s probably asleep, I don’t wanna wake him up.”

“If it were me, I’d wanna get woken up,” he told you, knowing Abbott and therefore knowing he would want to know you were hurt. “You aren’t burdening him, just give him a call.”

“That poor man needs his sleep, believe me,” you laughed a little.

“For once in your life, don’t be chipper about a situation and call your boyfriend.

“Fine,” you sighed. 

You didn’t end up calling him, but Robby figured as much.

**

The whole day changed when there was a rush of emergency patients due to a fire nearby. Night staff was called in early, which meant you would have to face Jack sooner than you thought.

“Abbott! So happy to see you,” Robby exclaimed when he saw him.

“How many burn victims so far?” he asked.

“Not sure yet. And I thought today’s big event was gonna be that meathead punching Y/n.” When Robby realized what he said, he watched as Abbott’s eyes practically bulged out of his skull. 

“What?” Jack exclaimed loudly. “Where is she?”

“I’m right here,” you sighed from behind him. “And I hoped Robby wouldn’t tell you.”

“Oh my god,” he muttered when he saw your bruised face. “Baby, what…” he trailed off as he traced his thumb down your cheek and cupped your face in his hands. Carefully, he kissed you deeply before he muttered, “I’m so sorry.”

“I’m fine, I promise,” you told him as he looked at you with such worry that it made your heart hurt.

“You don’t look fine,” he whispered.

“Excuse you, I always look fine,” you chuckled, teasing him. That did it, that made him crack the smallest of smiles.

“See, now there you go making me all happy when you know damn well I should be mad about this.”

“Aw, you love me.”

“I do love you,” Abbott said before he leaned down and kissed you again. “And it’s because I love you, I’m gonna make sure you get the proper care you need. CT scan?”

“Already got one, I really am fine,” you said.

“Okay.” He smiled and kissed you a third time, causing you to smile wider.

[illbegottenfaith]

kiss me better, love

as the two of you stumble into bed after a Valentine's dinner date, theo realises it's not fair how much he loves you (theo nott x reader)

a/n - valentines fic #2 !!!! thought of this idea in a class literally 5 hours ago and idk if its the sleep deprivation but this is sooo self-indulgent writing this had me giggling and kicking my feet frfr 😭 all I have to say is if this isnt me and my future partner I dont want him I send him BACK

tropes/warnings - physical touch as a love language, angry theo but also soft theo 🥰🥰 no (read: minimal) proof reading we die like men etc etc

word count - 1.5k

taglist - @hzdhrtss @justaproudperson @ebriton @thaliashifts @friedfreyfries @allie-sturns

The door shuts behind you both, plunging the room into near-darkness. You barely take a step before bumping into Theo, your knee knocking against his thigh, your hands flying to his shoulders as you stumble.

"Merlin,” he mutters, steadying you with a grip at your waist. “Can you - ”

“You're the one barging into me,” you shoot back, tucking a lock behind your ear as you tighten your grip on Theo’s shoulder, making him wince.

“Anyway, like I was saying, it hasn’t even been a week since Missy - ”

Theo exhales sharply, blindly reaching for the zipper at your back. “Is this something I really need to be hearing right now?” he asks somewhat waspishly.

“Yes.” You barely register his tone, still preoccupied. “So I walk into Charms in Tuesday, expecting to find Josh understandably distraught and/or in mourning. But who do I see him chatting up instead?"

"Hair."

You gather your hair up in one hand to hold it up and go right on talking. You barely notice Theo's largely ineffective attempts at pushing your sleeves off your shoulders.

"Pansy Parkinson! Pansy flipping Parkinson. What, does he think he's a free man now or something? Melissa's halfway across the world, she's not dead."

"Mhm."

You sigh exaggeratedly at his lackluster responses.

“Well? Don't you have to anything to add?"

“Yeah - hold still.” You This is just ridiculous, Theo was thinking. What kind of dress needed buttons and a zip?

You huff, switching your hair to your other hand. “Honestly, Theo, have you listened to a single thing I’ve been saying the past hour?”

Theo groans, still fumbling at your lower back. He had figured out the buttons were decorative, bless him, but your dress was on the more delicate side, and if he ripped it, he'd never hear the end of it. “Uh, yeah, that Abernathy guy...he’s two-timing Melissa?"

“He is not,” you say, peering over your shoulder to see what was taking Theo so long. Seriously, what was going on back there? It doesn't help, though, not when you can barely make him out in the dark. “not yet at least. He might. And if he's going to, well, isn't it better she finds out now rather than ten years down the road? Or am I an awful friend for thinking that?"

"Thinking what?" Theo asks distractedly.

"Willing my best friend's boyfriend into cheating on her."

Before he can formulate a response, your stubborn zipper finally decides to cooperate and moves down an inch - snagging at his finger. A sharp hiss cuts through the dark, followed by some emphatic, muttered swearing.

You pause.

“…what was that?”

Theo slips his injured finger out of his mouth briefly, his voice strained as he struggles to keep the pain out of his tone. “Nothing.”

You shift slightly, trying to catch his expression in the dark, but he’s suspiciously still now, his hands nowhere on you anymore.

“Theo.”

“I’m fine.”

Your brow furrows. Then, his suddenly subdued demeanour and oddly neutral tone clicks in your head.

"Did you hurt yourself?"

There’s an immediate rustle, followed by Theo’s very delayed attempt at nonchalance.

“…no.”

Oh, you could throttle him. “Was it the zip again?”

“You keep saying that like I do it intentionally - I never mean to-”

“And now you're trying to suck the pain away like a child?”

“Would you rather I bleed all over your dress?”

“I’d rather you watch what you’re doing so you don’t get maimed by a bloody zip in the first place!”

Theo exhales sharply, his frustration palpable. “I keep telling you - I don't-”

“You never mean to, but here we are.” You cross your arms. “Third time in two weeks, Theo. This is getting ridiculous. Should I hire a nurse for our dates? A medic? Do you need to start taking my clothes off under medical supervision? Is that what we've come to?"

Theo glares at you (or the shadowy figure he was mostly sure was you), trying to pull his attention away from the stinging pain. “Oh, don’t start - ”

“You don’t think before you do things.”

Theo groans. “I think plenty.”

“No, you rush plenty. Really, it’s a miracle you still have all your limbs -”

He rolls his eyes. “Oh, here we go.”

“First, you burn yourself on my curling iron -”

“Okay, one, you shouldn't be leaving your things out like that.”

“Then you cut yourself opening a tin of biscuits -”

Theo tips his head back in exasperation. “You sh - you literally shoved it at me!”

“ - and now my zipper is out to get you?” You throw your hands up. “What are you telling me, Teddy? That every item I own has a personal vendetta against you?”

"Mattheo agrees with me, you know," you continue smugly, in a so-there kind of tone. "He told me about that time you nearly broke your neck falling down that flight of stairs on the way to Transfiguration, which wouldn't have happened if you weren't - "

"Rushing, I know." Theo steps back as if to escape. “Merlin, you are insufferable - ”

“And you are reckless.”

“I don't need you to lecture me.”

“You’d be fine if you just listened to m - show me your finger.”

A brief struggle ensues.

You lunge; he sidesteps. You fumble blindly for his hand; he twists out of reach.

“For fuck’s sake -”

“Stop being so difficult.”

“I’m not being difficult, you’re being a menace.”

“At least I don't get mauled by zippers.”

“I'm telling you, that zipper has it out for me."

“Well, maybe if you weren’t always in such a bloody rus - ”

“Enough with the rushing!”

“I can't help it if you never learn - ”

“I do learn,” he snaps, stepping back further - only for you to grab onto his wrist and pull.

There’s a shuffle, a scuffle as Theo stumbles back into the dresser with a thud.

“Oi - ”

“Oh, stop squirming, you big baby.”

“You stop grabbing- ”

“Theodore, you are injured. Act like it.”

“I am n- ”

“Then give me your hand.”

A long, heavy pause. Then -

“No.”

You groan, exasperated. “Merlin, you are the most - ”

“And you are relentless - ”

But at last, in an impressive show of determination, you manage to latch onto his wrist, wrenching his hand towards you before he can twist away again. Theo groans in frustration, but you’ve already found the wound—his fingertip, warm and damp against yours.

“Oh, for - ” You tighten your grip as he tries to pull away. “You are bleeding!”

Theo tenses, his entire body bristling. “It’s nothing.”

“On my zipper,” you say incredulously. “Again.”

He exhales sharply as if this is somehow your fault. “You don’t need to make a whole production of it - ”

“I told you to be careful - ”

“And I was - ”

“Clearly not enough!”

Theo groans, tipping his head back against the dresser. “I’m buying you a tear-away dress next Valentine’s.”

You bite back a smirk. “I’d like to see you figure that one out.”

He mutters something under his breath that you don’t quite catch, but you’re already bringing his hand up, brushing your lips over the wound.

He stills.

The fight, the irritation, the tension - all of it dissolves instantly under your touch.

You press another kiss there, softer this time. Through a sliver of moonlight cutting through the curtains, he sees your face - your impish expression, your eyes, alight with amusement and plain adoration. You watch his face too - his furrowed brows relaxing, the slight part of his lips, his sharp features softened by something indiscernible.

His eyes flick to yours.

And Merlin, it’s not fair, he thinks. It’s not fair how you can drive him to the brink of insanity one second and then look at him like that the next, like you could never get your fill. It's enough to make him think you're worth all the trouble you put him through. It's enough to make him want to slow down. Merlin knows the last thing he wants is to rush through his days with you.

“…better?” you murmur against his skin after a moment.

Theo exhales, rolling his eyes as though he isn’t already relenting. "It's a start," he says grudgingly.

Your smile widens as you bring his hand up again, pressing another kiss there, then another, then another.

Theo groans, tipping his head back again, his frustration dwindling with every sympathetic brush of your lips.

“You like this,” you tease.

“Shut up,” he mumbles, but his voice has softened, his body relaxing into yours.

You grin, pressing a kiss to his wrist. Then his palm.

Theo groans again, for reasons unrelated to his earlier irritation, his fingers curling at your waist.

You laugh softly. “Want me to kiss you better everywhere?”

Theo smiles weakly, pulling you closer. “That's the best idea you've had all night."

[heavyhitterheaux]

Protector (NSFW)

AN: This is long so be prepared 🫣

Synopsis: You and Joe had been infatuated with each other since you were both fourteen years old. Something happens in your senior year, causing you to have to break up with him and also making you have to hold onto a secret; giving birth to his firstborn child that he never knew existed.

Pairing: Ex-boyfriend!Joe Burrow x Ex-girlfriend!Reader

Do not engage if you are underage

Please Do Not Repost My Content Anywhere

The sun visor in your car came down with the swift movement of your hand so you could gaze in the mirror at your appearance. After applying another layer of lip gloss, you straightened out your necklace that contained his initial which was gifted to you from him on your sixteenth birthdays.

First it was meant for him, Joseph.

Now it was also meant for the little one you two made who wasn't quite so little anymore, Julian.

And after more than ten years, you still had it.

The only time it ever left its rightful place was when you had to clean it.

You still remember the conversation that you had when the two of you were just fifteen about the future that you planned to share with one another.

The two of you were laying down in Joe's backyard on one of the many blankets that your grandmother had knitted staring up at the night sky. It was one of your favorite past times between the both of you.

“So, what are we naming our kids when we have them?” Joe asked as he looked down to see you pick up your head from his chest to look at him.

“Hmm, never thought about it until just now.”

“After we're married of course. I'll be playing in the NFL and you'll be an aerospace engineer at NASA.”

“I don't know if I'm smart enough for all that.” You replied and Joe instantly frowned from your response.

“You are smart enough. Stop talking about yourself like that and selling yourself short.”

“Fine, I'm going to be an aerospace engineer at NASA.”

“That's better and I just thought of a name.”

“Tell me. But we need a name for a boy and a name for a girl so whichever one comes first we'll be ready.”

“I like Julian for a boy. His name will start with a J like mine.”

“You don't want him to be named after you?”

“No, I want for him to be able to have his own identity.”

“Good point and I like Julian too. Now for a girl.” You said as you adjusted to make yourself more comfortable.

“Juliet since you like Romeo and Juliet so much and I have no idea why.”

“Um, correction! I like the movie with Leonardo Dicaprio, there's a difference. Because truth be told they were both stupid as hell. How can you love someone after you've known them for like 2 hours?”

“Are you going to leave him for me?” Joe playfully asked and you rolled your eyes.

“Joseph, don't be stupid. It's us until the end of time, you know that and he is way too old for me.”

As you closed the mirror, you turned around to look in the backseat to see your son looking down playing his game and you called his name to get his attention.

“Julian.”

“Yes, mom?”

He looked up at you with those same blue eyes that his father had and you quickly sighed.

“Let’s make this quick so we can get in and out. Did you still want spaghetti for dinner?” You planned on staying the night at your sister's apartment before making the two hour drive to Cincinnati to your new house. You told her that you would cook dinner since she told you she couldn't even boil a pot of water.

Just like it was when she was 14.

“I guess.” He told you as he shrugged.

“What's that look for, bubs?”

When he was quiet, you immediately knew.

“I know you're nervous about us moving and starting at a new school, but you'll be fine. And besides, you have football camp in a few weeks to look forward to, that your aunt was nice enough to sign you up for.” You told him and he sighed but nodded his head nonetheless.

After you had gotten pregnant your senior year in high school, your mom was the first one to find out and within a week, you were in Texas with your grandmother and refusing to have an abortion like both of your parents wanted.

You had been there ever since.

After finishing high school with literally a month left, you went off to go to Texas A&M University on a full scholarship and then onto Harvard online to do your masters. From that time, you stopped talking to your parents and in turn they didn't allow you to talk to your siblings, Sabrina and Ryan.

You were one of the top engineers at your job in Texas and they recently opened a new facility in Cincinnati and asked you if you would be willing to transfer to get it off the ground.

It took you three months to finally make a decision.

The final thought as to why you were willing to do it had everything to do with Julian.

He was getting older and just about every week he was asking about his father.

His father, who was in fact Joe Burrow the quarterback of the Cincinnati Bengals.

Who also happened to be his favorite player who he was obsessed with.

He didn't know about Joe and Joe didn't know about him.

But that wasn't by choice.

It all boiled down to your parents as well as his, but mainly his mother.

Your younger sister had begged you to come and see her once she messaged you after she found your account on social media once you told her you were moving back to Ohio. However, you made her promise not to tell your parents. If she uttered a word, you would have no problem cutting her off because protecting yourself as well as your son was your main priority.

“Can we make brownies too?”

“With vanilla ice cream and caramel sauce on top.” You replied as you stuck your pinky finger out for him to wrap his around yours.

–

Robin did a double take as she noticed you in the aisle comparing two brands of pasta and could feel the color drain from her face.

She knew it was you, there was no denying it. You looked the same, but more mature.

She wanted to leave the aisle as soon as possible, but it didn’t quite work out that way since she also needed a box of noodles for dinner.

Hoping you wouldn't take too much notice of her, she made her way over and picked up the brand that she had always bought when you suddenly turned around and she caught your eye.

The expression that flashed across your face was unreadable as you were analyzing her. You were staring at one of the four people that had ripped your future away from underneath you.

The future that you and your boyfriend had planned in high school.

She was the first to speak and you were surprised she was even speaking to you at all. Considering what she had done.

And how much she didn't like you.

“Y/N?”

“Mrs. Burrow.” You flatly said as you threw the box of pasta in your basket.

“I… it's nice to see you.”

“Hmm.” You told her and quickly noticed that you had lost sight of Julian, but more than likely he was somewhere in the candy aisle. But to your surprise you heard his voice from behind you.

“Mom!? Can I get fruit loops!?”

When Robin set her eyes on who she assumed was her grandson, there was absolutely no denying it.

He looked similar to her youngest son except for the fact that he had curly hair which she assumed he got from you. Everything else was Joe up and down.

“You can get the small box.” You replied as you smiled at him go back down the aisle and turned back to Joe's mother.

“Does Joe know you're here?” She said in a soft voice and you were confused on why she even cared.

“What difference would it make if he did?”

“Is he…?” She asked assuming she was talking about Julian and wanted confirmation.

“He's nine and will be ten in December so you do the math and I know you see the resemblance. But for now I'm going to go so I can feed my child. Don't worry, everything is all still going according to your plan. But it's getting kind of hard to keep this a secret, right? I mean paying off your son's girlfriend's parents to keep them and her quiet about the pregnancy so that his future wouldn't get derailed.”

“Who told you that? And I did it for the both of you.”

“Bullshit. You never liked me to begin with and it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure that out and it doesn't matter who told me. You always had it in your mind that I wasn't good enough for him. All I know is that my son is going to know his father one way or another and there is nothing you'll be able to do about it. Good luck begging him for forgiveness. I hope you have a good night.”

Without another word you walked away from her and found Julian in the next aisle holding his box of cereal and browsing the candy aisle just as you suspected.

“We're making brownies, King Julian. So, no candy.” You said as he turned around to look at you.

“But I also need a snack before dinner and who was that lady you were talking to?”

“Stop trying to change the subject and no you don't.”

“Yes I do and I noticed she kept staring at me.”

“She wasn't anyone that you need to worry about because she isn't important and you can get one other thing. Now come on, your Aunt Sabrina is waiting for us.”

“Is she younger or older than you?” Julian asked as he grabbed a Snickers bar.

Just like his father.

“Younger and how old do you think I am?”

“Well I know you're old enough to have wine so you have to at least be 21. How old is she?”

“25.”

“Oh, never mind then.”

–

“I just can't get over how big he is and how much he looks like Joe.” Sabrina told you as the two of you were sitting at the kitchen table and her gaze was on Julian in the living room watching Netflix.

“The older he gets, the more and more he looks like him. Guess who I ran into at the store before coming here?”

“Who?”

“His mother. She saw me first.”

“Oh shit. And what did she say!? I know for a fact she never liked you. Anyone could see that.” Sabrina asked as her eyes went wide.

“First she was like it's good to see you and then asked if he knew I was here and I asked her what difference would it make if he did? And I basically told her to get out my face. And you’re right, she never liked me and I know for a fact that she thought I wasn't good enough for him or dare I say it the right ‘fit’”.

“I still can't believe how everything went down and how they never told him. Like that's their grandson. You two were supposed to be end game.”

“I know and I just… I hope when I gather the courage and strength to tell him that he wants to be in his life. Julian keeps asking about him and all he talks about is how he's his favorite player. I also hope that Julian won't despise me for not telling him.”

Little did you know that Sabrina had signed Julian up on purpose for the football camp. Not only because you told her how he loved to play but because she knew that Joe was hosting it along with Ja’Marr and Tee. She was going to make sure Joe knew sooner rather than later about how his ex-girlfriend fell off the face of the earth with his kid.

This had gone on long enough and wanted to see her big sister get her redemption story.

“From what I've seen, I think Julian will ultimately be relieved. It wasn't your fault to begin with and it's not like you hid it from him on purpose. And our parents were dead fucking wrong with how they treated the entire situation and I'm sorry that happened. I know I'm not responsible, but I also lost my big sister in all of that. And I'll never forgive them for it. It was like you disappeared off the face of the earth. And I never stopped asking about you.”

“I figured that out of everyone that you would. So when you messaged me, I got excited, not going to lie.” You said being completely honest.

“I only talk to them if it's absolutely necessary. The entire dynamic changed when you left. Do you ever think you'll talk to them? Can't blame you if you decide not to.”

“Probably not the best idea to talk to the people who wanted you to abort your kid.”

“Hmm, I guess not and you make a good point. But enough about that, what have you been up to? Do you really work for NASA?”

“Yes, as an aerospace engineer.”

“Like you always wanted. You were always smart as hell and could run circles around all of us. Only thing I know how to do is hair and make up. The parents were very mad when I dropped out and went to cosmetology school.”

“At least you figured out what you wanted to do and there is absolutely nothing wrong with that. There are still people who are 45 years old and don't know.”

“Good point.” You told her as she got up to get the brownies out of the oven that all three of you had taken part in making earlier.

“Oh and the day of football camp is my orientation so I won't be able to take him. Do you think you'll be able to?” You asked and Sabrina tried not to show the disappointment on her face.

“Yeah, sure.”

“But I should be there by lunch time. So I can see him play for the second half of the day. He's really excited to go.”

“Perfect! And I'm really excited too since I have never seen him play before.”

The wheels immediately started to turn in Sabrina's head and she just hoped and prayed that everything was going to work out exactly how she wanted it to.

The day of football camp, Julian had been bouncing off the walls from the moment he woke up. As promised, Sabrina stayed over the night before so that she wouldn't have a long morning in rush hour traffic trying to get to your house and then eventually the stadium on time.

To her surprise, when she got there and signed Julian in, Joe was nowhere in sight but she was still holding out hope as she looked over at Julian in his black jersey with his rightful last name across the back of it.

She learned last night that he had a jersey in every color, which had been your doing of course.

You had explained to her that every day was a battle on if the day finally arrived that you were going to tell him the truth. I mean what possible harm could it do at this point? When you were younger, you had been terrified of your parents, but not anymore and you were done keeping your son a secret.

When you finally gave birth to him on December 10th which also happened to be your birthday along with Joe's, you were instructed to not even give him the Burrow last name which was a part of the deal that was made between both sets of parents.

A deal that neither you nor Joe was a part of.

And none of them showed an ounce of remorse for what they had done.

About two hours or so into the day, Joe made his way to Paycor stadium since Ja'Marr had asked him and Tee to participate in a football camp with him for kids ages 5 to 17.

Tee had sent a text to let him know where they were and after parking his car and walking into the stadium he made his way over and was immediately greeted by the both of them.

“Joe, we think we found your long lost son.”

Ja'Marr joked with him as he gave him an eye roll in return.

“What in the world are you talking about? It is too early for your nonsense and Tee is no better for going along with you.” Joe told him and Tee held his hands up in defense.

“Now what did I do!?” Tee exclaimed while looking at him.

“An entire list so don't get me started now what kid are you talking about?” Joe asked and he followed Ja'Marr’s gaze to see.

“That one and look at that, he plays quarterback.”

“He is literally you with curly hair and freckles.” Tee added as he would glance at Julian and then glance back at Joe comparing the two.

“What's his name?” Joe curiously asked as he was watching him do drills.

It was almost as if he was looking in a mirror.

“Mm, Julian I think.”

Hearing the name out loud made a wave of emotions come rushing back towards Joe and he was trying to do his best and not be upset about it.

That was the name you two decided that you were going to name your baby boy whenever it happened.

Because Joe had been dead set on marrying you and he didn't want anyone else.

He still thought about you every day and knew that deep down he would probably never get over not knowing what happened to you and what made you suddenly break up with him for no reason.

It didn't make sense then and it still didn't make sense now and no matter how hard he tried to wrap his mind around it, he just couldn't.

He tried to move on multiple times, but he found himself always comparing his girlfriends to you no matter how hard he tried not to.

You meant absolutely everything to him and you were one of the very few people who believed that he would go on to do amazing things in college and eventually the NFL. From day one, your nickname for him was superstar or MVP.

“Wait…..” Joe started to say, but his focus was now solely on Julian.

“What?”

"Me and my ex-girlfriend picked out the name Julian for our son when we were in high school.” He said nonchalantly as he shrugged his shoulders.

“Uh? You didn't get her pregnant did you?”

“No, she definitely would have told me. But it was weird because one day we were planning our future together and the next she was breaking up with me. The entire thing never made sense. I literally haven't seen or heard from her since we were 17. What's his last name?”

“Deveraux.”

At that very moment as soon as the name left Tee’s mouth, Joe thought that he was going to throw up.

Ja'Marr and Tee both looked at him confused.

“Uh? You okay over there?”

“No. That's her last name.” Joe quietly said as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I… well maybe it's a coincidence.”

“How!?! That isn't a common last name!”

“And you having a mini meltdown isn’t helping the situation either. We’ll figure it out later when camp is over. For now we need to break them off into groups based on their age and get them ready to play against each other.”

The camp was only supposed to last from 9 am until 3 pm and as promised, you were actually allowed to leave early and looked down at your phone to see that Sabrina sent you the address to where it was held. Once you put it into your GPS since you were still learning your way around Cincinnati, the Paycor stadium popped up on your phone and you did a double take.

No.

Absolutely not.

But you also thought, it was still the off season and training camp wouldn’t start for a few more weeks. The likelihood of you actually running into him was slim to none. So that way you still had time to process and run through what you were going to say to him when you actually saw him.

Because it was bound to happen one way or the other.

All because his mom saw you and will more than likely tell him but fail to mention the child that you two share.

Once you got there, you spotted Sabrina’s car and quickly backed in next to her before making your way to one of the many gates that surrounded it to make your way inside. Once you told them you were here for your son, one of them was nice enough to walk you over to the field where all the parents were gathered. You quickly spotted Sabrina and she waved you over.

“Sabrina….”

“What’s wrong?”

“Why didn’t you mention that the camp was going to be held here and hosted by several Bengals players?”

“Oh, that? Um, I didn’t realize until we got here.”

“You were always bad at lying so I suggest you change your answer.” You told her as you crossed your arms and looked out towards the field and spotted Julian.

“Okay fine. I figured the sooner that Joe knew about Julian, the better. As soon as I saw that they were doing a camp before they started training camp in a few weeks, I immediately signed him up. And this was right after you told me that you were moving back here.” She whispered to you and you let out a deep sigh.

“I don’t know if I’m ready to see him yet. He probably still hates me for what I did to him.”

“But that wasn’t your fault.”

“Well, he doesn’t know that. Like you didn’t see the look on his face when I broke up with him. He looked so confused and hurt and I couldn’t tell him that I wasn’t doing it because I wanted to. I was doing it because both sets of parents made me. Have you even seen him yet?”

“Yes and he cut off all of his hair and dyed it blonde…. Again.”

“I remember when I dyed it blonde for him our senior year.”

“And got it all over our bathroom. Good times.”

“But, take a deep breath. He probably misses you more than you know.” Sabrina told you as she tried giving you words of encouragement but all you were doing was trying not to have a panic attack.

“He’s probably moved on and honestly when I think about it, it’s probably for the best. Hopefully it’s someone that his parents approve of.”

“Will you stop talking down about yourself? You were his first love and I’m sorry, that doesn’t go away overnight, it just doesn’t. The two of you were attached at the hip and I know for a fact that the two of you can get back to that and raise Julian together. Also, I want to be a bridesmaid when the time comes.”

“SABRINA!”

“What?!?! I’m just being honest. “

“A lot has to occur for that to even happen.”

“How much do you want to bet he has a ring picked out for you? And I see you’re still wearing the necklace he gave you on your 16th birthday with his initial. So, I rest my case.”

Sabrina knew for a fact that he had a ring for you since the day after you left because she had seen it, he immediately cornered her in a hallway at school to see what happened. At that time, she didn’t know, but all she did know was that your room was empty and that she was missing her big sister.

As Joe had finished helping the kids in his group put on the flags to get ready to start the game, he jogged to the sideline and as soon as he looked to his left, his jaw hit the floor and he started hitting Ja’Marr’s arm.

“OW! What is going on?!”

“That’s her and her sister Sabrina. Fuck that’s her, it’s really her.”

Ja’Marr followed his gaze and saw you talking to who he assumed was your sister and his eyes went wide.

“I… wait a minute…. Y/N is black?!”

“Uh yeah why is that important?” Joe asked him as Tee had come to stand next to them.

“It’s not…. I just wasn’t expecting her to look like THAT. I thought you said Athens only had like 2 black people? Damn, she’s pretty, how did you pull that?”

“Seriously?” Joe asked and Ja’Marr held his hands up in defense.

“I should have known the way you were eating that fried chicken you had been around some seasoning before in your life."

“Wait…. THAT’S HER?!” Tee asked and they both nodded.

Tee took a moment to look at Julian, you, and then Joe and simply nodded his head.

“You the baby daddy, alright.”

“Joe, stop trying to hide behind me, YOU’RE TALLER THAN ME. And did you forget you just dyed your hair? Y/N can probably spot you from a mile away.”

“I don’t know what to do! Should I go and talk to her?”

“For one of your nicknames to be Joe Cool, that is definitely the opposite of what is happening right now. Yes! Go and talk to her when we’re done or when the kids eat lunch.”

“What if she doesn’t want to talk to me?” He asked and they both just looked at him.

“Are you a hormone raging teenage boy again? I highly doubt that she wouldn’t want to talk to you.”

Meanwhile, you looked over to where Joe was standing next to Tee and Ja’Marr, and the butterflies in your stomach instantly hit you like a ton of bricks.

“Sabrina, he’s right there.” You told her as you tugged on her arm.

“And I hear wedding bells.”

“Seriously?! Now is not the time.”

“It’s the perfect time actually.”

“What do I say if he comes up to me?”

“Uh? Hi? Have you suddenly lost all of your brain cells? For you to be an aerospace engineer, I wouldn’t actually be able to tell.”

“That’s different!”

“The kids are about to have lunch anyway so just go up to him then. You actually should have worn less clothing to be honest so he can see what he’s been missing.”

“Uh no, for one there are children around and two, I just came from my new job so that’s a definite no.”

“Changing the subject for a minute, but Julian is actually really good.” Sabrina said as he watched him run down the field for a touchdown.

“Well, look at who his dad is.” You replied as you shrugged.

“Did he always want to play quarterback?”

“Mm hmm, and wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

“What do you think his reaction will be when you tell him?”

“I honestly don’t know. I know my baby like the back of my hand, but that I’m not quite sure about.”

“The baby who is almost taller than you by the way.”

“If he’s only nine now, I can’t imagine how tall he’s going to be when he stops growing.”

“How tall is Joe?”

“6’4.”

“Oh, so we have a little ways to go.”

When the first game had come to an end, Julian spotted you and ran straight into your arms.

“Hi bubs, are you having fun?”

“Yes! Thank you Aunt Sabrina for bringing me!”Julian said as he was still holding onto you but turned towards your sister.

“You’re very welcome, sweetheart.”

“Mom, before we leave do you think Joe will sign my jersey for me?”

“I'm sure he will if you ask him.”

Sabrina got a small smile on her face as she saw Joe walking up behind you.

“Julian, look. There he is, go and ask him.”

As soon as she said that, the butterflies that had been in your stomach the first time you saw them were there once more.

As you turned around, you were met with the sight of your ex boyfriend that you hadn't laid eyes on in person in close to ten years.

“Um, hi Mr. Burrow, could you sign my jersey for me?” He shyly asked as he held up the orange Bengals jersey with Joe's number on the back of it. He made sure to wear the black one, bring the orange one, and the white one was hanging up in his room on the wall while the other white one was hanging up in his closet.

“Of course I can. What's your name?” Joe asked Julian as he handed him the jersey along with a marker.

“Julian and I play quarterback just like you do. You're my favorite player and I've watched you ever since you played at LSU.” He proudly told him and Joe had to laugh to himself.

Julian had literally been watching him since he was 4 turning 5 and had been intrigued ever since.

“Really? Wow, that's a long time ago.”

“I want to play in the NFL one day like you and thank you for signing it.” He confessed as Joe handed him back his signed jersey and squatted down to his level.

“You're welcome and if you practice and work really hard, there is no reason why you can't make that happen. And listening to your mom is also going to help.” Joe told him as he glanced up at you and winked.

Okay so maybe he wasn't mad like you thought he was going to be.

Julian eagerly nodded as Sabrina grabbed his hand and started to pull him in the other direction.

“Now come on and let’s get in line for some food. Your mom has something that she needs to take care of.” Sabrina said and you looked at her confused.

“Wait, what?”

She grabbed Julian’s hand and mouthed to you ‘talk to him’. Once they were both out of earshot, you heard his voice.

“It’s really you.” He quietly said and you simply nodded.

“And it’s really you.” You replied as your necklace caught Joe’s eye.

“You still have it…” He said more as a statement then as a question as he reached up to play with the charm.

“I'm wearing it for two people now. Joseph Lee and Julian Oliver. Only time I take it off is to get it cleaned and then it goes right back on.”

Joe nodded his head and looked in the direction of where Julian was standing next to Sabrina, you followed his gaze and sighed.

“Yes.” You quietly said and you immediately got a guilty look on your face.

“I…”

“There is so much that I have to tell you and cannot do it in a span of five minutes. But yes. You keep looking at him so I answered your question for you because I know what you're thinking.”

“He looks just like me. How old is he?”

“He’ll be ten on December 10th.”

“The same day as ours.” Joe replied and you slowly nodded your head.

“I know we don’t have a lot of time right now, but please understand that I didn’t break up with you because I wanted to, I did it because I was told to and being a scared teenager doesn’t leave you with a lot of options. Just wanted you to know that.”

Joe slowly nodded his head and you couldn't quite read the expression on his face.

“After the kids are done, can we go somewhere and talk? Just us?”

“Of course, I’ll see if my sister can take Julian.”

“And he has no idea does he?” He asked, referring to Julian and you shook your head no.

“So, all this time?”

“You can be mad at me because I would be too, but I moved back because I was done hiding him. He deserves better than that. I wanted for him to know you and for you to know him because that is ultimately who ended up being hurt by all this.”

“He seems like a great kid. And I expect nothing less if he came from you.”

“He is and he is exactly how I imagined that he would be. Just about everything he does reminds me of you.”

—

Sabrina took Julian without a second thought to give you and Joe time to talk when you had asked her. The two of you decided on one of Joe’s favorite restaurants in the city and made sure that the two of you got a booth in a corner away from everyone else so the goal was no one would bother him.

You were looking over the drink menu, when you could feel Joe staring at you.

“I see some things haven’t changed. Joey, it's not nice to stare.” You told him as you laughed and felt your cheeks heat up and all he did was smile in response.

“Can’t help it if you’re so pretty. Gorgeous now actually. Always been that way.”

“Smooth talker Joe Burrow definitely hasn’t changed.”

It was quiet for a few seconds as both of you were once again scanning the menu when you blurted it out.

“I took a pregnancy test on April 1st because I felt off and before I could tell you, my mom found it.”

“And then what happened?”

“She talked to my dad and in turn both of them talked to your parents...” Joe immediately cut you off.

“Wait, they knew?” He asked and you gave him a slow nod.

“I was told to break up with you and that I had to move in with my grandmother in Texas while your parents paid mine off not to say anything. I only found out about that part last year.”

Joe stayed quiet so you continued.

“So, the day I broke up with you once again, obviously not my choice, a few days later I was on a plane to Texas. My parents said the only way that I would be allowed back in their house was if I got an abortion and I was not allowed to say anything to anyone about it. Of course by now you can see what my answer had been. I haven’t talked to my parents since and I don’t plan to. Looking back on it, I would have done things a little differently.”

“What would you have done differently?”

“Made sure that I told you because that wasn’t fair. You have been thinking for almost ten years that I didn’t want to be with you anymore and that was the furthest thing from the truth and you missed out on knowing your son. We can do a DNA test too to confirm. The last thing that I want anyone to say is that I’m lying.”

When Joe remained quiet, you reached your hand across the table to take his.

“I’m really sorry and I should have told you sooner and…”

“Stop. Y/N just stop.” He told you as he used the other hand to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“I know you’re mad….”

“I am mad, but pissed off is more like it but it’s not towards you.”

“Oh.”

“You had to go through that all by yourself when I could have been there. My son doesn’t even know who I am. I mean technically he does, but not in the capacity that I want him to.”

You slowly nodded as you allowed him to let all of his feelings about the situation be known.

“My parents knew I had a kid and did everything they could in order to keep me away from him.”

“And I missed out on nine years… almost ten.”

It almost looked as if Joe was about to cry, but did his best to compose himself.

“And you named him Julian Oliver, just like we both wanted.”

“I did, but I was told that I couldn’t give him your last name since they took the money or whatever.”

“And here I was thinking that I would never see you again.”

“The feeling is mutual, except on the tv when I watch you play of course. I knew from the beginning how good you were and that you playing in the NFL was bound to happen.” You said as you smiled at the thought of you two sneaking out and going to the park near both of your houses and laying down in the grass to look up at the night sky.

“You did and told me from day one even if I didn’t believe it myself.”

“I know this is a lot to take in but…”

“Just tell me everything, it’s just better to get everything all out in the open once and for all.”

“I mean that's the majority of what happened. I lived in Texas, graduated, went to Harvard. Got a job at NASA…” You started to say as Joe cut you off.

“Wait…. Back up, you actually did it?”

“Yes, you are looking at one of the top aerospace engineers at NASA. I moved back because they opened up a new facility here in Cincinnati.”

“I'm proud of you. I always knew you would end up working for NASA.”

“Thank you and this is the first time I've seen Sabrina too. Because I told my parents I wouldn't get an abortion, I couldn't talk to my siblings anymore. They didn't come to my graduation. I mean, I moved when there was literally a month of school left. I didn't go to prom because if I didn't go with you, it wasn't happening. My grandmother was my only saving grace. I didn't want to leave her and come up here, but she told me that would probably be the best thing for Julian. When my mom or dad would call to talk to her, they never asked about me. That was when my grandmother told me that she cheated on my dad and got pregnant with me and she felt that their relationship would go back to the way it was before it happened if they just got rid of me in a sense. They don't know that I know that. So my mother literally hates me and I don’t know who my actual dad is.”

Joe looked at you in disbelief and every time he opened his mouth to say something, he immediately closed it.

“I'm sorry you had to find out that way and sorry that it even happened at all.”

Before answering, you shrugged your shoulders and waved him off.

“It is what it is.”

“Y/N, no it isn't. That is some heavy shit you've been carrying around for ten years. Have you talked to anyone about that?”

“No and I don't want to. What good will it do?”

“You know better. Priorities can include Julian, but also includes yourself.”

“I guess, but not now. It's just… it's hard trying to wrap your mind around the fact that just about everyone in your life hates you and you were essentially a mistake.”

“You've always talked down on yourself and I see some things never change.”

“Sabrina said the same thing.”

“So that obviously means that we're telling the truth. You have always been the smartest and prettiest one in the room and it's still true now.”

“Even if I am, I'll probably never see it that way.”

After the two of you spent at least 2 more hours with each other, you exchanged numbers and it would be decided when and how the two of you would tell Julian.

The thought was exciting, but Joe was also dreading it. What if Julian despised him for not being there for him as well as you?

But for now, the day ended with a lot for Joe to think about.

Seeing you for the first time in ten years

Oh and the biggest one with you and him sharing a child that you were essentially bribed and threatened in a way to stay quiet about.

Knowing that his parents knew the entire time made Joe sick to his stomach.

He also had a feeling that both Ja’Marr and Tee would have their phones in their hands waiting for an update on what had happened. Before he could send the message that he had just typed, Tee beat him to it.

Tee- 👀👀👀

Uno- Spill the damn tea and stop leaving us in suspense

Joe- He's mine

Tee- I KNEW IT

Uno- Soooo I need details on why you didn't know about this….

Joe- My parents paid hers off not to tell me and made her move to Texas to live with her grandmother. And apparently she would only be allowed to move back if she got an abortion and of course as we can all see, she didn’t

Tee- YOUR PARENTS KNEW!?

Uno- This is some Tyler Perry movie shit 😫

Joe- They knew and pissed off doesn't even begin to describe how I'm feeling right now. I missed out on damn near ten years of my son's life. He has no idea who I am

Tee- Technically he does know who you are

Uno- But still that shit is CRAZY. So are the two of you going to tell Julian?

Joe- Yeah, but I'm getting a DNA test first because Y/N won't take no for an answer and I get it. I know he's mine and she does too obviously but that way no one will be able to say anything about it. We have to decide when we're going to tell him. I don't know how he's going to take it.

Uno- Whatever you need from us, we got you

Tee- Ditto

Joe- Appreciate it. First thing I need to do is confront my parents and ask them why they kept this from me

About a week or so passed and Joe had been ignoring the calls from his parents. He would talk to them a few times a week, but ever since he found out they knew about Julian, he really didn't know what to say to them.

However, he did promise to have Sunday dinner with them and he planned on confronting them and getting this out in the open once and for all.

There Joe was sitting at the dinner table with his parents and pushing his food around on his plate. Both Jimmy and Robin noticed and they exchanged a glance with one another before Jimmy asked if he was okay.

“Joe, you okay over there? It's one of your favorite meals and you've barely even touched it.”

“You know what, dad? No, I'm not okay.” He replied as he set his fork down and looked at him.

“Why? Did something happen?” Robin asked and he was doing his best in order not to roll his eyes.

“Something did happen and I don’t like being lied to.”

“Who lied about something?”

“Apparently the two people who have the title of being my parents tried to hide the fact that I have a child who is damn near ten years old. So, no one was going to say anything?”

Joe looked at both his parents in anticipation as the question he asked them lingered in the air.

When both of them were quiet, he spoke up again.

“Oh, so no one has anything to say?”

“Joseph, we did it to protect you as well as your future.” Jimmy finally spoke up as Robin remained quiet.

“Protect me from what exactly? Because that literally makes no fucking sense and you know it.”

“I don't care how old you are, watch your mouth when you talk to us.” Robin said as she crossed her arms and finally looked at him.

“I can't believe you two, but especially you. When Y/N broke up with me which I learned was your doing all along I came and confided in you not knowing what you had actually done. And let me ask, were you ever going to say anything?”

“I….”

“Never mind because whatever excuse you're about to pull out of your ass isn't worth it.”

“JOSEPH LEE BURROW!”

“NO, I GET TO BE PISSED OFF NOT YOU TWO. I GOT TO MISS OUT ON THE FIRST NINE YEARS OF MY SON'S LIFE BECAUSE YOU TWO PAID HER PARENTS NOT TO SAY ANYTHING ABOUT IT AND MADE HER DISAPPEAR FROM MY LIFE. I PLANNED ON MARRYING HER AND I WOULD HAVE DONE IT IF SHE HAD GOTTEN PREGNANT OR NOT.” Joe had been seeing red from the moment he stepped into his parents house and did not plan on backing down.

“We get you're upset, but let's calm down so we can talk.”

“You should have talked to me almost ten years ago. For now, I'm done. But answer this, forget about me for a minute. How could you do that to your own grandchild?”

“We never wanted to hurt you.”

“Hmm, funny. Because the people who did end up getting hurt were me, Y/N, and Julian. That's his name in case either of you wanted to know.”

“I saw Y/N with him about a month ago when I went to the grocery store.” Robin quietly said and Joe just shook his head at her.

“And you didn't say anything!?”

“When I saw him…. He is literally you up and down. There's no denying it. I know that us saying sorry is not going to cut it but….”

“You're right, it's not. Nothing you say is going to cut it or make me forgive you two for what you did. Y/N had NO ONE. She went through that by herself. Her parents shipped her off to Texas because she refused to get an abortion. I don't care what I would have had to do, she meant everything to me and I would have done anything to make sure that they were both okay. Now when we finally do tell him, he's going to wonder why I wasn't there.” Joe stated as he pushed his chair away from the table and stood up.

“Joseph…”

“I'm done. I don't want to talk to either of you right now.”

Once Joe was settled in his car, he immediately called you on facetime so that he would have you to keep him company on the long drive home that he had. When he pulled out of his parents driveway, you finally answered.

When Joe's face came into view, you could tell that he was upset and that something had happened.

“Joey? Is everything okay? What's going on?” You asked as you got up to head into your bedroom to be able to talk to him without Julian overhearing.

“I just left my parents house.”

“Okay? What is that look on your face for?”

“I asked them why they lied to me for almost ten years and of course no one had a good answer as to why they did it.” Joe breathed out as he pulled onto the highway.

“Oh and my mom mentioned seeing you about a month ago and failed to tell me anything. They're trying to apologize now but for what? Why even do it at this point? You knew what you were doing from the beginning.”

“I don't want to come in between you and your parents. I know how close you are with them.”

“It doesn't even matter. What's right is right and what's wrong is wrong and in this case they're dead wrong. And they also knew how I felt about you and how important you are to me.”

“Joey… hear me out for a second.”

“I'm listening.”

“Your feelings are completely valid and I'm not downplaying how you feel at all. But instead of focusing on being pissed at them, focus on finally being able to be a part of Julian’s life. He deserves you and you deserve him. I need you to be in the right and the best headspace. Do not come around him with that hanging over your head.”

“I… get it. I'm just… I can't believe that they would do that to me.”

“I know, but good news…”

“What is it?”

“DNA results are back and it's confirmed that you're my baby daddy even though we already knew.” You told him and saw a small smile form on his face.

“Now we just have to decide when we're going to tell him.” Joe told you as he sighed.

“Who knows? It might actually go better than we think it will.” Deep down you were not only trying to convince Joe, but convince yourself.

“But what if it doesn't?”

“Then we'll figure out a plan if it comes down to it. Do you want to wait until after training camp?”

“I was thinking the same thing. And maybe you two can come to the first home game of the season? And then we can go from there.” Joe's heart started to beat faster and he wasn't quite sure if it was nervousness or excitement.

“I like that idea.”

As promised, Joe made sure the two of you had tickets to the first home game of the season and the two of you were going to be directly behind the Bengals bench. Joe wanted you to be in his suite, but you told him that Julian had never been to an NFL game and needed to get the full experience.

Joe had sent you a text earlier saying that he couldn't wait to see the both of you and that the two of you should tell Julian after the game.

There Julian was next to you sitting there in awe and munching on his hot dog as he anxiously waited for the game to start. He dragged you as soon as the gates opened so he wouldn't miss anything. That was when you spotted Joe and a few other players come out the tunnel to come and warm up.

“Julian, look up.” You told him and his eyes immediately went to Joe.

“Mom! He's right there and there's Ja’Marr, Tee, and Andrei.”

“I see and look who's walking over here?” You replied as Joe began walking towards the two of you.

“I don't have anything for him to sign!”

“He signed your jersey already!”

“Oh, right. I forgot.” Julian said as he slumped down in his chair and you couldn't help but to laugh.

“Hey Julian.”

“You remember my name?” He asked as his eyes went wide and Joe nodded his head as Julian stood up to stand against the railing.

“Of course I do. And your mom told me that this is your first NFL game in person.” He said as he turned to look at you and wink, making a smile form on your face.

“It is. I usually just watch it at home with my mom.”

“I hope I'm able to see you a lot more this season.”

“Well, you have to talk to my mom, she's the boss.” Julian said and you stifled a laugh.

“I definitely think that I'm going to be able to convince her.”

Julian smiled at Joe as he went back to eating his hot dog and Joe motioned for you to come closer to him.

“Hmm, I knew you would look good in my jersey, but I didn’t expect you to look this good.”

“I figured that you would like it.”

“That’s putting it lightly. So we still on for later?”

“Yeah, I'm cooking so just come by when you're done here and we can go from there. Since it's going to be after the game, I plan on making you a cheat meal. I already texted you the address.”

“I most definitely have missed your cooking so no complaints here.”

“Well ten years have passed and I've gotten a lot better.”

“That isn't all that's gotten a lot better.” Joe told you as he looked you up and down and you could feel your cheeks heat up.

“Joey, go finish warming up and behave yourself.”

“I am behaving! Just calling it like I see it.”

“I beg to differ.”

Even though the Bengals didn't come away with a win, Julian was still excited nonetheless to be able to go in person. You were now standing in front of the stove while Julian was sitting at the kitchen table and playing on his iPad that you had recently gotten him when the doorbell rang and you knew it was Joe since you could see him on the security camera.

“Bubs, can you go see who's at the door for me?”

“Yes, mom.”

Julian basically sprinted towards the door and when he opened it, his mouth hit the floor.

“Hey Julian, your mom invited me for dinner.”

“I… Uh…” He started to stutter and you suddenly appeared next to him.

“Julian, don't leave our guest waiting outside. Invite him in already.” You said as you smiled at him and he immediately moved to the side so that he could come in.

He had a bouquet of flowers in his hands and quickly gave it to you while also hugging you.

If it was left up to you, you would have stayed in that hug forever.

“Pink roses still your favorite?” He asked and you quickly nodded.

“Yes, still my favorite, but now peonies are high up on my list too.”

“I'll keep that in mind for next time. It smells good in here, what are you making?” He asked as he was now following your lead into the kitchen.

“Tacos. Always a good cheat meal and still one of your favorites?”

“Still one of my favorites.”

Watching both Julian and Joe stuff their faces with tacos was comical. It was the fact that they both fixed their tacos the exact same way and you noticed right away. Being that you were so nervous about how Julian was going to react, you didn't have much of an appetite. When Joe finished, he looked up and made eye contact with you as you then took a deep sigh.

It was now or never so let's get this over with.

“Julian, I have something that I need to tell you.”

“Okay, what is it? Are we still going to the aquarium?”

“Yes, we're still going and it's something else. Something that you have been steadily asking me about for a while.”

“A puppy?!”

“Uh no. Not exactly. Julian, Joe is your dad.” You finally said and he looked confused as he glanced back and forth between the both of you.

“Hold on, I don't get it.”

“It’s taken….” You started to say and he immediately cut you off.

“You knew this the entire time and kept him from me?” Julian asked and you knew that shit had officially hit the fan.

“It wasn't that simple, Julian.” Joe immediately spoke up as he looked at him.

“How is it not? I thought you didn't want me but you've been here the entire time.”

“The difference was that I didn't know about you, it wasn’t the fact that I didn’t want you.”

“Julian, just listen for a minute.” You said but he made a face at you.

“Why should I? What else are you lying to me about?”

“I…”

Without another word, Julian pushed himself away from the table and ran upstairs to his room leaving both you and Joe at the table looking at one another.

“Deep down I knew this was going to happen.” You quietly said as you started to play with the ends of your braids.

“I'll go and talk to him, it'll be fine.” Joe told you as he grabbed your hand and gave it a small squeeze before standing up and going to talk to Julian.

Joe took the steps two at a time and there was no denying which room was his, seeing as his walls were covered in any and everything Bengals related.

“Julian, can I come in?” Joe asked him as he stood in the hallway in front of his bedroom door.

He nodded as he angrily wiped tears away from his face.

Joe walked in and sat down next to him and sighed.

“I know you're upset, but don't take it out on your mom.”

“But she lied to me.”

“She didn't necessarily lie, she was just trying to protect you. None of this has been easy for her. And I can imagine that it hasn't been easy for you either.” Joe explained to him and Julian quickly nodded letting him know that he agreed.

“She has done an amazing job taking care of you and I'm very thankful to her for it. But now you also have me. If I would have known from the beginning, things would have been a lot different. But we can't do anything about the past. We just have to focus on the future and move forward. Do you agree?”

“Yes.”

“Good now can I get a hug and you go back downstairs and apologize to your mom? I don't think what you said made her feel all that good. And we don't want to hurt her feelings, right? Because you don't like when people hurt your feelings right?”

“No, I don't like it.”

“Now come on so we can get some of the cake your mom made.”

“Okay.” Julian said as he quickly hugged Joe's side and nodded his head.

“I'm glad you're my dad and not Patrick Mahomes. I don't like the Chiefs and I wouldn't be able to fake it either.” Julian added and Joe had to stifle a laugh.

About a month and a half went by and Joe would spend as much time as he could with Julian on his off days seeing as though it was the middle of the season.

It was almost as if no time had passed and Joe quickly fell into the role of being a father. He made sure to call Julian every night before he went to sleep and also used that opportunity to talk to you. Your current thought process was not being sure if rekindling the relationship between the two of you was in the cards. Truth be told, that would definitely be the icing on the cake, but you weren't exactly quite sure what Joe wanted and he didn't mention it to you either. But the most important thing was him having a relationship with Julian.

And for now, you were content with that.

You were currently working from home and it was the early afternoon when your phone started ringing. Glancing down, you saw it was Joe and a wave of butterflies had hit your stomach and quickly answered.

“Yes, Joseph?

“Don't do that. Am I in trouble? You only did that when I was in trouble.” He asked and you laughed as you shook your head.

“Hmm, depends. Have you done something that would warrant you to be in trouble?’

“I don't think so, so let's go with that.”

“Everything okay?” You asked as you plugged in your laptop to prevent it from dying.

“Yeah, it's fine….” Joe started to say and then trailed off and he would always do this if he knew he was about to say or do something that you weren't completely on board with.

“I can still read you like a book. Spit it out.”

“Okay, just…. Keep an open mind with what I'm about to ask.”

“Okay, go ahead. I'm listening.”

“I want Julian to meet my parents.”

It was quiet for a few seconds and even though he couldn't see you, you were shaking your head.

“No.”

“Y/N, just hear me out. Julian has literally only been around you and your grandmother since he was born, right? For the most part?”

“And that wasn't my choice. It was decided for me.”

“He should have the opportunity to know who his grandparents are.”

“The grandparents who wanted NOTHING to do with him? Do I have that right?”

“I know, but they apologized multiple times for what they did. They know how I feel about it. I literally didn't talk to them for almost a month.”

“So, that makes it okay?”

“No, not at all and I told them that. But they are making an effort because they genuinely want to get to know him.”

“They didn't even allow me to give him the Burrow last name and all of a sudden they want to get to know him? Joey, let's be serious for a second. They probably would have NEVER told you that he even existed if it wasn't for me.”

“Y/N, I know this may be difficult for you but we can't change what happened. All we can do is move forward.”

“Your mother fucking HATES me and she always has.”

“No she doesn't! Neither of my parents hate you.”

“He's just getting to know you, give him some time to adjust.”

“Well we wouldn't be going through this if you would have told me.” Joe shot back at you and immediately regretted it once the words left his mouth.

“We wouldn't be going through this if it wasn't for YOUR MOTHER WHO FUCKING HATES ME like I said before!”

“Where did you even get that from?”

“Joseph, don't be dumb. So I'm going to open the door for her also to hate my child that she wanted no connection to from the beginning? No fucking thank you. If I don't talk to my parents what makes you think I want to be around yours when they are just as guilty? And I feel like you're downplaying what they did to me! Did to us! How can you not see that?” You asked as you felt a few tears slip out.

You should have known that it would eventually come down to this. You just didn't think it would be so soon.

As in Joe's parents wanting to be in Julian's life too.

“I'm not trying to make you upset. I just…”

“Too late because you already have. I have work to do, so bye.”

Without another word, you hung up the phone and threw it onto the couch behind you while you were doing your best not to cry even harder.

After you had hung up the phone on him, Joe was at a loss. He frustratedly ran a hand through his hair before sighing and attempting to call you back.

When you didn't answer, he came up with what he thought was the perfect idea to get you to talk to him.

A little over twenty four hours later, your doorbell rang and you checked the camera to see that it was Joe and rolled your eyes.

A little over twenty four hours later, your doorbell rang and you checked the camera to see that it was Joe and rolled your eyes. 

“Go away, Joseph.”

“Y/N, let me in so we can talk.”

“No.”

“We aren't 17 anymore stop giving me the silent treatment. I know how to bribe you.” He told you as he held up the pizza which you assumed was pepperoni in the camera.

"You're right we're not 17. Which means, I don't give in to your bribes anymore. So there's that.”

"Stop acting like you don't want this pizza and open the door. I also threw in a new telescope for good measure.”

“Wait, you got me a telescope?” You asked as you slowly cracked open the door and peeked your head out.

“You aren't getting it unless you let me in.”

“And what kind of pizza is that?” You asked as you were pointing. You already had a feeling that you knew what it was, but you needed confirmation.

“Your favorite.”

“What's my favorite?”

“What is this? 20 questions? Come on Y/N, let me in already.”

“Then tell me what's in the box!”

“Pepperoni and I got extra ranch on the side now open.the.door.”

“Hmph, fine. But hand over the pizza first.”

“No, not a chance. You're going to take it and slam the door shut. I still know you like the back of my hand.”

You sighed and finally rolled your eyes as you fully opened the door so he could step inside.

Once Joe was fully inside the house, he made his way into the kitchen and set the pizza on the table and went on the hunt to look for plates not knowing if he should take out two or three.

“Where’s Julian?”

“With my sister, so l'm by myself.” You answered as he then took down two plates and brought them over to the table. Opening the box, he slid two pieces on one of them and slid it over to you while also setting the ranch down in front of you.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.”

The two of you were eating in silence when Joe finally broke it.

“You know that I never liked fighting with you.”

“I know.” You quietly answered as you picked a piece of pepperoni off your second slice of pizza and popped it in your mouth.

“So can we come up with some type of compromise?”

Taking a deep breath, you nodded your head before pushing your plate into the center of the table and giving him your undivided attention.

“I know what they did to us and Julian wasn't fair and I'm not trying to downplay it at all. When I finally did answer the phone and talk to them, I explained how I felt and said that they betrayed my trust which I never thought was going to happen since they're my parents. Your hesitation is valid because mine was too when they had first asked. But the more I think about it, he does need to know who his family is.”

“I get that. It's just…. The main thing in the back of my mind is him getting hurt on the same level that we did.”

“They know that if they did that, that they would never see him again and I made that very clear. Because at first when they asked, I had the same reaction as you did and I said no.”

“Okay, I will do it for Julian and I promise to play nice. When did you want him to meet them?”

“You busy Sunday? All of you can be in my suite at the stadium for the game.”

“I’m not and that sounds like a plan. The last thing I said to your mom when I saw her in Athens was ‘good luck begging your son for forgiveness’ and I also told her something along the lines of her not liking me so this should be interesting.”

“You want me to have security at the stadium on standby?” Joe jokingly asked and you smiled at him while shaking your head.

“No need. Julian is my main priority and that will always be the case. As long as he’s happy and taken care of, I’m more than content with that.”

“That reminds me. It’s going to get cold soon so I wanted to take him shopping for some winter clothes. Has he ever even seen snow before?”

“He’d like that and no he actually hasn’t and I have a feeling that he is not going to like it, but he may surprise me so let’s see.”

“I can do it on my next off day. I’ll pick him up from school so you don’t have to worry about doing it.”

You nodded your head as you were deep in thought and Joe grabbed your hand breaking you out of your trance.

“What’s wrong?”

“I just stop to think sometimes on how our lives might have been different if you had known from the beginning.” You quietly answered as Joe nodded his head.

“I do the same thing. I’m just happy that you finally decided that enough was enough and told me.”

“Honestly, I didn’t know how you were going to take it and I was scared out of my mind. I also thought you still hated me after I broke up with you out of nowhere.”

“I could never hate you, no matter what the circumstances had been. And you didn’t know how I was going to take it? He literally looks like the perfect mix of both of us. I couldn’t deny him even if I wanted to. It’s funny that Ja’Marr and Tee actually noticed first. When they told me his name and I saw you, I started connecting the dots.”

“He’s starting to look like you more and more everyday.”

“I have another question for you and it’s okay if you don’t want to answer it.”

“Go ahead.”

“Would you ever talk to your parents again? Or at least try to find out who your actual dad is?”

“It’s not on the top of my priority list and they knew where I was the entire time. If they really honestly did care about me, none of this would have even happened. Sabrina doesn’t even really talk to them and as for my other siblings, I have no idea. Who knows what lies they told them about me. I honestly think that the only people who care about me are you, Julian, and Sabrina. And I’ve always felt like that.”

“And you know I’ll never stop caring about you.” Joe told you as he kissed the back of your hand before massaging it in small circles.

“I know.” You said with a shy smile.

“But enough about that, it’s finally dark outside and I’ll get the telescope out of my car since you did hold up your end of the deal with letting me in the house and it’s evident that my bribes do still work.”

“Burrow, don’t start.” You said as you pointed to him as he stood up from the kitchen table. He held his hands up in defense before smiling at you.

“Just calling it like I see it.”

–

“Joey! That piece doesn’t go there, it goes over here!”

“That’s not what the picture says!”

“Are you looking at the picture or reading the actual directions?”

“Umm, kinda both.”

“Hand it over to the actual aerospace engineer please.” Joe did as he was told but not before he rolled his eyes and pinched your cheek making you laugh.

“I am so fucking proud of you for making it happen. I always knew that you were going to do it.”

“Thank you, Joey. I can give you credit for telling me to go for it and not sell myself short. Julian was also my motivation. I had to be able to make enough money to take care of both of us.” You told him.

“And now you don't have to worry about doing it all by yourself anymore.”

Once you finished putting the telescope together, the two of you spent some time looking through it until you grabbed one of your fluffy blankets to lay on the deck in your backyard allowing the two of you to lay on it.

It was an usually warm night in October and you figured that you better enjoy it before the winter air kicked in. The two of you were simply gazing up at the night sky which you both did often when you were younger when Joe wrapped his arms around you and you moved to lay your head on his chest.

“I can’t even tell you how much I’ve missed this.” He whispered in your ear as you nodded in agreement.

“Me too.”

“I figured that you would have been married by now and forgot all about me.”

“How could I forget about you when people were saying your name everywhere I turned? And besides, I kept up with what you were doing. I was very excited when you entered the transfer portal and went to LSU. Being a backup quarterback didn’t fit you very well since I knew how amazing you were. And I honestly thought you would have been married by now.”

“You never let me forget it either. And I wasn’t marrying anyone who would be in your rightful place. Only person that I was ever going to make my wife was you. What I told you when we were seventeen hasn’t changed.”

“Just patiently waiting for you to win MVP and I know that it’s coming. And I know Julian would want nothing more than for all of us to be under one roof.”

“I want this with you. We get to do it right this time and no one can tell us no.”

Nodding your head in agreement, Joe turned your head to face him as he leaned over to kiss you. You eagerly kissed him back as both of your hands were exploring each other’s bodies. As Joe took the bottom of your shirt in his hands, he broke the kiss and searched your eyes for permission before he proceeded. When you nodded your head, your shirt was then peeled off of your body and thrown to the side as he comfortably moved you to the side so that he could hover above you.

At this moment, you were thankful for your fenced in backyard and the fact that your house wasn’t very close to anyone else’s. So the likelihood of the two of you getting caught was slim to none.

The next piece of clothing to come off of your body was your bra as Joe started to place several feather-like kisses all over starting from your neck as he worked his way down. His tongue lightly grazed one of your nipples before taking it fully in his mouth and slowly beginning to suck on it making a quiet moan slip from your mouth. He soon switched sides before you tugged on his shirt telling him to take it off. Once he did, he added it to your pile of clothes to the left of you before moving downward and slipping off your leggings that you were currently wearing with nothing underneath. 

He quickly spread your legs and settled himself in between them as his mouth finally made contact with your core.

Joe continued to pleasure you as he heard your soft whimpers and inserted one of his fingers as he started pumping it in and out of you. Your hands quickly made a way into his hair as you tried to pull him as close as possible to you.

“Shiiit.” You quietly said as Joe wasted no time adding another finger while his focus was now solely on your clit.

“Mm, Joey.”

“You gonna cum for me, baby?” Joe asked as his mouth left your clit for a quick second before going right back to it.

Not being able to utter another word because of how much pleasure you were in, you simply nodded your head. 

You didn’t know how much time had passed, but before you could tell Joe that you were close, You quickly squirted all over his face, However, he didn’t move a muscle as he tightly held onto your legs and still gave you as much pleasure as possible.

“Baby… mmm… Joey, I can’t….” You told him as you were doing your best to attempt to move away from him so you could somewhat recover from the constant feeling of you hitting your peak over and over again, but he obviously wasn’t letting that happen.

Being as bold as he was, he held eye contact with you the entire time, making you shake your head at him. When he finally came up for air, he placed several kisses all along your thighs before moving back up your body to place a kiss on your lips, which you gladly accepted and gave him several more.

“You are such an ass.” You whispered against his lips and all he did was laugh at you. 

“Now, is that how we treat someone who just made you cum not once, but multiple times?”

“Hmm, yes because I know that you aren’t going to do anything else about it, but make me cum more and make me beg for mercy like you just did.”

“Good girl.”

“I see not much has changed.”

“But I see something on you has.” He replied as he began to play with your nipple piercings before leaning down and sucking on them.

“I figured that you would like that.”

“But I know that I’m going to love being inside you more. You ready for me?” He asked as he slipped another finger back into you. He took it back out and eagerly began sucking on it as he peered down at you.

Nodding your head, Joe slipped off his sweatpants along with his boxers and lined himself with your entrance.

“I know that you don’t have a lot of neighbors, but we still need to be quiet. Think you can do that for me, baby girl?”

“Yes.”

“You promise not to make a sound?” Joe asked you as he inserted himself in you at the same time making you gasp.

“Hmm, that wasn’t quiet. Don’t let it happen again.” He whispered in your ear as he began pounding into you.

Your arms had now wrapped around his neck as his head was resting on your shoulder. It was taking everything in you not to make a sound and you knew that as hard as you were biting down on your lip that blood had probably trickled out of it. 

A small moan slipped out and Joe immediately stopped his movements and picked his head up to look at you.

“I thought I said not a sound, baby girl? And you were doing so well.” He told you as he pulled all the way out before slamming his hips all the way back in making you gasp.

Joe reached down to sloppily kiss you as he continued to move in and out of you with you trying not to make a sound. Your hands went back around his neck as he movements became sloppier indicating that he was close.

“Joey…. I’m close.”

“Hold it until I tell you to.”

“But…” You quickly protested, but all Joe did was shake his head, indicating that he didn’t want to hear it and that you had better listen to him.

It was taking everything in you to not let go right then and there as he was still going, but when you finally heard his voice, you wasted no time.

“Now you can.” He whispered against your lips as both of you came at the same time. Joe made sure not to finish inside you and his cum was covering the lower half of your stomach before you sat up and caught him off guard with you taking him in your mouth.

“Oh shit, babe.”

He made sure to move your hair out of the way as you continued to pleasure him as you also kept eye contact with him the entire time. The use of your hands also helped when your jaw was quickly becoming tired.

It didn’t take long for you to taste his cum at the back of your throat once he released in your mouth and milked him until the very last drop. Once you were finished, you laid back down on the blanket as Joe laid down next to you before pulling you on top of him and kissing your forehead. 

“I’ll give you ten minutes and I think we need to go inside for the second round because I know for a fact that I’m going to have you screaming.” Joe told you as he smirked and leaned over to kiss you.

It was now Sunday and as promised, it was the day that Julian was going to meet his grandparents. You were nervous to say the least, but at this point in time, it is what it is. You and Joe both compromised and you were going to uphold your end of the deal.

Julian actually didn't know that he would be meeting them. All he knew was that he was going to get a chance to sit up in his dad's suite and watch the game.

You and Julian would be wearing matching jerseys, along with jeans and your pandas to top it off.

As you were laying out your clothes to wear later, you got a facetime call from Joe and quickly answered.

“Good morning, Joey.”

“Good morning, my love. You ready for later?” Joe asked as you could see him moving around in his bedroom.

“I should be the one asking you that.” You replied as you sat down on your bed next to your outfit.

“I'm good. About to leave the house in a few. Excited to see you as always. And my baby boy of course.”

“And your baby boy is excited to see you play as always. Wouldn’t stop talking about it from the time that I told him.” 

“Where is he? I want to talk to him before I leave.”

“Hold on. Julian! Come here for a second.”

“Coming mom!”

Once he came into your room, he was all smiles as he hugged you before sitting next to you on your bed.

“Someone wants to talk to you.”

“Is it dad!?” He excitedly asked as you handed him your phone.

“See for yourself.”

Once Julian saw his father on the screen staring back at him, his smile got even wider if that was possible.

“Dad!”

“Hey King Julian, I'm excited to see you later.”

“Me too! Me and mom are wearing the white jerseys with our pandas so we can match you!”

“Definitely take a picture once you two get dressed and send it to me. And Julian?”

“Yes?”

“You have to promise me to be on your best behavior today. I know you usually are, but I just needed to remind you. I have some special people coming to the game to meet you.” Joe told him and Julian nodded in agreement.

“I will, I promise.”

“And what's my one other rule?”

“Besides being on my best behavior? Listening and protecting mom.”

“Perfect. I'll see you later, little man.”

“Oh! Can we get ice cream after the game?”

“Yes, as long as mom approves.” Joe answered and Julian immediately turned to you and gave you puppy dog eyes.

“I… how can I say no to a face like that? Of course we can.”

“I want rocky road or no…. Maybe bubble gum…”

“Well there's no rush, you have a few more hours to decide.” Joe replied as you noticed that he was now outside walking to his car.

“Okay Julian, let dad go to work and you need to go downstairs and finish your breakfast.”

“But mom, I want a chili cheese dog.”

“I… Not for breakfast you aren't! I will get you one later, promise.”

“But…”

“Julian, what did your mother say?” Joe asked him as he was now driving.

“To wait until later.”

“So we need to be patient, right?”

“Yes. I'll go finish my food.” Julian said with a slight attitude which Joe quickly caught onto and shut down.

“Lose the attitude this instant or we aren't getting ice cream. Didn't we just have an entire discussion about you listening to your mom?”

He let out a deep sigh before nodding his head in agreement.

“Go ahead and do what she told you to do.”

“Okay.”

Julian handed you back your phone before heading back downstairs and you were once again left with Joe.

“He gets his attitude from you.” You said without hesitation and Joe immediately snorted.

“That is one thing that I can actually agree with. Even though your attitude is just as bad.”

“I… it is not!”

“I will never tell you a lie, babe.”

“I'm ignoring you. But good luck today and as always either way it goes, I'm still proud of you.” You told him and he gave you a small smile in return.

“So if I win, victory kisses and if we lose sympathy kisses?”

Once you had arrived at the stadium with Julian and had gotten settled in Joe's suite, the two of you were there by yourselves for about twenty minutes before his parents made their presence known.

“Hi, Y/N.” Joe's dad was the first to speak and you gave him a small smile. Robin was next to him, but you couldn’t quite read her facial expression.

“Hi, Julian, these are the special and important people that your dad wanted you to meet.” You told him and he turned around in his seat to smile at the both of them.

“This is your grandma and grandpa. Your dad's parents.”

“Wait, dad has parents?”

“Everyone has parents, silly!” You explained to him as both Jim and Robin made themselves comfortable.

Robin finally spoke and pulled you to the side to be able to talk to you.

“Y/N, can we talk?” She asked and you looked to see that Jim was explaining something that was happening in the game to Julian and nodded your head.

“Sure.”

Once the two of you were outside the suite in the hallway, she took a deep breath before saying anything.

“I… first off thank you for agreeing for us to meet and get to know Julian. Because Joe’s original answer was no and I can imagine that yours was the same thing.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I want us to be able to put all of this behind us and move forward. Looking back on what I did, it wasn’t right in the slightest despite me wanting to protect my son. You have always been there for him and I knew that you cared about him. I knew once he knew that you were back in Ohio that it would be the same thing. I don’t think telling you sorry is enough and it will probably never be enough. Joe didn’t even talk to us for like a month and a half when he confronted us about it. Even after all this time, when Joe talks about you he lights up. And he does it even more now that he knows about Julian. I hope that you can forgive us for what we did. I know that it won’t happen overnight and that it will take time, but there is no rush. We want to be a part of Julian’s life and a part of yours.”

Clearly taken aback from what Robin had just confessed to you, all you could do at the moment was nod your head.

“Thank you for telling me that. I always thought you hated me when we were in high school so that was your entire reasoning behind doing what you did. But Joe swears up and down that you don’t.”

“No, I didn’t hate you and I still don’t. All I wanted to do was protect his future and was willing to go to extreme measures to do so. I know we hurt the both of you tremendously. I still think about the night Joe came to me in tears because you had broken up with him because we had told you to.”

“I still remember the look on his face, but he told me that he doesn’t hold it against me and knew for a fact that something wasn’t right about the whole thing. One day we were planning our future with each other and the next, I was breaking up with him.”

“That was definitely a dark time for him and that didn’t help when it spilled over to him going to Ohio State as a backup quarterback.”

“I can imagine.”

“But I just wanted to pull you to the side to talk to you. Now let’s go back in and enjoy the game.” She told you as she leaned in to hug you which you quickly returned.

Once you took your rightful spot next to Julian, he turned to you and asked a question.

“Where are your parents, mom?”

“Not really all that important right now, babe.” You replied and you were actually dreading the day that he found out the entire truth as to why he only had you in his life for so long and no one else.

As the game was quickly underway, the Bengals won the toss, but deferred it to get the ball at the start of the second half. Jim and Robin were both making conversation with Julian and you had to smile at how excited he was to meet them despite your protests. But what you weren't expecting was your actual parents to walk through the door.

“Hi everyone!” 

Hearing her voice was like nails on a chalkboard and your flight or fight instincts immediately kicked in. You turned around to see both of your parents staring back at you and wasted no time questioning them.

“Why the hell are either of you here?”

“Now, Y/N is that any way to talk to your parents?” The person who calls himself your father asked.

“You aren’t even my real father, so you can pipe the fuck down.”

“OKAY! WHOA! Y/N, we just reached out to them to see if they wanted to come and watch the game with us since we knew that you were bringing Julian with you.” Jim stepped in to say as he put a hand on your shoulder. Meanwhile, Julian was looking at you confused.

“No. They need to leave immediately.”

“Y/N, why are you so upset? We just wanted to meet our grandson too.” Your mother softly said, making you instantly roll your eyes.

“Neither of you have talked to me since I was seventeen when I first got pregnant with him so what in the world makes you think that you have a right to just show up out of nowhere and talk to him? I don’t even want to have anything to do with either of you and I know for a FACT, my son is not going to be around you either.”

“That was a difficult time for all of us.”

“Difficult for who? You made me break up with my boyfriend at the damn near end of my senior year when I had a MONTH LEFT and move all the way across the country to live with my grandmother. Neither of you came to my graduation or checked up on me to see how I was doing and every time you called to talk to her, she would ask if you wanted to talk to me and the answer was always no. I was literally in the hospital in labor BY MYSELF because grandma was out of town on a business trip. A FUCKING NURSE HELD MY HAND INSTEAD OF IT BEING MY BOYFRIEND OR MY MOTHER. DON’T YOU DARE TALK TO ME ABOUT IT BEING A DIFFICULT TIME FOR YOU.”

“Okay, Y/N, baby girl I get that you’re upset…”

“No, you don’t know ANYTHING and you need to….. Where’s Julian?” You asked no one in particular and everyone looked around the room dumbfounded and confused just as you were.

“He was just sitting right there. I… maybe the bathroom?”

“He never leaves without telling me because he knows better. SHIT.”

Meanwhile, Julian was wandering the hallways of the stadium by himself when all of a sudden he was spotted by Mama Tee who he met when he also met Ja’Marr and Tee after one of the Bengals home games. She spotted him too and immediately went up to him and was looking around for you.

“Julian? What are you doing out here by yourself? Where’s your mom? You look upset?”

“We were in the suite and I met my dad’s parents, but my mom’s parents also came and she got really upset. They started arguing and I wanted to leave. I really want my dad right now.” He told her as tears threatened to fall from his eyes. 

“I… okay. Well you can’t go to him right this second since he’s playing in the game, but I need to get you back to your mom because she is probably losing her mind. Julian, baby, you can’t walk away and not tell anyone.” She told him as she grabbed his hand and was leading him back towards the suite. 

“Dad told me to always protect my mom, but I also know not to interrupt adults when they’re talking so I just left. I don’t want them here and I’ve never seen her like that. I don’t want to be around anyone who has hurt my mom.”

“Okay, how about this? Let’s dial her number so I can tell her that you’re okay and we can go from there.”

Julian nodded his head as she handed him her phone and quickly dialed your number. You answered on the first ring and he could tell that you were upset, not only about your parents, but about him also walking away from you.

“Hello?!”

“Mom!”

“JULIAN OLIVER! Where are you?! You need to get back here NOW.”

“I’m with Mama Tee. She’s walking me back right now.”

“Once you get back here, you are not leaving my sight until you turn eighteen, you understand?” You told him and he nodded although you couldn’t see him.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Julian quickly handed Mama Tee her phone back and she could hear your quiet sobs.

“It’s okay, Y/N, he’s fine. Not a scratch on him. He just got upset because you were upset and he wanted to leave. Of course he told me that he wanted his dad, but I told him that he has to be patient and wait until after the game.”

“I never want to argue or deal with confrontation in front of him but all I saw was red when my parents showed up.”

“He also told me that because they made you upset that he doesn’t want to be around them and that they need to leave.”

“Well lucky for him, his wish has been granted because they literally just left. They offered to help look for him, but I said absolutely not.”

“Well, we’re outside the suite now, you can come and get him.” She told you as you quickly hung up the phone before practically running towards the door and opening it to see Julian looking at you with Mama Tee standing behind him.

Julian quickly hugged you and you were squeezing him for dear life.

“Listen to me, do not EVER do that again.” You told him as you grabbed his face for him to look up at you and he nodded.

“I don’t like seeing you upset or seeing you cry. They made you cry.”

“I… well they won’t be a problem anymore, okay? Promise.” You explained as you wiped a few tears that had fallen on Julian’s cheeks and kissed his forehead. 

“Okay.”

“Now, get back in there and watch the game with your grandparents. They were worried about you too.”

As Julian went inside the suite to sit back down, you turned back to Mama Tee and smiled. 

“I can’t thank you enough for spotting him and bringing him back.”

“Of course, I know he’s a good kid, and his main concern was protecting you but he also told me he knows not to interrupt when adults are talking. He got upset, so he left.”

“Yeah, that sounds like my baby. I swear that I couldn’t have asked for a better first born.”

“You and Joe definitely have one amazing kid.”

It was now close to eleven at night and Joe had tucked Julian in before coming into your bedroom and falling face first onto your bed with you laughing at him.

“Is someone tired?”

“Definitely, but not tired enough not to spend any time with you.” He replied as he moved to lay his head on your chest as you wrapped your arms around him. 

“How did your talk with your baby boy go?” You asked because you immediately wasted no time in telling what had happened during the game when you saw him in the tunnel before his presser.

“He knows now that if he becomes upset, he has to tell one of us before simply walking away. He was upset and I get it, because I definitely told him to look out for you which he was doing. It shouldn’t be a problem again. But, my parents were okay?”

“Yes and they apologized about everything and also apologized about my parents because they didn’t even know the full story. They actually gave me hugs and your theory was confirmed.”

“What theory? And I’m sorry that they basically ambushed you. But you know that you have me and Julian to protect you.”

“Your mom told me straight up that she never hated me and yes my two favorite boys.”

“I told you and you didn’t want to believe me.”

“And she wants to not only be a part of Julian’s life but mine too but she knows that this all isn’t going to happen overnight.” You explained to Joe as he began to play with your necklace.

“I’m going to get you a new one.”

“What’s wrong with this one?!”

“Nothing’s wrong with it, I just figured I could add a few diamonds to it to give it a little upgrade.”

“Fine, not going to argue about that, but I want it in rose gold.”

“Anything you ask for, if I have the ability to get, consider it yours.”

-

One year later

“Julian, you want to hold her?” Joe asked as he was cuddling your newborn baby girl, Juliet against his chest and he eagerly nodded.

“Go sit down over there and I’ll hand her to you.”

As he sat down in the corner of your hospital room, he was all smiles as he looked at his dad in front of him as he anticipated holding his baby sister for the first time. From the moment you told Julian that he was going to be a big brother, he stepped into his role and took it very seriously.

“You ready? You have to make sure you support her head.”

“Okay, I’m ready.”

Joe gently placed her in Julian’s arms and he was in absolute awe.

“She’s so little. Hi Juliet, I’m your big brother, Julian and I love you so much already.” He told her as she cooed and looked up at him with her brown eyes.

Joe recorded the entire interaction on his phone and when he was finished, placed a kiss on top of your head.

“We really did it.” He whispered in your ear as you looked at him confused.

“Did what, babe?”

“We finally got our happy ending. We’re together, married, and have our Julian and Juliet.”

“And it only took maybe ten years.”

“Doesn’t even matter how long it took, we made it happen. Still can’t believe that everyone in the house has the exact same birthday. Now what are the odds?”

“I know like that is literally insane. Now we have four birthdays to celebrate on December 10th.”

“Now, does my wife want sushi since I know these nine months have driven you up the wall with not being able to have any.:

“Yes, please, oh my gosh. I couldn’t get her out of me fast enough. I forgot how much I actually loved it until I couldn’t have any.” You told him and he laughed as he shook his head at you.

“Mom!”

“Yes, Julian?”

“Can I request a little brother, next?” He asked and your eyes went wide as you looked at Joe.

“Um, let’s just try to focus on being a good big brother to Juliet first and then we can see.” He told him as he adjusted the flower headband that was on Juliet, a gift from her grandparents.

“JOSEPH!”

“I… what?! You know it’s hard for me to tell him no!”

“If that’s the case, I’m going to need a lot more than sushi.”

“That’s fine, how about a Birkin?”

Liked by lahjay_10, cincinattibengals, sabrinaaa, teehiggins and 2,472,097 others

joeyb_9: Finally got our happy ending. Welcome to the world, Juliet Maeve Burrow. Julian is so excited to be your big brother ❤️

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[orangeblossomsintheair]

WRITTEN IN THE SAND | CS55

summary : He was too old for this. For you. For the way you looked at him like he wasn’t already years past the reckless abandon that seemed to define everyone else in this house. He shouldn’t have noticed the way your laughter sounded like sunlight, or how your smile seemed to tug at something deep in his chest.

wc : 8.5k

an : im a slow writer chat mb 😞 also nearly a month on this site!! tysm

“What’s the game plan for the summer?” Kika didn’t even glance up from her phone, one hand lazily stirring her drink with that tiny straw she always insisted on.

You were sprawled on a cushioned lounge chair in a swanky Monaco terrace bar, the Mediterranean sun heating your skin, but the breeze kept things just shy of unbearable.

You took a sip of your drink and smirked. “Seduce Carlos Sainz.”

Kika’s straw froze mid-stir. She blinked twice at her screen before slowly looking up, sunglasses sliding down her nose. “Sorry, could you run that by me again? Because I swear you just said you’re going to seduce Carlos Sainz, which is clearly a champagne-induced delusion.”

“Nope, you heard me loud and clear.” You leaned back, full of confidence. “Carlos Sainz. Mine. By the end of summer break.”

Kika blinked at you, deadpan. “Sweetheart, no offense, but you’ve been thirsting after this man since you were, what, 16? That’s six years of unrequited daydreaming.”

You squirmed slightly but held your ground. “Doesn’t matter."

"If he hasn’t noticed you by now, what’s your plan? Set yourself on fire in front of him?”

“Only as a last resort,” you said, deadpan.

She threw her head back, laughing so hard she nearly spilled her drink. “Oh my God, you’re serious. This isn’t a joke.”

“Dead serious.” You popped the cherry from your cocktail into your mouth like it was the period at the end of your sentence. “I’m done playing it safe. This summer is about action.”

Kika raised an eyebrow. “Action? You tripped over your own feet last week trying to order coffee. What are you going to do, hit him with your car and hope he falls for you during physical therapy?”

“Of course not.” You stood abruptly, tossing your straw onto the table with a dramatic flourish. “That’s plan B. Now come on.”

“Come where?” She squinted up at you, clearly unimpressed.

“To get the tools I need.” You grabbed her hand, yanking her out of her seat.

Ten minutes later, you dragged her into a boutique that was a Monet painting of excess. Silk curtains, chandeliers dripping with crystals, and the scent of overpriced jasmine perfume floating through the air.

A sales assistant appeared out of nowhere, all smiles and perfectly coiffed hair. “Bonjour, mademoiselle,” she greeted, eyeing your Chanel tote approvingly.

“Bonjour,” you said, breezing past her.

“Why are we here?” Kika asked, dodging a rack of bikinis that looked like they’d been designed with dental floss.

“Seducing my brother's teammate? Keep up, Kika,” you groaned, holding up a red bikini that looked like it belonged in a Bond movie. “Men are simple creatures. You can’t argue with science.”

“That’s not science, that’s objectification with a catchy slogan,” she deadpanned, plucking a neon green bikini off a nearby rack. “But sure, blind him with this and see how that works.”

You recoiled, snatching it from her and tossing it back like it burned. “Please. Focus. I need chic, sexy, and unforgettable. I need to haunt his dreams.”

“What you need,” she muttered, ducking under a display. “is a therapist.”

“And yet, here you are, enabling me.” You held up another bikini, black and sleek, with delicate gold accents. “This says, ‘I’m hot and I don’t care if you notice,’ right?”

Kika folded her arms, leaning against the counter. “It says, ‘I’m hot and definitely care if you notice but will pretend I don’t.’”

“Exactly!” you said, thrusting the bikini at her. “This is step one material.”

Kika frowned. “Step one material?”

“Yes. Step one: look absolutely irresistible,” you replied. “Carlos has seen me as Charles’s little sister for years. This summer, he’s going to see me as a woman. A very hot woman.”

“And you think this is going to do the trick? He’s a man, not a magpie.”

“Every detail matters. If I look stunning, he’ll notice me. If he notices me, he’ll talk to me. If he talks to me…”

“You’ll forget how to form a sentence?” Kika offered, smirking.

“...I’ll be charming and mysterious,” you continued, ignoring her. “Carlos loves a challenge. And I? I’ll be the challenge of the summer.”

She snorted. “You’re the challenge of my summer, that’s for sure.”

You flashed her a grin, unfazed. “Collateral damage.”

Kika raised an eyebrow, surveying your choices with a mixture of disbelief and mild concern. “You do know Charles is going to kill you, right? Or worse, he’ll tell your mother.”

“Charles doesn’t need to know,” you said confidently, grabbing a cover-up that was so sheer it might as well have been a polite suggestion of fabric and tossing it onto the pile.

“He’s going to know the second you start giggling like a schoolgirl,” Kika shot back.

You paused, giving her your most serious look. “I do not giggle. I smolder.”

Kika raised an eyebrow. “You giggle. You giggle like someone told you tacos are calorie-free.”

Before you could respond, the sales assistant, who had been lurking in the background with a grin wide enough to rival the Mona Lisa’s, swooped in. “Vous avez fait un excellent choix, mademoiselle,” she said, beaming. “Très… sexy.” You made an excellent choice, miss

You flashed a smile back. “Merci, ma chère,” you said, tossing her an air kiss. “I do try.”

Kika groaned audibly. “What is that? French for, ‘Please don’t let my stupidity kill me’?”

“Not quite,” you replied breezily, adding a sheer cover-up to the pile. “But close enough.”

The assistant’s smile widened to terrifying proportions. “Peut-être vous voulez essayer ces sandales aussi?” She gestured to a pair of sky-high gold heels that looked more weapon than footwear. Maybe you want to try these sandals too?

You tilted your head, admiring the craftsmanship. “Oh, I absolutely do.”

Kika slapped a hand over her face. “I can feel my soul leaving my body.”

“Catch it,” you said, handing over your credit card. “We have work to do.”

The assistant handed you your shopping bags with reverence, her eyes glittering with admiration. “Vous êtes une inspiration, mademoiselle. Vraiment.” You are an inspiration, miss. Really.

“Merci beaucoup,” you said, winking at her. You turned to Kika, your heels clicking on the marble floor as you strutted toward the exit. “

Kika followed you out into the sun-drenched street, muttering under her breath. “Mark my words, Carlos Sainz is going to look at you and-”

“-see the one thing he can’t have,” you finished for her, sliding on your sunglasses.

“The one thing he can’t have is peace.”

You scoffed. “You’ll swallow your words when you’re sitting front row at my wedding.”

“To Carlos or Charles’s ghost?”

“Whoever makes it there first.”

—-

The next step was getting Charles to invite Carlos over the summer, which, thankfully, proved embarrassingly easy.

"Sœurette," Charles sang as he sauntered into the living room, lifting your feet off the couch with all the grace of a forklift before plopping down dramatically. Your legs ended up sprawled across his lap. "Comfortable, are we?"

“Move,” you said, giving his stomach a solid nudge with your heel.

“Ow- merde!” He rubbed his abs like you had mortally wounded him, throwing in some exaggerated groans for good measure. “You’re cruel. No respect for your poor frère.”

“What do you want?” you mumbled, not looking up from your phone.

“Wanna go to Ibiza with me?”

You finally glanced at him, raising a skeptical brow. Sure, you wanted to, but seducing Carlos was still an active operation, and time was of the essence. “Pass.”

“Wait, wait,” Charles interrupted, holding up a finger like he was about to offer you the cure for boredom. “I’m inviting some of the guys. Pierre, Carlos-”

He hadn’t even finished the sentence before you were already mentally booking your plane ticket.

“-and Lando,” he continued, oblivious to the fact you had stopped listening at “Carlos.”

You forced yourself to stay cool. No big deal. Act normal. Charles couldn’t know

“Hmm. Okay.”

His brows knitted. “That’s it? Okay? No arguing? No ‘what’s the catch’? You’re just saying yes?”

“Don’t make it weird, Charles.” You shrugged, scrolling on your phone like you were barely paying attention. “Now get off me, you oversized cat.”

“Excusez-moi, I’m the one providing the luxury vacation, and you’re kicking me?”

“I’ll kick harder if you don’t move.”

—-

Carlos almost didn’t recognize the woman chatting with Lando by the poolside when he arrived at the villa Charles had rented for their summer getaway.

He lingered by the sliding glass door, his suitcase forgotten at his side. The sun cast shimmering patterns on the pool’s surface, reflecting onto your skin in flashes that made him question whether he was still half-asleep from the flight.

You were gorgeous. Too gorgeous. Scandalously gorgeous. And suddenly, Carlos felt a flicker of betrayal. How could Charles not have warned him about your presence here?

A wave of jet lagged self-awareness hit him—rumpled T-shirt, unkempt hair, and dark circles under his eyes.

Definitely not the first impression he wanted to make, especially not in front of you.

You wore a deep red one-piece swimsuit with an open back, the kind of effortlessly elegant choice that made him wonder if you knew exactly how much attention you commanded.

Sunglasses perched delicately on your nose, you stood at ease, laughing lightly at something Lando said.

“Carlos!” His friend called out, waving lazily when he spotted him. “You made it!”

Your voice was bright and warm, carrying over the quiet splashes of water.

Lando, predictably, was soaking up your attention with his signature grin, and Carlos already felt the prickling need to intervene.

You turned at the sound, shifting your weight onto one leg. Though the sunglasses obscured your eyes, the faintly mischievous smile tugging at your lips was enough to throw Carlos off balance.

Dios mío.

Carlos straightened, brushing a hand through his hair in a futile attempt to look less like he’d been dragged off a plane.

He inhaled deeply, summoning whatever charm the flight hadn’t stripped away, and stepped forward, dragging his carry-on behind him.

Your smile widened, but you said nothing, tilting your head as if appraising him.

“Hey,” he greeted, nodding at Lando first before letting his gaze linger on you.

“I don’t think we’ve met.” His voice dipped slightly, sliding into that smooth, natural lilt he knew could win people over when needed.

“Right,” Lando cut in, either oblivious or deliberately sabotaging him. “This is-”

“Let him figure it out,” you interrupted, holding up a finger with a playful air.

Carlos blinked, momentarily thrown off, but a sly grin found its way onto his face as he leaned on the handle of his suitcase. “Is that how it is?”

“That’s how it is,” you replied smoothly, folding your arms.

Lando chuckled, glancing between the two of you as if he’d stumbled upon the first act of a drama he couldn’t wait to watch unfold. “Good luck, mate,” he said, clapping Carlos on the shoulder before wandering back toward the pool.

Carlos watched him go, then returned his attention to you. “Okay, give me a hint. Something to work with, no?”

You shrugged, adjusting your sunglasses. “You’ve got a whole week to figure it out. Make it count.”

Before he could counter, a loud, familiar voice broke through.

“Carlos!”

Carlos turned, spotting Charles striding toward him with an easy grin. His friend pulled him into a quick hug, slapping his back affectionately.

Then Charles’ gaze shifted to you. He gestured casually. “You remember my sister, right? She hasn’t been at the paddock much, but you’ve met her before.”

He turned back to you, eyes scanning for something familiar, something to anchor the dissonance in his mind. There it was: the teasing smirk, the air of quiet confidence. You were now barely suppressing laughter.

Carlos froze mid-handshake, his thoughts scrambling to process the bombshell.

Sister?

Oh, no.

Oh, god.

He just flirted with Charles’ sister.

“You’re-” he stammered, pointing at you like the gesture might piece things together faster.

“Oh,” you said lightly, dragging out the word with unmistakable glee. “I think he remembers now.”

Charles glanced between you two, clueless. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” you replied too quickly, your smirk sharpening. “Carlos was just… introducing himself.”

Carlos rubbed the back of his neck, heat crawling up his face. “Right,” he muttered. “Nice to see you again.”

Your sunglasses slid down your nose just enough to reveal your eyes. Bright, amused, and entirely too focused on him. “I don’t know,” you said, voice like silk. “I feel like I’m meeting you for the first time, don’t you think?”

Lando’s loud laugh from the poolside made Carlos glance his way in exasperation.

But his real problem was standing directly in front of him.

Because now that he knew who you were, he also knew your age.

Twenty-one. And him? God, he was thirty. Nine years. Practically a decade.

He swallowed hard, his throat dry.

This wasn’t just an awkward misunderstanding; it was a moral minefield. He shouldn’t even be looking at you this way, not with the easy pull of your smirk still tattooed on his thoughts.

Carlos latched onto the excuse like a lifeline. “Yeah,” he said quickly. “Be right back.”

Charles, blissfully unaware, gave Carlos an out.

“Anyway,” he said, gesturing toward the house. “Go put your bags inside. Lando already claimed the biggest room, so you’re stuck with whatever’s left.”

Dragging his suitcase toward the villa, he could feel your gaze following him. Against his better judgment, he glanced back.

Carlos shook his head, muttering under his breath as he disappeared inside. He needed a cold drink, a cold shower. Anything to reset his brain.

You were still there, reclining on a lounge chair, the picture of confidence. A cocktail glass dangled from your fingers, the cherry swirling lazily in the liquid.

When your eyes caught his again, your smirk deepened, as if you knew exactly what chaos you’d caused.

This week was supposed to be about relaxing.

Instead, it was shaping up to be a survival test around you.

—-

Carlos had made his decision.

For the sake of his own sanity, and for the sake of his friendship with Charles, he was going to ignore you.

It was the only logical choice.

Because if he didn’t? If he let himself get caught up in whatever quiet game you seemed to be playing, he knew it wouldn’t end well.

You were too young, too vibrant, too untouchable. Like sunshine in a bottle.

He was too old for this. For you. For the way you looked at him like he wasn’t already years past the reckless abandon that seemed to define everyone else in this house.

He shouldn’t have noticed the way your laughter sounded like sunlight, or how your smile seemed to tug at something deep in his chest.

He’d lock it all down.

So that was it. He’d be polite, civil even.

But anything more than that? Off the table. No lingering glances. No indulging in the spark of mischief behind your eyes. No letting his thoughts drift to places they shouldn’t when you smiled his way.

It was a good plan.

Unfortunately, plans didn’t account for things like the spontaneous game of cards that had started on the patio that night. Or the dangerous way the stakes had escalated as the hours passed.

“What about strip poker?” Pierre had suggested with a mischievous grin, his words slurred just enough to suggest he’d had one drink too many.

Everyone had laughed, the idea absurd enough to feel harmless.

But somehow, after a lot of ribbing from Lando and an alarming lack of objections from anyone else, the game had actually started.

But tonight? Tonight, his carefully honed poker face was utterly useless.

Carlos had always considered himself good at poker.

Calm, calculating, unreadable. Qualities that served him well on the track and at the card table.

You were to blame.

Sitting across from him at the patio table, with your head tilted and a soft, amused smile tugging at your lips, you were impossible to ignore.

The warm glow of the overhead lights softened your features, and the lazy way you shuffled your dwindling pile of chips made it clear you weren’t taking the game half as seriously as he was.

You didn’t have anything.

Across from him, you hesitated, your lips pressing together as you studied your hand.

The chips in front of you were dangerously low, and Carlos could see the flicker of indecision in your eyes.

You sighed, reaching for your chips, but Carlos cut you off. “Raise,” he said, pushing more into the pot.

Your gaze snapped to his, your brows furrowing. “You’re raising now?”

“Got to keep it interesting,” he said lightly, masking the tightness in his chest.

You tilted your head, clearly suspicious, but you matched his bet anyway, your hand trembling slightly as you tossed the last of your chips in.

The others at the table were too busy bickering to notice the undercurrent between the two of you.

Lando, already down to his boxers, was arguing with Charles over the merits of bluffing, while Pierre leaned back in his chair, looking far too pleased with himself for someone whose pants were in the discard pile.

Carlos barely noticed them.

When the cards were revealed, his pair of eights was enough to beat your pitiful hand. A mismatched collection of low cards that hadn’t even come close to forming a straight.

“Guess that’s it for me,” you said, your tone light but resigned. You reached for the hem of your sweater, clearly ready to pull it off and join the ranks of the semi-dressed.

Carlos acted before he could think.

“Wait,” he said sharply, drawing everyone’s attention. “I fold.”

Pierre frowned. “You can’t fold. The round’s over.”

“Then I forfeit,” Carlos said, tugging his shirt over his head in one swift motion. The cool night air prickled against his skin, but he ignored it, tossing the shirt onto the growing pile in the center of the table.

You stared at him, wide-eyed. “You didn’t have to do that,” you murmured.

Carlos shrugged, forcing himself to meet your gaze. “I’m just keeping things fair.”

Charles raised an eyebrow but said nothing, and the game moved on.

It kept happening.

Every time you were on the verge of losing, Carlos found a way to sacrifice himself instead. He’d bluff too hard, bet too high, or simply fold when he was holding a decent hand. It was reckless and obvious, at least to you, but no one else seemed to notice.

By the time Carlos was down to just his jeans, he realized he was playing a very dangerous game.

“Bold move, mate,” Lando said, grinning as Carlos slid his last few chips into the pot.

“Desperate,” Pierre corrected, his tone smug.

Carlos ignored them, his gaze flicking to you. Your stack of chips had grown considerably, thanks to his strategic losses, but you weren’t gloating. If anything, you looked concerned, your brow furrowing slightly as you studied him.

“Carlos,” you said softly, barely above a whisper.

He shook his head. “I’m fine.”

You hesitated, then glanced down at your cards. The silence stretched as you debated your next move, and Carlos could see the exact moment you decided to fold.

Not this time.

“I raise,” he said, pushing his remaining chips into the pot.

Your eyes widened. “Carlos-”

“Call it,” he said firmly, his voice low.

The others were too busy watching the pile in the center of the table to notice the exchange between you two.

You sighed, finally revealing your hand. It was better than his, but not by much. He grinned as he tossed his own cards down, leaning back in his chair with a shrug.

“Guess that’s it for me.”

Charles groaned, muttering something under his breath about bad decisions, but Carlos didn’t hear him. His focus was on you, on the way your lips parted slightly in surprise, on the way your gaze lingered as he stood and pulled his jeans off, leaving him in nothing but his boxers.

“Next round?” Pierre asked, shuffling the deck.

Carlos shook his head, grabbing his shirt and tossing it at Pierre’s face. “I’m out.”

He glanced at you one last time before walking inside, his pulse racing.

—

When Carlos woke up the next morning, the first thing he noticed was the sunlight streaming through the thin curtains, warm and golden against the soft white of the sheets. The second thing he noticed was the blissful lack of a hangover, despite the absurd amount of wine Pierre had insisted on pouring last night. Small mercies, he supposed.

The faint sound of clinking dishes drew his attention. Throwing on a shirt, Carlos padded out of his room and into the kitchen, where he found Charles leaning against the counter, one hand wrapped around a steaming mug of coffee, the other scrolling through his phone.

His hair was a mess of sleep-tousled curls, and his voice still carried the rough edges of morning as he glanced up.

“Morning,” Charles said, holding up his mug in greeting. After a beat, he added, “Thanks, by the way… for last night.”

Carlos froze mid-step, frowning as he tried to piece together what Charles meant. “Thanks for what?”

Charles finally looked up, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “You know,” he said, gesturing vaguely with his coffee mug. “For saving my sister a few dozen times.”

Carlos’ stomach dropped. “What?”

“You know,” Charles repeated, tilting his head slightly as if it were obvious. “During poker.”

“Oh.” Carlos shifted awkwardly, his fingers tightening on the toothbrush he was holding. He forced a casual shrug. “It’s fine. I’m just bad at poker.”

Charles snorted, setting his mug down on the counter. “Don’t give me that. I’ve seen you win against professionals before. People who actually know what they’re doing.”

Carlos busied himself with turning on the tap, wetting his toothbrush like it was the most fascinating task in the world. “I guess it just wasn’t my night,” he said lightly, though the way his pulse quickened betrayed him.

“Hmm,” Charles hummed, leaning back against the counter as he studied him. His expression was unreadable, but the weight of his gaze made Carlos’ neck prickle.

“You’re imagining things,” Carlos said, his voice a little too quick, a little too defensive.

“Am I?”

“Yes.”

Charles chuckled softly, shaking his head. “You’re not very subtle, you know. Every time she was about to lose, you suddenly went all in on terrible hands. It was painful to watch.”

Carlos groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “It wasn’t like that,” he muttered, though even to his own ears, it sounded unconvincing.

“Sure it wasn’t,” Charles said, his tone dry. He took another sip of his coffee, his eyes narrowing slightly over the rim of the mug. “You know, you’re lucky I trust you.”

Carlos froze again, the words hanging heavy in the air.

“Trust me?” he echoed carefully.

“Yes,” Charles said simply, setting his mug down and crossing his arms. “Because if it were anyone else, I’d be having a very different conversation right now.”

Carlos blinked, unsure how to respond. He could feel the heat creeping up the back of his neck, and for a moment, he considered denying it outright. But Charles wasn’t stupid. And Carlos wasn’t a good enough liar to get away with it.

So instead, he sighed, setting his toothbrush down and leaning against the counter opposite Charles.

“Look,” he began, keeping his voice low. “I’m not trying to... I mean, it’s not like that.”

Charles raised an eyebrow.

Carlos rubbed the back of his neck. “Okay, maybe it’s a little like that,” he admitted reluctantly. “But I wasn’t. Nothing’s happening, alright? I wouldn’t do that to you.”

Charles studied him for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, to Carlos’ surprise, his lips quirked into a small, knowing smile.

“I know,” he said simply.

Carlos blinked. “You... know?”

“Yes,” Charles said, his tone light but firm. “That’s why I’m not threatening to kill you right now.”

Carlos let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “Thanks for that,” he said dryly.

“Don’t thank me yet,” Charles warned, his smile fading. “I trust you, Carlos, but I also trust her. And if you do anything to make her upset, I will kill you.”

Carlos nodded quickly, swallowing hard. “Understood.”

Charles nodded once, apparently satisfied, before grabbing his mug and heading for the door.

—

“Hey, sœur- what the fuck is that?” Charles called out from where he lounged on the sofa, still half asleep. His eyes were fixed on your bikini. “Is that... dental floss?”

You rolled your eyes dramatically, adjusting one of the straps. “Non, idiot. It’s a bikini. Fashion. I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

He scoffed, leaning back, crossing his arms. “Fashion? Ça? Ça, c’est un crime. Who sold you that? A two-for-one deal with a pack of gum?”

“Ha ha. Très drôle,” you said dryly, walking past him toward the beach. “I didn’t ask for your opinion, monsieur modesty police.”

Charles held up his hands in mock surrender, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Okay, okay. But when the waves steal that little string you call swimwear, don’t say I didn’t warn you. Bonne chance.”

“Pfft,” you muttered, waving him off. “I’ll be fine.”

But, as you made your way down the steps to the sand, something felt odd. Charles hadn’t fought you on it.

No complaints about ‘covering up’ or embarrassing remarks about ‘respectability.’ No last-minute insistence on changing into something more “appropriate.” It was... new.

And oddly suspicious.

Wading further in, you let out a satisfied sigh, the gentle waves lapping at your legs. You dove under the water, resurfacing with a triumphant gasp.

You pushed the thought aside as you let the warm sand squish beneath your toes. The salty breeze tossed your hair, and the ocean called to you.

You dipped a toe into the water, pleased to find it perfectly cool.

For a while, you floated peacefully, content. Until one particularly aggressive swell caught you off guard.

You felt it immediately.

The tug of the water.

The loosening of straps.

Panic shot through you as you scrambled to grab the top of your bikini, but the slippery fabric slipped through your fingers and was swiftly carried away by the current.

You had two options: wade out and grab it, hoping no one was around to witness your embarrassing half-naked sprint… or stay hidden and pray it washed back on its own.

“Oh, merde! Non, non, non!” you hissed under your breath, frantically cupping your breasts as you scanned the empty beach for help.

It was still early. Too early for anyone else to be up and running and save you from this mortifying situation.

Your cheeks burned as you stood there, half-submerged in the water, desperately trying to figure out a plan.

Option one was looking more appealing until you heard the soft crunch of footsteps on sand.

Carlos.

Of course, it was Carlos.

Because fate had a sense of humor, and apparently, you were its favorite punchline.

He ambled out of the villa, a towel slung lazily over his shoulder, his dark curls sticking up like he’d just rolled out of bed. His face was adorably grumpy, the pout of someone who hadn’t had coffee yet. And then his gaze landed on you.

He froze.

You froze.

You tried to act casual. Well, as casual as one could while half-submerged, hugging their chest like they were reenacting a dramatic shipwreck scene.

Carlos’s frown deepened, concern flickering across his face as he took a hesitant step closer. “Are you… drowning?”

“Not drowning,” you chirped, your tone overly bright. “But thanks for checking!”

“Oh.” His voice cracked slightly. He cleared his throat, looking anywhere but at you. “Right. Uh… do you- want me to…?”

His brow furrowed. “Then why are you…?” His words trailed off as his eyes drifted to the water, where your bikini top bobbed lazily with the current.

Realization dawned like a slap, his cheeks instantly turning a satisfying shade of pink.

“Be my hero, Carlos,” you said with exaggerated sweetness, gesturing dramatically toward the water. “Save my dignity before the ocean claims it forever.”

He stared at you for a moment, his lips twitching like he wasn’t sure whether to laugh or groan. “Unbelievable,” he muttered under his breath before tossing his towel onto the sand and wading into the water.

You tried not to watch him, but… well. You were stuck here, and it’s not like there was much else to look at. The way his muscles flexed, the water slicking over his skin.

It was distracting. Infuriatingly distracting.

He resurfaced a moment later, holding up your bikini top like a trophy.

“Got it,” he called.

“Oh, congratulations, Captain of the Swim Team.” You clapped. “Now bring it here before someone else decides to take a morning stroll.”

Carlos swam back, wading into shallower water as he handed it to you. His smirked when you snatched it from his hand.

“Need help putting it back on, princess?”

You raised a brow. “Funny. Actually, yes.”

That wiped the smirk off his face.

“…What?”

You turned your back to him, holding out the tangled strings over your shoulder. “It’s all knotted. Be a gentleman, Carlos.���

He made a strangled sound. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Nope. Chop-chop.” You wiggled the strings for emphasis.

Carlos muttered something in Spanish, but he stomped through the water toward you anyway. You could practically feel the heat radiating off him as his hands carefully took the strings.

His fingers skimmed over your bare skin, and your breath caught in your throat. Sharp and shallow.

“Stop fidgeting,” Carlos muttered, his voice rough with concentration.

“You’re taking forever.”

“It’s not exactly easy tying this thing without looking.”

“Look, then.”

Carlos froze.

The silence stretched.

You could feel his breath behind you, hot against the curve of your neck.

Slowly, deliberately, his hands tightened around the strings. Not painfully, just firm enough to make you gasp and spin around.

“Carlos!”

He didn’t flinch.

His dark eyes locked on yours, sharp and unreadable. Then, with a darkness you recognized, his gaze flicked to your lips and lingered.

Too long.

Your pulse stuttered.

“Carlos,” you warned, softer this time.

He didn’t move. Neither did you.

And then it happened.

His mouth crashed into yours, hot and demanding.

You barely had time to gasp before his arms wrapped around your waist, yanking you flush against him.

For a moment, the world dissolved. The waves, the sun, the beach. All of it disappeared beneath the heat of his kiss.

And then he pulled back, breaking the moment with a frustrated groan.

“We can’t do this,” Carlos said, his hands still gripping your waist.

“Sure we can.” You grinned, breathless, leaning closer. “We’re already doing it.”

His grip tightened as if he was trying to anchor himself. “I’m too old for this. For you.”

You rolled your eyes. “Oh, please. You’re thirty, not eighty.”

“That’s not the point,” he snapped, his voice rough. “You… You deserve someone younger. Someone who-”

“Someone who what?” you interrupted, your eyes narrowing. “Someone who’s scared of me? Who wouldn’t be able to handle me?”

“Someone who doesn’t know better,” he said quietly, his gaze dropping to your lips again.

You softened, leaning closer. “Maybe I don’t want someone who doesn’t know better.”

Carlos let out a strangled laugh, shaking his head. “You’re going to ruin me, you know that?”

“Good,” you whispered, brushing your lips against his.

For a moment, he gave in, his mouth claiming yours again, desperate and unrelenting.

But then he tore himself away, his chest heaving as he stepped back, the water lapping at his thighs.

“This is a bad idea,” he said, his voice rough.

“Carlos,” you said softly, stepping toward him.

His hands came up, stopping you. “You don’t get it. I can’t just-” He gestured between the two of you, struggling to find the words. “If this goes wrong…”

“It won’t,” you said firmly. “You’re overthinking it.”

For a long moment, he just stared at you, torn between caution and temptation.

“God help me,” he muttered before pulling you back into his arms, kissing you like he’d never stop.

“Oh, please. You like it.”

That did it.

Carlos groaned, a raw, frustrated sound, and suddenly his hand was in yours, gripping tight.

“Come on.”

“Where are we-?”

“Somewhere with fewer witnesses.”

You laughed, breathless and exhilarated, stumbling after him as he dragged you toward the rocky outcropping at the edge of the beach.

“Oh, now you’re worried about witnesses?”

Carlos shot you a look over his shoulder. “Yeah, well, I’m not tying your bikini back on twice.”

You snorted. “Coward.”

“Keep talking, and I’ll leave you naked out here.”

“Oh, threats!” You giggled, letting him pull you behind the rocks, the world disappearing behind towering stone and crashing waves.

And then he was on you again.

No hesitation, no teasing.

Pinned against the rough stone, your body trembling in Carlos’s firm grip, his mouth crushed against yours with a ferocity that left you breathless.

His hands slid over your waist, pulling you flush against him, the heat of his body searing into yours.

He kissed like he had all the time in the world. Like he was determined to take every last bit of air from your lungs.

You gasped, fingers clutching at his shoulders as he backed you harder into the rock, the scrape of it barely registering against the dizzying sensations he drew from you.

His lips left yours, trailing down your jaw, to the tender spot just below your ear, and you shivered as his teeth scraped lightly over your skin.

“God, Carlos-” you whispered, but the words broke off into a gasp when his hands slid under your thighs, lifting you higher against him.

“Mm.” His lips curved against your throat, and he hummed low, a sound filled with lazy amusement. His mouth worked along your neck, deliberate and unhurried, leaving your skin flushed and tingling.

When he finally pulled back, his eyes roamed over you.

Your swollen lips, your heaving chest, your thighs trembling where they rested against his hips. He tilted his head, the corner of his mouth curving up, the faintest smirk playing on his lips.

“Has anyone ever made you come with their mouth before?” he asked though he looked as though he already knew the answer.

The heat in your face intensified, your breath catching as his hands wandered down your thighs, teasing the edge of your bikini bottoms.

You tried to respond, but the words stuck in your throat, and all you managed was a small shake of your head.

His smirk deepened, a low chuckle escaping him as he brushed his thumb over your flushed cheek. “Didn’t think so,” he murmured. “You’re so damn pretty when you’re flustered. Cute.”

Your hips instinctively arched toward him, but he didn’t rush. He held you steady, hands firm but gentle, guiding you with a patience that only heightened the ache between your legs.

His lips found your collarbone, kissing and nipping lightly, as though savoring every inch of you.

When he finally moved between your legs, the sight of him looking up at you from between your thighs sent a fresh wave of heat crashing through you.

His hands spreaded you open with a careful precision that made your heart race. Carlos nudged you higher against the rock, shifting you into position, gaze sweeping over you like he was memorizing every detail.

“You’re shaking already,” he said softly, his voice edged with amusement as he pressed a kiss to the inside of your thigh. “Relax, baby. I’ve got you.”

You whimpered, fingers tangling in his dark hair as his lips moved closer, teasing, never quite giving you what you wanted.

His stubble scraped lightly against your sensitive skin, making you shiver, and when his breath fanned over your core, you nearly bucked against him.

“Please,” you whispered, your voice trembling, desperate.

Carlos’s low hum vibrated against your skin, and he pressed another kiss to your inner thigh, his smirk audible in his tone. “So needy,” he murmured, almost to himself.

Then, without warning, his mouth was on you.

The first long, deliberate swipe of his tongue over your clit drew a sharp cry from your lips, your back arching off the rock.

He didn’t falter. His tongue worked you with slow, measured precision, every flick and circle designed to draw you closer to the edge.

You tried to move, to grind against him, but his grip on your thighs tightened, holding you firmly in place.

He was relentless, alternating between soft, teasing licks and harder, more focused strokes that made your vision blur.

“Oh, f-fuck-” you gasped, your voice breaking, your fingers tugging harder at his hair.

He didn’t respond, didn’t lift his head, just let out a soft, pleased sound that sent vibrations through you, his mouth working you even harder. His fingers joined in, slipping inside you with ease, curling just right, hitting a spot that made you cry out.

The tension coiled tight in your belly, your entire body trembling as he brought you closer and closer. It wasn’t rushed, wasn’t frantic. Just steady, unshakable control, like he knew exactly what you needed before you did.

It was overwhelming.

The pressure, the heat, the way his tongue and fingers worked together. It all built into something you couldn’t stop, couldn’t hold back even if you tried.

Your body tensed, and with a broken moan, the wave crashed over you, leaving you shuddering, your thighs clamping around his head as he worked you through it.

Carlos didn’t stop until you were nothing but a trembling, breathless mess, every last tremor wrung from you.

Only then did he pull back, his lips glistening, his chin wet with you.

He lifted his head, hands brushing gently over your thighs as if to ground you.

He leaned in, his mouth finding yours in a slow, deliberate kiss that left you dizzy all over again. The taste of yourself on his lips only heightened the intimacy, the rawness of it.

“First time for everything, huh?” he murmured against your mouth, his tone low and teasing, though his eyes were warm, almost soft.

Your breath came in shallow gasps, your body still trembling, and as you looked at him, at the way he gazed at you with that infuriating, knowing smirk, you knew you were ruined.

You barely recognized your own voice when you whispered, “Fuck me.”

His eyes found yours, dark and hungry, his control fraying at the edges. For a brief moment, he stayed still, as though restraining himself, the tendons in his neck taut, his jaw clenched.

Carlos had you against the rock again in seconds, his hands firm on your thighs, his body pressing into yours with a force that left no room for hesitation. He moved without teasing this time, his lips crashing into yours.

Your fingers gripped his shoulders, your nails biting into the hard muscle beneath his skin as he angled you higher against the rock.

The rough scrape of it bit into your back, but the discomfort was drowned out by the searing warmth of him, his mouth moving down your jaw to your neck.

You tried to gasp his name but he didn’t give you time to finish.

He lifted you higher, spreading your thighs wider around his hips. The strength in his hands was almost dizzying, his grip unyielding as he shifted your body to his liking. When his lips trailed down your throat, sucking hard enough to leave marks, your head fell back, exposing more of your skin to him.

His swim trunks were gone in a moment, and when you glanced down, your breath hitched at the sight of him.

Thick, hard, and impossibly big, he stood there like he was made to ruin you. The sheer size of him sent a shiver through your body, heat pooling low in your belly as your thighs clenched involuntarily.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured, his tone low but soft, the edge of a smile playing at his lips as he reached for you again. “Relax, baby. I’ll make it fit.”

Your breath stuttered, your fingers clutching his shoulders as he lined himself up, the head of his cock pressing insistently against your entrance. The first push was slow, almost gentle, but the stretch was immediate, sharp, and overwhelming.

“Carlos,” you gasped, your voice breaking as your body struggled to take him.

“You can take it.” His jaw clenched as he pushed in another inch. “Just breathe, baby. Let me in.”

You did, your breaths coming in shallow pants as he fed you inch by inch. The stretch was nearly unbearable, your body clenching around him as if trying to resist.

He groaned, forehead dropping to your shoulder, hands steady on your hips as he worked himself deeper.

“You’re so tight,” he muttered, his voice strained as though the effort of holding back was physically painful. “So perfect.”

The fullness was overwhelming, the sheer size of him stretching you beyond anything you thought possible. He didn’t rush, didn’t force it, but every inch was a challenge, your body trembling as it adjusted to him.

Finally, he was fully seated inside you, the press of his hips against yours sending a jolt of pleasure and relief through your body. For a moment, he stayed still, his chest heaving against yours, his hands gripping your thighs so tightly you knew you’d feel the bruises later.

“Fuck,” he growled, his voice rough, his breath hot against your ear. “You’re so perfect. Made for me.”

You couldn’t speak, couldn’t think.

Your body stretched and full in a way that left you dizzy.

The ache was sharp but fading quickly, replaced by the thrum of pleasure that sparked with every small movement.

Then he began to move.

His hips pulled back slowly, the thick length of him dragging against your walls before he thrust forward again, burying himself deep.

The sensation was electrifying, your body tightening around him as he set a steady, deliberate rhythm.

Each thrust was measured, controlled, as though he was determined to make you feel every inch of him.

The pressure was unrelenting, his cock hitting spots inside you that sent waves of pleasure rippling through your body.

You clung to him, your nails digging into his back as his pace quickened, the strength of his thrusts leaving you gasping.

The rock behind you scraped against your skin with every movement, but the sting was nothing compared to the pleasure building inside you.

Carlos shifted, lifting you higher against him, angling his hips to drive deeper. The new position made you cry out, your head falling back as the sensations intensified, every nerve ending in your body alight.

“You’re incredible,” he murmured, his voice thick and rough, his hands tightening on your hips as he moved faster, harder.

The fullness, the stretch, the relentless rhythm. It was too much and not enough all at once. Your body trembled, your thighs shaking around his waist as the tension inside you coiled tighter, threatening to snap.

“Carlos,” you gasped, your voice breaking as your hands fisted in his hair, desperate for something to hold onto.

“Come for me,” he growled, his hips slamming into yours with unrelenting force. “Come on, be a good girl and come for me.”

His words sent you spiraling. The wave of pleasure crashed over you, your entire body trembling as you shattered around him.

Your cries filled the air, your walls clenching tight around him as the release ripped through you.

Carlos groaned, his rhythm faltering as he chased his own release. His thrusts turned erratic, desperate, and with a final, shuddering moan, he buried himself deep, his release spilling into you in a rush of heat.

For a moment, there was only the sound of your ragged breathing, the crash of the waves a distant echo.

His forehead rested against yours, his hands gentle now as they smoothed over your thighs, grounding you.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly.

You nodded faintly, your lips curving into a small, breathless smile. “I’m perfect,” you whispered.

He chuckled, his arms tightening around you as he pressed a soft kiss to your temple. “You’re going to be the death of me,” he muttered, his voice tinged with both amusement and awe.

“Then you’ll die happy,” you teased, your fingers brushing lightly over his jaw.

He smiled, his lips finding yours in a kiss that was slow, tender, and unhurried.

—-

Carlos insisted on carrying you back to the villa, effortlessly lifting you into his arms and wrapping a towel around you to shield you from the cool evening air.

You tried to protest, laughing half-heartedly while squirming a little in his hold, but his arms only tightened around you, pulling you closer.

The warmth of his body against yours was a welcome contrast to the crisp early morning air, and despite your teasing resistance, you felt a pull of affection.

“Carlos, no, seriously. I’m fine,” you said, attempting to push lightly against his chest. “You don’t have to carry me like this.”

“Shh,” he murmured, adjusting his grip to make sure you were even more comfortable, a slight smile tugging at his lips. “You’re not fine. I just fucked you, and so I’m taking care of you. Aftercare, baby. So stop fussing.”

You rolled your eyes at the sentiment. “Carlos, seriously. Charles is going to murder you if he sees-”

Carlos’ grin only widened, a spark of mischief lighting up his eyes. You could feel the confidence radiating off of him as he held you effortlessly, his voice dropping lower, laced with amusement. “Charles already knows.”

Your brows shot up, a mix of surprise and confusion flooding through you. “Wait, what? He knows?”

Carlos’ grin softened slightly, the playful edge in his tone giving way to a hint of sheepishness. "Yeah… Poker night.”

You blinked, the realization dawning slowly but surely. “Poker night?” You almost laughed at the absurdity of it. “Oh my god, you told him?”

“Well, he kind of guessed. And then, the next morning, he gave me the talk.”

You stared at him for a moment, blinking as the full weight of the situation sank in. “The talk? That talk?”

“The one and only.”

You snorted. “I can't believe you let him talk to you like that.”

Carlos raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the banter. “Trust me, I wasn’t about to argue with him.”

You nestled into his chest, feeling the warmth of his body, and smiled up at him. “You’re lucky I don’t have a talk with you myself.”

He raised an eyebrow, a playful glint in his eye. “Oh? You’d have the talk with me too?”

You leaned in closer. “Maybe later,” you said softly, the affection in your voice undeniable.

Carlos’ grin softened as he held you just a little tighter. “I’ll be waiting for it, cariño.”

—-

Hours later, Lando and Pierre stumbled into the living room, bleary-eyed and still caught in the haze of sleep.

They froze in the doorway, blinking in surprise at the sight before them.

You and Carlos were both fast asleep, tangled together on the couch, your head resting comfortably against his chest. His arms were draped around you, one hand resting lightly on your waist, the other tangled in your hair as you slept soundly.

Pierre raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching into a grin as he cast a glance at Charles, who was sprawled across the couch like he had nowhere else to be.

Charles didn’t even look up, clearly at ease with everything happening. Pierre nudged him lightly, amusement dancing in his eyes. “You’re okay with this?” he asked, voice low but tinged with disbelief. “I mean, just like that? No big deal?”

Charles didn’t stir, stretching out lazily as if the whole situation was perfectly normal.

He met Pierre’s gaze with a smirk, the kind that only came with complete indifference to drama. “Are you seriously asking me that?” he drawled, as if the question were almost laughable. “Better than any of you, I’ll tell you that much.”

Lando, however, was having none of it.

He threw his hands up in mock exasperation, his dramatic flair coming to the surface even as he tried to stifle a yawn. “Hold up, hold up!” He pointed an accusing finger at Carlos, his voice raising slightly, though still laden with sleepiness. “I can’t even flirt with her without getting death threats, but Mr. Smooth Operator here gets to just waltz in and- what? -sweep her off her feet? No questions asked?”

Carlos stirred slightly at the noise, his arms tightening around you instinctively as he shifted to get more comfortable. His voice was low, heavy with sleep, but there was an undeniable warmth to it as he spoke, still gazing down at you with affection. “That’s pretty much it,” he muttered, the hint of a lazy chuckle rumbling in his chest as he tightened his hold on you just a little more.

Pierre shook his head slowly, blinking as if he wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly. “So… this? This is serious?” he asked, voice almost whispering as though not wanting to disturb the peaceful moment.

Carlos let out a soft sigh, the sound barely audible as he pressed his cheek gently against your head, completely content in the quiet. His eyes fluttered open, and he met Pierre’s gaze with a slow, sleepy smile.

“Trust me,” he started, barely awake. “There’s more to figure out, but this?” He paused, glancing down at you, his eyes soft with affection. “This is happening.”

—-

Permanent taglist :

@papichulomacy @alilcloudy @lilorose25

[envy-of-the-apple]

Infinite Rewind

Gojo Satoru x reader

Synopsis: Instead of dying, you are sent 13 years in the past, but this isn't your face. "Let's cut the shit." The white-haired kid grins. "Who are you and what're you doing in Suguru's body?"

Part two: Rewound Infinitely

Word Count: 18.1k

(Warnings: slight yandere, death, murder, inaccurate Tokyo geography, blood, violence, mild gore, obsession, unhealthy relationships, child abuse/neglect, time looping(?), fem!reader) Ageless blogs that try to follow me will be blocked

First, you saw a monster. 

It was big and horrible—nasty teeth. You heard screaming. People. Running as fast as they could away from the creatures. Pain. 

And then, you saw a bright, clear sky. 

The sun was blaring down at you. It was so hot. Wasn't it December? How was the sun out at night? 

"Hey, you good?" 

A girl is looking at you. Short brown hair. A high schooler, judging by the uniform. How is she wearing all black when the weather is so hot? 

When you don't respond, her eyes squint. 

"Suguru, are you okay?" 

That's not your name; your mouth moves faster than your brain.

"I-I'm fine." That wasn't your voice. It was deeper. More masculine. What the fuck happened to your voice? 

The girl gives you another strange look but you're too busy freaking out over your new voice. Your hands are different too. A completely different skin tone, larger. 

And then you're fumbling with your pockets, clothes you know you didn't buy. The girl is calling for you again but you're too busy pulling out a fucking flip-phone and looking into the black screen, the only thing you have for a mirror. 

Purple eyes stare back. These aren't your eyes. This isn't your nose. This isn't your hair. This isn't your face. You blink. He does too. You open your mouth. So does he. You pinch your cheek. In the reflection, he winces. 

Oh, you just fucking bodysnatched someone. 

ⴵ

Ten minutes later, you conclude that your name is Geto Suguru, you are a 16-year-old boy, the year is 2006, and you attend a religious academy. 

"You're finally acting normally again." The girl-newly discovered as Ieiri- says. "No more weirdness." 

You don't blame her, considering you grabbed her by the shoulders, asking ridiculous questions like: what year is it, who am I, why am I here, who are you, am I dead, is this Hell, etc. For a teenage girl, she took your outburst well. 

"Sorry," you say and by now you've gotten used to your voice, "it must have been the stress from studying." 

She just hums, continuing to walk beside you. Though, Ieiri had a point. You were definitely calmer, and it was mostly because you figured it out. 

You were dreaming. 

You were lucid dreaming, to be more precise. Your brain was conjuring up a weird setting and you just happened to be placed in another person's body. You heard about this happening before. You were just so freaked out because this was the first time anything like this had happened to you. 

An impulsive part of you wants to tell Ieiri that this is just a dream, but you've heard weird things happen after a lucid dreamer tries to break the illusion. It's best if you just let it just play out and see where this goes. 

“Excited?” 

“Hm?” You ask. And Shoko rolls her eyes. 

“For the mission you have this evening. Special grade. Sounds scary.” She says, her sarcasm evident. 

Mission? Special grade? You don’t know what those words mean but it sounds like a school field trip. Shoko takes your hesitance as something else. 

“Ah,” she says, “so you forgot.” 

“I didn’t.” You reply on instinct. 

“I expected this from Satoru, not you. You should stop hanging out with him, he’s starting to rub off on you.”

You give a sheepish laugh, and it’s enough to quell her questions. 

She leads you into the school, all through the winding halls and through an office door. You couldn’t be more grateful, it’s not like you would have known where to go. It’s a teachers room. Two people are already inside. 

“Wait, for once, I’m early?” The boy with sunglasses asks, voice dripping with amusement. He’s leaning dangerously on a chair. You stare at him. You’ve never seen someone with white hair before. It can’t be real. 

“He forgot.” Shoko pipes up and the boy cackles. 

“That’s hilarious. I’m starting to rub off on you.” Ah, this must be Satoru. 

You give a nervous smile. “Haha, yeah.” 

The boy stops rocking in the chair. Three pairs of eyes look at you. Your uniform feels itchy.

“Gojo, stop making such a ruckus.” The man, presumably his teacher, gruffs. "You two got the briefing yesterday. Do your job and for the last time do not leave your assistant manager behind again." 

Gojo groans, and you delve into more confusion. Before you can say anything, the kid is hopping out of his seat before lazily striding out the door. Shoko and the teacher look at you expectantly. 

Oh, you were supposed to follow him. 

Not wanting to make a scene, you catch up to Gojo. He's tall, his footsteps are long and wide. But you're tall now too, so it's easy to keep up with him. This new body of yours has a lot of pros. 

"Yaga's so annoying," Gojo suddenly says, "constantly nagging us like that. It's not our fault the assistants can't keep up." 

What should you say? You clear your throat. 

"He just wants what's best for us." 

Wrong answer. 

"Where'd that come from?" He snorts. How charming. "I know you agree with me. You're just tryna' act like the nicer one, again. It's starting to get a little old." 

Is that how 16 year-olds talk? Rude, but also strangely off-putting, like he can see straight through you. Or more accurately, he can see straight through Suguru. How close are these two, anyway? 

Why did any of these questions even matter? This is a dream! You need to wake up already. 

On the campus grounds, a sleek black car waits outside for you two. Along with a miffed man in a black suit. This must be a very rich school for a field trip to have a chauffeur. Where were you two going again?

Gojo hops in the back, taking one of the window seats. You take the other. In your own body, you would've fit nicely. But Suguru's legs are long, and the spacious car feels cramped. You should've taken the passenger seat. How do tall people live like this? 

The ride is quiet. Out the corner of your eye, you catch Satoru type away on his flip phone. A moment later, yours beeps. You still have no idea how to use Suguru's phone or his password, so you ignore his message. Satoru groans. 

Quickly, you learn that Satoru has a very low attention span. When looking out the window gets boring, he bugs the chauffeur. When the chauffeur ignores him, he starts bugging you. 

"Hey heyyyy," Satoru says, "when this is all over, we should go to that new ice cream place. Like you said, we should." 

You look at him. "Uh, sure." You say. 

"And you should pay for it, 'cuz you said you owed me last time." 

Fine, whatever. "Sure thing." 

He grins. You can't see his glasses, and it makes his smile even more unnerving. This kid. 

This doesn't feel like a normal field trip at all. Why did you stop in front of some rackety house that looked as though it were about to collapse? You turn back to the only adult in the vicinity, but he's out too. He takes out a lighter and a cigarette. In front of impressionable children, too. Wonderful. 

"I'll wait out here." He says, though his tone is uncaring. "Since we're out in the country, there's no need for a veil. Do your best." 

Veil? What? Gojo's already going off again and you've already decided to be his chaperone, so you follow. You reluctantly trail behind him. Feet crunch the leaves. The house grows bleaker and bleaker. 

"Okay, I have a plan!" Gojo exclaims when he gets through the squeaky door. He's so loud, can't he be quieter? "I check upstairs and you check the ground floor and the basement. Got it?" 

Check the house? Were he and Suguru electricians in training or something? That still wouldn't explain why a grown man decided to drop off two teenagers in front of a creepy mansion. And why in God's name did Gojo want to split up?

"I-I don't think that's a good idea," you say, "shouldn't we try to stick together?" Or, better yet, leave. 

He clicks his tongue. "Ugh, you're so lame. Not like Suguru at all." 

Wait, what did he say? You're about to call out to him when he climbs up the stairs, disappearing from view. Unbelievable. 

This kid was starting to get on your nerves. Enough, you were leaving. You could have a nice dream where you met and fell in love with Zendaya, not babysitting some teenager, whilst possessing another person's body. You were going to wait outside with the man and hope your dream finally came to an end. 

Except, you couldn't go outside. The door was gone. 

It-it was right behind you, right? The entrance was right behind you. You couldn't have gotten turned around so quickly? What the hell happened? Or maybe you had gotten turned around? Considering how distracting that Gojo kid was, you might not have realized it. 

You look around the house. Looks like it'd been abandoned for a while. There's dirt on the shelves. Chairs were toppled over and left to rot. The wooden floorboards dangerously creaked beneath you. Just what had happened here? 

There's no patio door. No door leading to the outside. At the same time, you hadn't explored everything yet. Each door led to a room. The only door that didn't, led to a basement. And no, you weren't going down there. 

When you got back to where you started, you noticed something had changed. 

There was a person. Seated right at the base of the stairs? 

Gojo? Was he done with urban exploring? Maybe he knew the way out. He stands up, reaching to his full height, then higher, then higher. 

Gojo was tall, but this thing was taller. Gojo was human. This thing wasn't. 

What the fuck you can only mouth because your voice is stuck in your throat when it takes a shaky step towards you. It's a black husk of a figure, too skinny but too tall and twitching fingers. You don't know how you could've mistaken this for the kid. 

Another step. You're running, back into the house, leaping over the fallen shelves and creaky floorboards. It gives chase, and you can hear it groan behind you. It's deep and rumbly and terrifying. It just motivates you to go faster. 

It's slower than you. That's good, but it seems to realize this. You can barely celebrate your advantage before something heavy is smashed into your back, sending you toppling to the floor. You and wooden chair crash on the ground. 

It hurts. 

Everything hurts. 

Dreams aren't supposed to hurt. Because this wasn't a dream. 

This was real. You were stuck in the year 2006, stuck in another person's body, about to get mauled by a monster. 

You were going to die. 

You aren't even fighting anymore. How pathetic is that? The shock numbs your body as the thing grows closer and closer, all you can do is reach your hands up, protecting your face. 

And then the creature explodes. 

An implosion. It's skin and bones twist in a way no one should. There's a shriek, something wrong and high and inhuman before it's gone. Like it never existed in the first place. 

After all that, he's still smiling. Like the cat that just caught the mouse. 

"I guess we're not pretending anymore, are we?" Gojo asks, stretching his arms. "That's good. That game was starting to get a little boring, anyways. Now, then." 

He folds his glasses, tucking it on his uniform. Blue, his eyes are. As blue as a clear sky. 

"Let's cut the shit." The white-haired kid grins. "Who are you, and what're you doing in Suguru's body?"

ⴵ

Contrary to your belief, Gojo Satoru is a good listener. 

There's never an interruption. Not even once. Every once in a while, he nods, a hand on his chin. It's probably because he can't interrupt. You just keep going on and on. Word vomit. 

He only speaks when you pause to catch your breath. "So you are from the year 2017, and you went back in time to body-snatch someone. I had a feeling your technique had something to do with possession." 

You look at him warily. "Wait, you knew this entire time?" 

You two hadn't moved from your earlier spot. You were still sprawled on the floor, still feeling the adrenaline surge through you. Gojo had transitioned to squatting on the floor. He scratches his neck, still so casual. 

"I have good eyes. Don't worry about it." He shrugs. "Anyway, you seem pretty harmless, and as annoying as it is not having Suguru around, I doubt killing you would do any good." Why is he being so nonchalant about murder? Is this kid really sixteen?

"I think we gotta' just wait around until your technique reactivates." Gojo whistles. "2017. That's like a decade away. I wonder what happened for your technique to show up." 

You blink, trying to remember the date. 

"It was Christmas Eve..." You glance at him. "And then I was here." 

He thinks for a moment. "Yeah, I got nothing." Of course. 

He sighs, before sprawling on the dirty floor, belly up. You grimace at his antics but choose to keep your mouth shut. 

He doesn't seem very worried. At the most, he looks mildly inconvenienced. Why isn't he worried about his friend? 

When you ask him, he just snorts. 

"Sorry, but you're not that scary. Besides, I don't have to worry about Suguru. He's strong." 

Well, that's nice to know, but one other thing still bothers you. 

"You speak so casually to me," you mutter, "You know I'm older than you, right? I'm 22." 

He laughs. "22? Damn. You're old, man." 

"That isn't old!" You argue. "You have no concept of age since you're just a teenager." And why did he assume you were a man? Oh right, you were trapped in a teenage boy’s body. Of course.

"I mean, technically, I'm older than you, right?" Gojo ponders with a grin. "If you're 22 in 2017, that makes you what—11 in 2006?" 

You say nothing because you have a feeling that if you continue to argue with him, he'll just drag you down to his insanity. 

"Technique, you've said that a couple of times." You look at him. "That's what you call your 'powers', right? Does Geto have one too?" 

"Yeah," Gojo says, "but you can't use it. You have zero cursed energy. Honestly, it's at the same level as a plant. A bit lower than regular humans. It's a little impressive, actually." For one second, could he stop being so condescending? 

"What's his technique?" You ignore his comments. "Could it be related to how I got here?" 

He gives you a look over. "I doubt that, but Suguru's technique is curse manipulation. Uh, you remember that thing you saw earlier." You nod. "Yeah, he can control and absorb them." 

He sounds pretty awesome. You look at your hands. Not your hands. Geto's hands. They're paler than yours, and a lot longer. This isn't your body. Your soul can feel it. You can feel the guilt too. 

'I'd give it back if I could,' you think, 'I just don't know how.' 

Gojo's getting up. He stretches. He was lying on the ground but you can't see a speck of dirt on his uniform. 

"Okay, then. No use mopping around." He grins down at you. "Maybe Yaga can do something about you. Let's get you back to jujutsu tech." 

You blink up at him. His hand is outstretched, reaching out to you. He's still grinning that insufferable grin but his eyes have slightly melted. 

"Okay." You say, barely touching his fingertips. "Let's-" 

And then Gojo's gone. And then, you're standing. And then it's cold. 

You're wearing a coat; weren't you wearing a uniform before? There's no clear sky. It's nearly dusk. 

You were standing on the sidewalk, where people bustled all around you. You fumble through your jackets, putting out a phone. An actual iphone. You flick on the screen. 

December 24th, 2017, 7:06.

Holy shit, you were back. 

Was it because you touched Gojo? That makes no sense, but how could you explain anything else that happened so far? God. You rake a hand through your hair. Your hand. Your hair. You can't believe how much you missed yourself. It felt so good to be back. 

Your mind is spinning, you had no idea what the fuck just happened.

For now, you just wanted to turn your mind off and grab a drink. 

You know there was a bar not too far from your location. Along the way, you pass by the bustling town. There's a couple walking side by side, giggling over something you couldn't hear. Right, it's the 24th. You remember your empty bed with no one to share it with, and you cement your desire to drown yourself in alcohol today. 

Your self-pitying session is almost how you nearly miss him. His shoulder brushes past you. You're about to apologize when you hear his voice. It's familiar. 

It used to be your voice. 

It's all there. Black hair, but it's longer this time around. Of course it is, he's had years to grow it out. He's tall, he must've grown since highschool. His broad back is the only thing you see, you're almost afraid to reach out to him. 

"Suguru...?" 

He halts in his tracks. When he turns around, it's like looking into a fractured past. He looks older, no longer a youthful teenager. You should have paid more attention to his eyes, how scrutinizing they were, how condescending his fake smile was. All that you could think of was that it was actually him. 

"Do I know you?" He tilts his head. "Apologies, but my girls and I are quite busy." 

You don't notice the two young ladies beside him until Geto points them out. Teenagers, maybe just around the age when you first met him. He was a father now. 

You're so swept up by the emotions that you barely notice they've continued walking. You stumble behind, ducking behind the alleyway they went into. 

"Wait! Geto!" You call. "Please! We need to talk!" You still needed your answers. You didn't know care how desperate you came off as. 

In hindsight, you should have noticed that they looked more annoyed than worried about a stranger chasing them across the street. 

The one with the ponytail scoffs. "This one talks an awful lot. How annoying." 

Geto sighs. He leaves his daughters, finally standing in front of you. This is what you wanted, right? A chance to talk to him. 

Still, you can't help but feel wrongness within you. His smile is off. 

"Most monkeys are just that, unfortunately." You don't move. You can't. Not when he places a hand on your skull. "I suppose it'd be humane to put this one out of its misery." 

Geto Suguru crushes your skull. And then you die. 

ⴵ

Again. You died again. 

This is the second time Geto has killed you. Fuck, you should've realized. 

"Back again, Greeny?" Gojo asks. 

He and Suguru were sitting outside in the grass. Satoru's holding up a few playing cards. You look at Suguru's hands and find yourself doing the same. 

Not again. 

"What year is it?" You ask warily. "And what did you just call me?" 

Gojo grins with teeth. You remember he compared you to a plant before, didn't he? He's so clever with nicknames; someone should give him an award. 

"Welcome back to 2006!" Gojo beams. "It's only been a couple of days since you left. And why are you so grumpy? I'm the one who just lost a player." 

You weren't grumpy, you were pissed. You figured out what's been going on with you, and it's all because of the asshole you're possessing right now.

The look on his face when he killed you. Like you were nothing more than an animal. A monkey. Now, you feel a lot less guilty about possessing his body. 

At least you figured out two things. You know how your technique works. Whenever someone kills you, you are sent back in time to take over their body. But you can go back whenever you touch Gojo, or perhaps just another sorcerer. 

Secondly, you have access to Geto's memories. 

It didn't happen the first time you died. It must have been because the kill wasn't direct (from Getos curse, rather than himself), but milliseconds after Geto split your skull in two, your brain was overwhelmed by his past, his present, as well as his future. 

Geto was set to die on December 24th, 2017. At the hands of his best friend, Gojo Satoru. 

Fuck him. Let the bastard die. You didn't give a shit. 

You reach over to touch Gojo's arm, ready to leave. He pulls back with a snicker. Ugh, the brat must've figured out your technique, too. 

"Stop messing around." You tell him. "I need to go back to my timeline." 

"Sure, sure," he says as though speaking to a time traveler is just another Tuesday. "But first, finish the game with me." 

"No." You tell him before leaning out even further. He isn't moving away anymore, but you still can't reach him. Fuck, he must've activated his technique. 

Despite your annoyance, you decide to keep the future away from Gojo's ears. He doesn't need to know that he'll be the one to kill Suguru. He shouldn't. Not at his age. He's just a kid. 

"Just one game! I promise!" He pleads. "Then I'll let you go. Suguru never lets me beat him, I want an easy opponent to boost my ego." 

You roll your eyes, but you settle down, picking up the cards. You already know the rules; you have Geto's memories, after all. 

It's silent, save for Gojo's humming. When you place down your King of hearts, you ask:

"Hey, is my cursed energy different at all?" You ask.

"Not really." He squints. "Wait, it has grown a little. Aw, Greeny sprouted!" 

So, every time you die, your cursed energy increases. That, or your cursed energy, increases every time you time travel. It doesn't matter either way. Does this mean you can use Geto's technique now? It couldn't hurt to try, right? 

There's a demon-no, they're called curses you know that now- floating beside you, just a little ways away. Small. Barely fourth grade. You stick your hand out, calling out Geto's power. There's a pull, a rush of energy. 

A blue ball drops into your hand. 

"Holy shit." Gojo leans forward. "So you can use his techniques." Surprisingly, there's no wariness in his voice. Just awe. 

"Yeah." You breathe before glancing up at him. "Shouldn't you be focused on your cards?" 

He shrugs, tossing the cards away. "What cards?" 

You sigh before staring at the ball. Well, you captured the curse. All that's left to do is swallow it, right? You can do that. You open your mouth. Gojo is still staring. You scowl. 

"Look away." 

He rolls his eyes. "It's not like I haven't seen you do this before. Well, not you, the guy that you bodysnatched." 

Ass, you keep that in your head as you hold your breath. You swallow the ball down. 

Instantly, you choke. 

It's horrible. Like a rotten carcass on the highway, oozing blood and oil and pus. You start dry-heaving, suffocating, spit dribbles down your chin. Nothing comes out. You've already absorbed it. The taste of a cursed spirit no one knows. Like swallowing a rag that was used to wipe up vomit and shit. Exorcised. Ingested. Exorcised. Ingested. Exorcised. Ingested. Exorcised. Ingested. 

"Is it really that bad?" Gojo observes you. "That guy swallows them down, no problem." 

Because Suguru was used to this taste. He was used to the responsibility. The hoarding mass of distraught absorbing a curse comes with. It was a disgusting art. Something he'd perfected to mask for years. Until he couldn't take it anymore. 

Fuck, you might have lost your mind, too, if you kept having to eat this. To protect people who were happy you failed. 

You snapped out of it. Suguru's memories were affecting your own. That's probably a sign that you need to get out of here. No way would you be sympathizing with someone so monstrous. 

"Hopefully, I never do that again." You slowly recover, wiping your spit away with your hand. You lean back on your hands, exhausted. 

"Something I've always wondered." You call out to Gojo. "What did Suguru ever think about someone possessing his body." 

Gojo laughed. "Funny thing. He never knew." 

"What?" You look at him. "No gaps in his memory? Nothing?" 

"Nope," Gojo said, "he remembered what happened in the house, but he thinks he did everything. And then he said something weird." 

You perk up at that. "What did he say?" 

Gojo tilts his head. Then, he shrugs. 

"I forgot." Typical. 

You pinch your nose bridge. "So, did you tell anyone else about...this?" You gesture to yourself. 

"Wait, you're supposed to be a secret?" You look at him in alarm. "In my defense, I didn't know, but I haven't gotten the chance to tell anyone. After the mission, Suguru and I went to the arcade, and then I kinda' forgot about it." 

Well, at least Gojo's arrogance works in your favor sometimes. You can't let anyone know, especially anyone connected to the higher-ups. From Geto's memories, you know they don't like anything new. It's best to stay under their radar. 

"Good, well, from now on, we're keeping it a secret. Got it?" 

"What are you two keeping a secret?" A new voice pops up. You jump. 

You know him—at least from Geto's memories. Haibara beams at you. He looks so alive in the sunlight, smiling and with bright eyes.

He'll be dead within a year or so. 

Gojo takes advantage of your shock. "The bodysnatcher wants me to promise that I won't tell anyone that a curse-user is possessing Suguru's body." 

"What the hell? You just promised that you wouldn't tell anyone!" 

"Uh, technically, I didn't promise anything yet." Gojo retaliates. "But okay, fiiiiine. I won't tell anyone....except for Haibara." You groan. 

"What's going on?" Haibara's smile fades. "Wait, Gojo, is this not Geto? Is this person actually a curse-user!?" 

"I'm not a curse-user." You correct. "I'm not a sorcerer either, for the record." 

"You just used a curse technique to travel back in time to take over someone's body." Gojo enunciates. "Sounds like a sorcerer to me." 

"Wait, you're a time-traveler, Mr. Not-Geto?" Haibara asks and you are genuinely impressed he's able to keep up. 

"The name’s Greeny, Haibara." Gojo supplements. Haibara nods, still a bit unsure. 

"So...do we fight Greeny?" 

"It's not my name." You get ignored. 

"Nah, it's all good. Greeny's harmless. Just a weakling, don’t worry about it." Rude, but you don’t think you’d want Gojo to take you as much of a threat, not after knowing what he can do.

"Oh, okay!" Haibara instantly relaxes. The kid's really trusting, huh? 

"Okay, fine, but no one else can know, got it, Gojo?" This promise doesn't matter. It's not like you're planning on returning to the past anytime soon. As soon as you return to the present, you are leaving Tokyo and escaping the night parade of 100 demons. Fuck that. You don't want to die again. 

He waves you off. "Yeah, yeah."

He's so insufferable. You don't know who's worse: the genocidal maniac or this brat. 

"Give me your hand. I want to go home." 

Haibara looks confused. "Wait, why does Greeny need your hand?" 

"It's how the curse technique works," Gojo explains. "Greeny gets sent back in time, and then my true-love's touch sends him careening forward into the future." You frown at his comment, but he turns to you before you can say anything. 

"Which reminds me, Greeny: ever figure out how your technique works?" 

No way are you telling a kid that their best friend killed you....twice. Instead, you just shrug. 

"Haven't figured it out yet." 

Gojo stares at you. "Huh." He responds. "Well, if you ever figure it out, lemme' know." 

Sure you will. You hold up your hand. Gojo, finally holds his own up. Out of the corner of your eye, Haibara waves. And then you're back in your own body, on December 24th, 2017, 7:06 pm.

You waste no time. You push at the crowd, squeezing through the hoards of people. You need to get out. You need to leave before the death parade starts, before you're trapped in that terrifying cycle of death again. 

You need to leave. 

Exorcised. Ingested. 

No no no. Shut up. This wasn't you. This was Geto's memories. 

Exorcised. Ingested.  

You need to leave. 

Exorcised. Ingested. 

You need to survive. 

The taste of a cursed spirit no one knows. 

You stop, right there in the middle of the sidewalk. People glare, cursing as they move around you. They don't know this place will be a bloodbath in a matter of minutes. They'd all die. But you could stop it. 

If only if you hadn't accessed Geto's memories. If only if you hadn't eaten that damn curse. If only if you hadn't sympathized with a murderer. Maybe you'd have the courage to escape your future. 

But you'd felt that taste. Horrible. If you eat enough, you could go insane. If you were lonely enough, that would do it too. 

The taste of a cursed spirit no one knows. No one except for you. 

At 8:06 the screams start. The monsters come out to play their song. You close your eyes, forgive Suguru, and you die once more. 

ⴵ

For once, when you open your eyes, Gojo isn’t there with you. 

You’re still on the campus of Jujutsu tech. Suguru was just about to grab his soda from the vending machine. You finish his job. The can feels cold. It feels refreshing on your tongue. It’s a momentary distraction to the fact that you have no clue what you’re doing. 

You understand your cursed technique, but you still struggle with the application. Fuck, what did you do? You were utterly fucked. You’re playing a dangerous game. If you died- if Geto died- here, what would even happen? 

 The worst part is that you can’t even think of the hypothetical because there’s no other choice. You needed to do this. To not only save the people in Tokyo from the Night Parade, but to also save Geto Suguru. The man who has killed you three times now. 

Geto’s dissent starts to worsen at Riko Amanai’s death. If you could prevent that from happening, you could probably change history. But Geto’s true fracture begins with the curses themselves. They were rotting him from the inside.

You grimace, but you have to do it. You have to eat every single curse that Geto couldn’t swallow down himself. 

One was coming up. In less than an hour, Yaga will call you and Gojo for a mission. It’ll be a special-grade grave-type curse. Dispatching it will be simple, but Geto would be the one to exorcise it, ingesting the screams of all that the curse devoured. You needed to prepare yourself for that. 

Maybe you should save some of this soda to wash the taste off later. 

“Geto!” Someone cheers, you jump, but Haibara’s already poking his head around the wall. He grins. 

“Hey! Oh, you’re not Geto, aren’t you?” He tilts his head. “Greeny?” 

“Keep your voice down,” you whisper, “wait, you can recognize me?” 

He nods, after checking to make sure no one’s around, he says, “yeah, your eyes are different? It’s hard to explain.” He tells you. 

Huh. Interesting. 

“You’ve been gone a while.” Haibara beams. “It’s been a few weeks. I’m glad you’re back, Gojo was starting to get cranky.” 

It’s probably because he had no one to mess with. Poor him. He has all your sympathies. Ass. 

“I’m glad to return as his punching back.” You mutter. 

Haibara shyly shuffles his feet. 

“So, are you really from the future?” He asks. “Was Gojo telling the truth?” 

You nod. “Haibara, you haven’t told anyone, right?” 

“Of course not!” He instantly says. “Not a soul. Not even Nanami, and I tell him everything! Your secret’s safe with me.” 

“And Gojo, too! I know he doesn’t look very trustworthy, but me and him have kept it under wraps.” 

Reluctantly, you can’t help but agree with the kid. Gojo is annoying, but so far, he hasn’t done anything super harmful. 

“So anyway, Greeny.” He clears his throat. “Considering you’re from the future and all. Would you mind telling me what my future will be like?” 

You blink at him. He takes it as a sign to continue. “Nothing much! I just wanna know what I’ll be doing in 2017. Will I finally be a grade 1 sorcerer?” 

You think of Geto’s final memories of Haibara. A child burying another child. 

“Sorry,” you lie through your teeth, “but I didn’t know you in my future. Again, I’m not really a sorcerer.” 

Haibara nods, disappointed but still very excitable. He asks you about other things about the future, and you try to answer to the best of your ability, but you can’t shake off his dead glass eyes, staring at you from the morgue. 

“Another thing, we should have a code word.” Haibara exclaims. 

You blink. “A code word?” 

“If we ever meet in the future,” he explains, “y’know, in 'Groundhog’s day', he has to keep explaining what’s happening repeatedly? In order to prevent that, we should have a secret word between eachother so I instantly know who you are.” 

Not the same exact situation, but it sounds like exactly something a child would come up with. You indulge him anyway. 

“Okay, what did you have in mind?” 

“Well, it can’t be anything too crazy, or we might attract unwanted attention.” Haibara puts a hand on his chin in serious thought. You smile. 

“Got it! If you ever see me, just yell ‘brocolli head’ really really loudly. Then I’ll know.” Haibara chirps. 

“Wait, why broccoli head?”

“Because broccoli heads are green!” Haibara chirps happily.

You’re starting to learn it’s best not to question his logic.

You nod, very amused. “Sure thing, Haibara.”  

Someone calls out his name. He jumps before he waves to you. You watch as he joins with Nanami. They talk about something you can’t hear. Haibara laughs and you decide it would be a shame if his laugh was lost to death. 

Gojo finds you eventually. You can’t hide from him forever. You were walking into the school when he caught up with you. He’d ran there. His breath was slightly ragged. 

“Greeny, couldn’t get enough last time, huh?” You shoot him a look. 

“What are you talking about? Doesn’t matter, we need to go, the missions coming up.” 

Gojo’s smile dips ever so slightly. “How’d you know about that?” 

It’s probably not a good idea to tell the guy's best friend that you’re possessing that you’ve unlocked his memories. 

“Haibara told me.” 

“Ah,” He replies, “let’s go then.” 

The car ride is different this time around. Less tension. You aren’t as confused. Gojo is seated quietly beside you, watching the scenery go by. The assistant is too preoccupied with belting the radio to notice Gojo's words. 

“Figured it out yet?” He asks. “Your technique.” 

He's persistent about that answer, isn't he? You're sure the only reason Gojo cooperates with you is because he thinks you're inhabiting Suguru's on accident. How would he react if he knew you were doing it intentionally? It's best not to get on the strongests’ bad side. 

“Oh, not really, but I think it’s random. I can’t seem to find a set pattern. Maybe Suguru calls out to me, somehow?” 

“Maybe.” Gojo replies. His time is flat. Anxiety flips through your stomach. 

“You’re different this time around,” Gojo says. 

“Am I?” You ask. “I guess I’m just more determined today.” 

He gives you a look over. "Oh yeah? What for?" 

"The curse. I'll exorcise it, today." 

You don't know how you wanted Gojo to react to that, but you're still disappointed when he turns back to the window. 

"Do whatever, Greeny." 

In the end, you do swallow the curse. You manage to hold your gags in this time. 

It's worse than before. It makes sense. This curse was first-grade. Stronger. In terms of taste, it was like curdled blood and mold. You were so grateful for that soda. 

Gojo only watches with a tilted head. 

"You're getting better at that."

You give a weak grin. 

"Practice makes perfect," you reply, "do you think I'll get strong enough to absorb a special grade soon?" 

He doesn't like your question. You can see it in his stiff expression. 

"Maybe. Why do you want to swallow up curses, anyway? Last time you were here, you were practically begging to go back." 

His response wasn't exactly hostile but far from his usual playful attitude. You knew you'd have to confront this eventually. Despite how nonchalant he acted, it's clear Satrou doesn't enjoy watching someone prance around in his friend's body like this. If he starts to dislike you, it could rupture your entire plan. You need his cooperation, more than anything, to save Suguru. 

A little bit of the truth. Just a bit. It can't hurt, can it?

"Curses taste horrible," you say, looking at the ground. You can still taste the remnants of it, "it's the worst thing in the world. I can't even explain how wrong it feels to eat one. I thought...while I'm in his body...I could maybe help Suguru a little. I could ingest the curses in his stead, so that way, he still gets to absorb it." But it'll lessen the trauma it has on his mental state. 

You can't see how Gojo feels about that. Those glasses of his cover everything. But you know he's staring at you. The six eyes are taking you apart, observing you whole. 

"Did you know Suguru in the future?" He asks. 

"I didn't." The man that killed you. The man that will keep killing you. And you'd forgive him each time. 

Another beat of silence.

Finally, he just sighs. "You're the kind of person who'll jump in front of a truck to save a kitten, right?" 

You give a sheepish laugh.

"That isn't a compliment, by the way. You're just really reckless. And maybe stupid, Greeny." His tone isn't mean. 

"My name still isn't Greeny." You tell him. 

"Oh yeah, what's your name, then?" He's reverted back to that teasing lilt, and it almost makes you relax if you don't note the curiosity underneath. 

So far, you've been lax giving away information regarding the future, but you don't think you should continue that. What if you're too careless and the future changes in a way you didn't intend? A name, personal information, that could be way too dangerous. 

"Actually, just call me Greeny. I like that name a lot better." 

"You complained about it all the time, though?" Gojo argues. 

"It's starting to grow on me." You grin. "Grow? Get it, because you compared me to a plant and-"

"Stop stop, you really are an old man." Gojo groans. You just grin wider. Then, you grimace.

“I can still taste it.” You complain. “I’d kill for a cigarette right now.”

“I caught our assistant manager smoking a while back,” Satoru suggests. “Maybe you could go and beg him for one.”

You toss him a look. “Suguru doesn’t smoke, and I’m not giving a teenager a nicotine addiction.” You have found lighters inside Suguru’s pockets, but you have a feeling it isn’t for his own cravings.

"Hey, could you do me a favor?" 

He gives a wordless hum.

"Maybe after this, could you take Suguru out to a cafe'? I can taste the aftertaste of the curse." You shudder. "Just get him something to wash it down." 

Also, Suguru couldn't go back to his dorm after this. Suguru dissented because of his fractured relationship with everyone, not just with Satoru. You'd try to bridge the gap between him and his peers as much as you can. You go through Suguru's flip phone, asking Shoko if she wants to join the two. 

When you're done with that, you snap the phone closed. 

"Okay, I'm done here. You two have fun, okay?" You raise your hand. 

Gojo just huffs, amused. "Sure sure. By the way, someone wanted to thank you." 

You blink at that. "What?" 

He shakes his head. "Don't worry about it."

He gives you a high-five, and then you're back in 2017 in your own body. 

Temporarily. So far you figured out that you get sent back an hour before the night parade happens. 8:06. Considering you have a couple more minutes to kill before you’re killed, you reach into your pocket for that cigarette you’ve been craving. You pick the first out of the box, cherry burns just out of corner of your eye.

You notice things now. The children giggled to their parents. Old couples gingerly held hands with sweet smiles. You'd save them, but first, you need to save Suguru. 

And do really do that, you'd have to save Riko. 

Easier said than done. You could go back in time, but you can't really control when to go back in time. It's been random, but your trips are typically two days away from each other. You can work with that. 

But in order to get to Riko's death, you'd have to die...a lot. Absorbing curses made Suguru lose his mind, but how well would you fare with dying over and over again? 

"Hungry?" 

Someone looms over you. A woman. She's pretty, with short hair and bangs. In her hand, she holds a bag of chips. 

"The vending machine gave me an extra." She gives a laugh. She kind of sounds like you. "Would you like one?" 

"Oh." You take it. "Thanks." 

"Don't mention it." She trots off into the crowd. You watch her.

A stranger's act of kindness. She didn't even know what would happen to her soon. You grip the bag, it crinkles in your grasp. 

It didn't matter how well you'd fare with dying over and over again. You'd get over it. So many innocent people depended on you. You can't just abandon them like this. 

You're the kind of person who'll jump in front of a truck to save a kitten, right? It's aggravating how accurate he is, honestly. 

The screams start up again, and you forgive Suguru. 

ⴵ

It takes a few cycles to finally reach the day Amanai Riko is assassinated. Whenever you deem yourself too early, you often accompany Gojo on a mission and exorcise a special-grade curse. Your overall plan is working, bit by bit. Each time you return, Suguru's memories swarm you. Each curse he remembers as less painful. 

It's why you get worried when you get there a little too late. 

"Something wrong?" Riko asks. 

You've stopped in the middle of the hallway, and of course, they're looking at you strangely. You know this place. Tengen's barrier is just an elevator ride away. Suguru, Riko, and Miss Kuroi were all almost there.

Fushiguro Toji has already arrived. 

In the first timeline, Geto leads the girls all the way down to Tengen's barrier. He puts his trust in Gojo. Of course, he would. They're the strongest. And in the end, Gojo does kill Toji. 

But the kill comes too late. Riko still dies, and the fracturing happens. 

You thought you'd have more time. If you had arrived a bit earlier, you could have fought with Gojo, and the chances of defeating Toji would have significantly increased. 

What do you do?

"What's the matter?" Miss Kuroi asks. She's supposed to die today, too. 

"Sorry, ladies." You smile. "But I need to go back for him." 

You don't answer their calls, running back up the hallway. The sun's bright, shimmering beautifully in the sky.

It contradicts the blood dripping all over the stone floor. 

Gojo's lifeless body is draped across the rubble. It's a horrifying sight. Eyes that were once like the sky are just this empty blue. A dead sea. He isn't breathing. You know, if you touched his wrist, you wouldn't feel a heartbeat. 

"Hate to break it to ya', but the Gojo kid's dead." Toji's right behind you. You can feel him grinning. 

You know Gojo isn't dead. At least, he won't be dead for a while, but seeing the boy who used to tease you, annoy the shit out of you, laugh at you, be so....it made you freeze. Falter. 

You were wasting time. 

"Sorceror killer." You say after a minute. You almost can't bring yourself to turn, to look at him. The man who kills Gojo. The man who could've killed Suguru, but chose not to. "You certainly live up to your name." 

Toji's grin widens. The only man in the world with zero cursed energy. It'd be awe-inspiring if it weren't so terrifying. 

It's funny. You weren't afraid of dying, not anymore. You were afraid of failing. Failing when you were so close, when victory was just a blink away. 

"The flyheads." You mention to the swarms of curses all around you. "That's really smart." It gives you an idea or two. 

You have Suguru's memories, but they aren't always concrete. You just have snippets. A general idea of what happened within a certain event. It makes sense. Humans can't remember everything. 

But regarding the memories of Suguru and Fushiguro, everything is crystal clear. It's almost like you were there when it happened. 

It also means that you know Suguru, at this current level, won't be able to defeat Fushiguro. 

But Suguru doesn't need to beat the sorcerer killer; he just needs to hold him off. 

Currently, Suguru's body contains 368 curses: 3 special grades, 24 grade ones, 33 grade twos, 103 grade threes, and 205 fourth grades. 

You release all 368 of them. 

In another timeline, these curses would look to you as something to devour. Today, these curses have a new target. 

It won't stop Fushiguro. You're not dumb enough to think that. But it should give you time. Hopefully, it'll be enough time. 

Your knees hurt when you collapse next to the corpse. Gojo's so beautiful, even when he's dead. 

"Gojo." You shake him. Nothing happens. "You need to wake up. Gojo." 

Nothing happens. You don't know what caused Gojo to become the strongest, Suguru wasn't there. For once, you are blind to the past. 

"Riko needs you. Wake up. You-you need to go and save her and Miss Kuroi." 

His body's so cold, and you know he's dead because when you touch his skin, you don't wake up in the present. You push against his body, and he falls limply right back to place. You're sure this sight will haunt you for the rest of your life. 

"Satoru." You beg. "It's Greeny. Please, please, please wake up."

 Nothing happens. 

Everything happens. 

The brightest blue you've ever seen. It's heavenly. A glow that warms and chills your skin. It takes a while for you to see again. When you do, Satoru is standing. 

Somehow, his eyes are even brighter. You don't think you're looking at a teenage boy anymore. 

You're sitting in front of God. 

"Greeny." he states, voice flat. "You're late." 

You manage to smile.

"Sorry." 

You’ve seen Satoru fight before. He’s always calm, body relaxed as he practically floats in the air. Those fights differed from Suguru’s memories—post Satoru’s awakening. There’s always this twinge of desperation. An aftertaste of bloodlust.

But seeing it for yourself is something else entirely. Even with Suguru’s heightened senses, you still can’t follow him. He’s barely a mirage. One milisecond you can see a blue flash, the next you see nothing.

It's barely a fight. Not this time around. Fushiguro is completely unmatched. There's a flash of purple. And then, it's over. 

Fushiguro is in shambles. You didn't realize he was human until he started to bleed and shatter. Parentage over labor. It's sobering, in a way. 

Satoru's mouth moves. You're too far away to hear anything. They stand there for a few more seconds until Fushiguro slumps. Then, he falls.

You wonder when you got so desensitized to death. 

Gojo stands there. You should let him compress, but the clock is ticking. You need to do one more thing before you can let Suguru go. 

"You need to go." You say when you're close to him. He doesn't acknowledge you. "Riko's about to enter Tengen's barrier." 

He looks at you right then. His eyes. They're so bright, but they're strangely lifeless. Like he can't process you, your words. 

"I can see you now," he says, "it was so foggy before, but now, you're crystal clear." 

Six eyes look at you. You don't think you're hiding behind Suguru's face anymore. 

You clear your throat. 

"Gojo." You remind him. "Riko. You need to stop her." 

He blinks back into focus, rising from his high. 

"Oh," he says after a moment, "right." 

You stop him before he can walk any further. You hold out your hand. 

"You and Suguru." 

For the first time in a while, Gojo hesitates to send you back. You wait a couple seconds longer. 

"Yeah," he finally says.

His skin still feels cold. 

ⴵ

This death is a lot more painful than the others. 

The curse that's holding you is more intelligent than its predecessors. It keeps you alive, tearing at your skin, feasting on your flesh. Blood is everywhere. You scream until it rips out your vocal cords. It's almost a mercy to just die. 

You forgive Suguru. 

ⴵ

Time skips a lot faster now. 

You stand in 2006, four months after the death of Fushiguro Toji. It takes a second for Geto's memories to kick in. What you see makes you nearly cry in relief. 

Gojo and Geto made it in time. You can still remember the tears spilling down Riko's cheeks, the smile on her face when Geto asked her if she wanted to go back. They were safe. They were home, with each other. 

You did it. You actually managed to pull it off. 

But you can't celebrate, not yet. From what you can gather from Suguru's memories, Geto defects after four years. You've just held off the eventual. 

It's nearly the middle of December. The air feels a bit chillier. You stay on that bench where Suguru once occupied. He was finishing his lunch. Usually, he'd eat with Satoru, but Satoru wasn't on campus these days. 

Right, you weren't finished with your work, yet. There was still one other issue. Suguru went on missions alone these days. Swallowing curses, letting them fester and rot in his body. It's isolating and grueling work. You might have been able to help him with the absorption, but your aide won't be enough to prevent his eventual downfall. 

You'll have to deal with his natural isolation. To do that, Suguru will have to make friends with people who aren't Satoru. 

Suguru does have friends, but he's the closest to Satoru. Considering Satoru is getting busier each passing day, Suguru needs to broaden his horizons a bit. 

It's a good thing this school is filled with such colorful characters. 

Haibara and Nanami were sitting in the back of the school. From Geto's memories, their dynamic was interesting. Haibara was definitely more outgoing than the two, but Nanami seemed to have a good head on his shoulders. They looked out for each other, in that way. 

Ah, Shoko was there, too. You haven't seen her since your first day. Her hair's grown longer. It lightly brushes her shoulders now. The cigarette in her hand burns a cherry red. 

Your reaction is rooted in Suguru's instinct than anything on your part. You reach out, taking the cigarette and stomping on the embers. 

"You shouldn't smoke in front of kids." You tell her, hoping she didn't read too much into your action.

Shoko scoffs, but to your satisfaction, she doesn't take out another one. 

"We're just one year below you." Nanami retaliates, but he looks more at ease now that the cigarette's out. 

"Did you finish lunch already, Geto?" Haibara asks kindly, then he takes a closer look. "Greeny?" 

You suck air through your teeth, giving Haibara a scathing look. Instead of looking exasperated, Nanami looks confused. 

"What's Greeny?" Nanami asks, and Haibara weakly laughs. 

"It's-uh-my new nickname for the tree that's growing over there!" He wildly points to something just behind you. "'Cuz it's so...green!"

"Of course." You note the hint of affection laced within his tone. 

"When'd you get back?" Haibara recovers with eagerness. 

"Recently." You grin. "Nice to see you again." 

"You saw him this morning," Nanami interjects, and you shrug. When he frowns, you know you pulled off a perfect Suguru impression. 

Suguru melds into the conversation perfectly. Haibara says something funny, Shoko and Suguru agree, Nanami disagrees. It's a lovely little cycle that ends when Nanami grumbles and picks himself up to go. Shoko starts to follow suit when you stop her. 

"Your hair's nice." You tell her. 

She hums, grabbing a strand to study it. You can see hints of dark circles beginning to form under her eyes. She looked livelier when you first met her. Curses have been popping up left and right since Fushiguro's death. Everyone is overworked, but Shoko looks like she's getting the brunt of it. She's one of the only people who can use RCT on others, and there aren't many healers on her level. All of the strongests share one thing in common it seems. 

"Pretty soon, it'll be longer than yours," Shoko replies. You smile in response. 

"Where are you going?" You ask. 

"Dorm," she replies, "I'm behind on paperwork." 

You had a feeling she always was. You gave a look of sympathy, but misery loves company. 

"I have some work too," You 'remember' the piles of papers lodged on Suguru's desk, "Maybe we can do it together later. The cafe right next to campus? It'll be my treat." 

She looks at Suguru. Her eyes are a pretty color. 

"Sure." She shrugs. "see you then." 

You feel your heart thump twice in your chest and decide that your work here is done. 

Haibara stares at Shoko's disappearing back. The forehead flick comes from both you and Suguru. 

"That hurt." Haibara whines. 

Good, you inwardly think. 

"Sorry." You tell him. He rubs his head, and you wonder if this is how kicking a puppy feels like. 

Luckily for you, Haibara recovers quickly. 

"You've been gone for a while." Haibara tilts his head. "What happened?" 

You can't exactly control your technique, it's more like it has a mind of its own, placing you exactly where you need to be placed. Instead of answering, you sigh, leaning against the wall. 

"Timeline gimmicks." You tell him tiredly. "It's hard to explain." He frowns, but he takes it as an answer.

"Do you know when Gojo's coming back?" You ask. "I think it's time for me to go back again." 

In previous time travels, you and Haibara tried to see if any physical contact would be enough to send you back. No matter how many times you two high-fived, shook hands, or even held hands. Nothing worked. Only Gojo Satoru could activate your technique. It must have something to do with the amount of cursed energy another person has. 

“He should be getting back later this evening.” Haibara muses. “But I’ll be happy to keep you company!”

It's nice to hear him chatter. If you'd let him, he'd go one and one. But you like hearing him talk about his sister. Apparently, she’s also a sorcerer, and his affection for her makes you smile.

"You remind me a lot of her, actually." He tells you. "Even though, y'know, you're a man." It's enough to get a laugh out of you. 

“Do you have anyone in your family who can see curses?” Haibaracasks.

“No,” you answer honestly, “at least, not that I can tell. My dad never spoke of curses or strange powers when I was growing up.”

You think he would have said something; after all, you two were too close to have secrets from each other. Your father was a single man, who took to raising you himself after your mother passed away. He often said you had her laugh.

“Maybe you’re one of a kind,” Haibara suggests.

You agree with him.

Gojo finds you before you can find him. He comes up to you with a grin and a wave.

“Hey, long time.”

His sunglasses are tilted down. You can see his eyes. They’ve lost the mania he had in his fight with Fushiguro. You’re relieved at that. You still can’t shake off that strange thing he said to you.

Wordlessly, you raise your hand. Satoru frowned.

“You wanna leave so soon? You just got here.”

“I’ve been here for hours,” you tell him, “also, you aren’t very concerned that someone is using your best friend’s body as a puppet.”

“He’s been through worse,” Satoru tells you off with a wave. Some friend.

“Let’s go to the arcade,” he suggests.

“Do that with Suguru.” You tell him. “I’m not hanging out with a high schooler.”

“Right right, my bad. I keep forgetting you’re an old man, Greeny.”

“22 is not old,” you say with exasperation, “didn’t your birthday just pass? You’re just five years away. I’ll see your attitude change, then.”

He grows quiet. You feel like you messed up somewhere.

“How did you know about my birthday?”

Fuck, you keep forgetting about keeping Suguru’s memories a secret. It takes everything within you to just relax.

“Haibara told me,” you say, “blabbermouth. You know him.”

“Oh.” Gojo replies. “Huh.”

You shuffle your feet. Distantly, you wonder what shoe size Suguru wears.

“How did your mission go?”

“Horrible,” he’s instantly back to his usual self, whiny and complaint, “and the curse was so ugly too. It was oozing goo everywhere.”

You frown. “Sounds gross. But you won, right?”

He doesn’t even answer. You secretly admire his sheer confidence. You certainly weren’t that when you were at his age.

“How’s Amanai and Miss Kuroi?” You ask.

“Safe.” He tells you. “The higher-ups weren’t really happy with us after that; pretty sure all these sudden missions are punishments.” He frowns. “But they’re fine. Miss Kuroi officially adopted her, so she’s a Kuroi now, too.”

You smiled. You already knew all that, but it’s nice to hear it.

“You saved them,” he says.

You laugh, “I didn’t do a thing.” You tell him. “You and Suguru did all the heavy lifting. I just caused some property damage.”

“You did.” He replies. “I don’t know how, but things always manage to work out whenever you’re around.”

You don’t like how he phrases that, but you don’t react.

“You think so? Maybe I’m lucky.” It’s supposed to be a joke of some kind. Neither of you laugh.

“You really don’t know us in the future?” He asks.

Maybe you should’ve asked Shoko if you could have a cigarette.

“I really didn't,” you say, “Honest, I—I have no idea what’s happening. I’m just as lost as you. Hopefully, I can figure out how to control my technique, and you won’t have to see me again.”

You never stopped feeling guilty for doing this to Suguru. Controlling him. Forcing him to laugh with his friends, make decisions based on your feelings rather than his. But you’re so close. You promise yourself that once you fix everything, you’ll never cause someone this much pain again. No matter how many times they kill you.

Satoru’s fists tighten. He looks even more upset at your response.

“That’s not what I—” He cuts himself off. You wait. Satoru says nothing more.

“You’re annoying.” He tells you in the end. It’s clean and cut, but it sounds like him. More confident, less wavery. “And stupid too.”

You can’t help but smile.

“Thank you. Am I done entertaining you now? Can I go?” He grumbles, holding up his hand.

“Yeah, sure, Greeny.”

ⴵ

You forgive Suguru.

ⴵ

Something’s wrong.

You can feel it. Something’s wrong.

You look through Geto’s memories. There’s nothing. Everything’s going as it should be. Everything looks perfect. Then, why do you feel so wrong?

Currently, Suguru was finishing excorcising a curse. You absorb it, swallowing down the remnant like it’s a pile of rusted nails but even the disgusting taste isn’t enough to wash away the feeling of dread.

The walls of the hospital was empty. The auxillary managers had already cleared everyone out by the time Suguru had walked in. Maybe it was the silence that added to your stress?

You walk out. Nothing changes. One of the managers comes up to you with a clipboard.

“The curse was exorcised.” Suguru tells them. “It wasn’t first grade, it was special grade. It was still disposed of.”

He curses, scribbling something down on his clipboard.

“The wrong information again.” He hisses to himself. “If we keep doing this, someone will die. We need more people, we’re way too stretched out.”

Those words are familiar. Hold on.

“Wait, what day is it?” You ask the frazzled-looking manager.

Offhandedly, he responds. He says the date so casually, and yet his mere words feel like a bear trap, tightening on your leg.

No. You should have had more time. Why weren’t you given more time?

Nanami and Haibara have probably already been dispatched. You go through Suguru’s phone, finding Haibara’s contact. It doesn’t go through. Nanami doesn’t pick up either.

You won’t make it in time. Even using Suguru’s curses, you won’t be able to reach them until it’s too late. Suguru’s memory of that day is muddled and dark, but Haibara’s dead corpse laying on the examination table. The pieces of him that Nanami could bring back.

You wouldn’t be fast enough.

He picks up on the second ring.

“...What’s up?”

“It’s Haibara.” You spit the words out as fast as you can. “Satoru, you need to go and get him right now, he isn’t going to make it—”

“—Greeny?” The exhaustion in Gojo’s voice is gone. You can hear something rustle behind him.

“Satoru, listen to me.” You beg. “Haibara and Nanami were just dispatched on a mission, but Yu isn’t going to survive it. It wasn’t a second-grade curse; it was a first grade. Please, you have to go and save him before it kills him.”

It’s silent. It feels like hours have passed when you know it’s just three seconds.

“We’ll talk later, Greeny.” The line clicks.

You’ve lost the trust of the strongest.

ⴵ

The future has changed when you get to campus. Haibara’s status is still alive. Barely. But he’s still there. Shoko’s currently taking care of him.

Nanami remains quiet the entire time since he returned with Haibara’s battered body. The only thing you can think of to offer comfort is to pat his shoulder. He barely even registers it. It’s more for you than for him. You’re self-soothing, taking care of something else, so you don’t have to recognize your own panic.

If Haibara dies, right here, on this day, everything can change. Everything can go back to the way it was in your original timeline. Haibara, with his sunshine, smiles, and bright eyes. His death is so important, and you can’t even think of him right now.

Gojo Satoru knows you’ve been deceiving him.

This is bad. So very bad. If he starts to suspect that you know more than you let on, he might deem you enough of a threat to kill, regardless of whether or not you’re in Suguru’s body. It’s not like that hasn’t stopped him before.

Gojo Satoru is selfless. He’s selfless enough to kill his best friend, if he thinks it will save everyone.

But if Gojo kills Geto here and now, would that really be bad?

You’d lose your path to the past, but the threat to your life would be over. Even if you did die in Suguru’s body, at least the people of Tokyo will be spared the Death Parade. You’ll still get what you want. And it will be much easier than your current plan.

Nanami shuffles behind you and you instantly snap out of it. That wasn’t you. It couldn’t have been you. That same lack of apathy when Fushiguro died in front of you.

It seems like dying over and over again caused you to lose bits of your humanity.

Shoko comes out. Nanami stands up, a tall ball of nervous energy. Shoko removes her mask. Her dark circles have grown even more prominent. She’s only 17.

“He’s still alive.” Nanami sags. “But he isn’t responsive. I’ve done all that I can.”

She looks at Nanami, and then she can’t anymore.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t,” Nanami rasps, the most emotion you’ve ever seen from him, “don’t apologize. It was my fault. I should’ve taken better care of him.”

You swallow. It wasn’t his fault, you wish you could tell him that it was yours.

You wonder what Haibara’s younger sister looked like. A spitting image of him, perhaps. Shorter. Darker hair, bigger eyes. Their smiles would look identical. What would she look like when she’s told her brother died doing the profession he forbade her from doing?

You can’t do that to her. You can’t be the reason she loses her brother the second time.

You’re not sure if a God is even out there. How could there be? What kind of entity would do something like this to you? Still, you sit on that bench, right outside the room where Haibara’s body lay, and you pray for a God.

Gojo’s footsteps stop right in front of you.

It’s hard to get the words out. For a minute, he just stands there.

“Did you exorcise it?” You finally ask.

“Yeah.”

You lift your head up to look at him. Even in his school uniform, he’s regal to look at. Like a warrior of the sun, blessed by the moon, sent to vanquish beasts and monsters.

Now, his blood-soaked sword is pointed at you.

Make it quick. You can only think. Just make it quick.

“Not here.” You say.

Nanami was still shaking. Shoko was right beside him. So you stand, you drag yourself away from Haibara’s fading presence, and Gojo follows behind.

It shouldn’t be this pretty outside. The sun is bright, and the sky is clear. There should be rain. Enough rain to drown the Earth.

“I figured out your technique a while ago, y’know.” You don’t look at him. You can’t. “Dying. Death activates your technique. Each time you die, you’re sent back 12 years in the past.”

You grip the fabric of your uniform until your knuckles turn white. Satoru’s cruel enough to continue.

“But I never got why your soul kept possessing Suguru’s body. It always felt kinda’ random. Unless he was the one who was killing you. Over and over again.”

“Gojo. Stop.” You beg.

“That’s how your CT works. Every time you’re murdered, you go back in time so you can kill them when they’re at their most emotionally vulnerable moment. It’s a pretty powerful technique, all things considered. I might not even stand a chance against it. Assisted suicide, never expected that from you of all people.

But you never do. Each time Suguru kills you, you just come back and try to save him and everyone else your hands can reach. I can’t get why you did that.”

He steps in front of you so you can see him. The God that he is.

“Let’s cut the shit, Greeny. Tell me what future is so bad you’re willing to die over and over again to prevent it.”

The worst outcome you could have ever thought of was standing right in front of you.

Satoru was demanding to know his future.

And...you couldn’t.

You’re taking in a shaky breath. It’s not enough oxygen. The sky was close to crumbling, and you still couldn’t breathe.

“There’s nothing to know.” You try. “There’s nothing, I’m fixing it—”

“—by Suguru killing you, or is this considering killing yourself, now?”

“You don’t understand.” Your voice is cracking, so high-pitched that even Suguru’s vocal cords can’t keep up. “You don’t get it. You can’t.”

“Then help me understand.” His voice is as ragged as yours, he steps closer, you step back. “Tell me why my friend would do something like this to someone.”

It clicks right then. Satoru’s anger isn’t directed at you.

No, it’s directed at Suguru.

It’s even worse than you thought.

“He—he was better than me. He was supposed to be the best out of all of us. I wanna deny it all that I can but—but I can see the proof right here in front of me. And—And I don’t—” His voice breaks too much to continue. 

You’re breaking, too. How many times have you been doing this, over and over again? All alone, with no one to support you. To comfort you.

The words are right there, threatening to bubble out. It’d be so easy to tell Satoru everything.

And maybe you would’ve, but then you looked at him.

Despite how disingenuous Satoru acted, you knew he was kind. The kindest person you’ve ever met. He’d sit there and listen, and he’d break every bone in his body to help. That’s just how he was.

Satoru was selfless, he was selfless enough to kill his best friend here and now if it meant he’d save the millions in Tokyo.

You can’t put another burden on the strongest.

You can’t do that to a kid.

“It—it isn’t him.” You manage to spit out. “He isn’t doing it on purpose. It’s not his fault.

It’s the curses. They were too much for him; they overtook his body. Suguru couldn’t control them anymore.”

He says nothing. It’s like you’ve put a spell on Gojo somehow, freezing him in place. Satoru can’t do anything but stare at the talking puppet that’s his best friend.

“He lost so many people.” You continue. “Riko, Miss Kuroi, Haibara. He couldn’t take it. It was too much. His body succumbed to the curses, and they took over Shinjuku. That’s how I keep...”

It’s okay to lie like this, you justify to yourself. Because the Suguru, you know—the one with fake smiles, beady eyes, and a broken expression—isn’t the one that Satoru knows. They’re two completely different people. Years—timelines—apart from each other. They aren’t the same.

Even then, you forgave both Sugurus a lifetime ago.

You’d get on your knees if you know that would make a difference. You’d plead and beg and cry if it would get Satoru to drop it. In the end, you can only stare at him.

“All I’m asking is that you trust me.” You whisper. “Believe that I’m making this right. Please, Satoru?”

His eyes. You can’t tell what he’s thinking. He’s gone quiet and dull. The same look he had when he fully awakened his technique. The day he became God.

But he’s not a God. God’s don’t cry.

He leans ever so closely until his head rests on your shoulder. His body shakes.

“You’ll save him, right?” He asks. Gone, is his aura of confidence and resilience. He’s nothing more than a shell. If you feel something stain Suguru’s uniform, you say nothing about it.

You smile anyway.

“I will.” You tell the truth. “I will save him.”

You think of something morbidly funny.

“I’ll die trying.”

His shoulders shake with quiet, genuine laughter, the kind that’s wet and sticks to the top of your mouth.

“That’s fucked up, Greeny.” He whispers.

You hum, reaching up to pat him on the back. It takes another minute before he gathers himself up. His eyes are shiny. Satoru blinks it away.

“Haibara will be okay.” He says with such conviction. “I’ll take care of him. I’ll take care of Suguru, too.”

He doesn’t get it, not yet. He doesn’t understand that Shoko and Satoru and Haibara and Nanami need him. He’ll get it soon, though. You managed to put Suguru on the right path.

For now, it’s all you can do. 

“I know you will.” 

He scoffs, right then. 

“You’re really annoying, you know that? Next time, don’t piss me off like that. Just tell it to me straight.” 

Rely on me. Lean on me.

“I’m sorry,” you say and you truly are, “I won’t leave you in the dark from now on. I guess I just forgot that I had a friend in 2006.” 

His eyes get a little brighter. “It’s actually 2007—” 

“Shut up.” He laughs and it sounds like him again. 

You reach out your hand and his grin fades, the tiniest bit. He mirrors you, regardless. 

This time, you hesitate.

“You should learn how to be selfish every once in a while.” You tell him. “I won’t fault you if you’re selfish. I don’t think anyone will.

He doesn’t answer that, but his touch is finally warm.

ⴵ

It hurts. It hurts so much. Blood seeps into the pavement. You can hear the curse laughing. It sounds like him.

You forgive Suguru. 

ⴵ

It’s today. 

You can feel it. You don’t even have to look at the date to know.

The catalyst for December 24th, 2017.

Suguru’s already dressed. You’re currently standing in front of a shotty mirror, watching your reflection.

He looks tired. His smile’s a bit muted. You notice a scar you hadn’t seen before. An unregistered special grade curse, Suguru’s memory gives.

He’s different from when you saw him a year ago, but there’s still a spark in his eye. You cling to that hope, as hard as you can.

You step out of the room. It isn’t Suguru’s. He’d rented accommodations with an older woman and her son for the mission. Their place smelled like home. It made your stomach turn.

She smiles when she sees you coming down stairs. She looks kind; she has the eyes of a mother. You’ll never understand how a person who raised children could do something like this to another.

“Mr. Geto.” She chirps. “I’m so glad you’re awake! Would you like anything to eat?”

“No, I’m fine.” Better get this done sooner than later. “I should be heading back now, anyways.”

Suguru had already absorbed the curse tormenting the village last night. You can feel the sticky aftertaste in your mouth. He should have left the village yesterday, but the people were insistent he stayed one last day as thanks, feeding him all they could.

Now, it’s obvious that it was a way to butter him up for today.

Her smile grows a bit nervous. She shuffles her feet a bit.

“If it isn't too much.” She starts. “The head of our village asked if you could look at something.” Her eyes darken into disgust.

You fight to keep your smile.

“Of course. Please, lead the way.”

It’s worse than you ever could have imagined.

You’ve seen this play out so many times in Suguru’s memories. He reminisces about this moment a lot. Because of that, you knew this scene too, like the back of your hand.

And yet, seeing two children huddled together on the floor. Nothing could prepare you for that.

The village head is saying something. The woman who Suguru roomed with is yelling at the scared kids, but you can’t hear any of that.

Their clothes were dirty and ripped. Their cheeks were hollow, and they looked like they hadn’t eaten for days. Himiko’s eye looks swollen.

The twins.

The first time you saw them, they stepped aside and let Geto kill you. There’s something oddly poetic about you being on the other side.

They tremble as they continue to look at you, flinch whenever that woman raises her voice. They must think Suguru’s here to kill them.

They’re too young to think like that. They’re too young to see the horrors of this world so soon.

It’s a mistake to look towards the end of their cell. Dirty water and dog food.

How could a human do this to them? How could a mother do this to them?

You feel red. It coarses through your blood, your veins, your soul. It feels like there’s lava right underneath your skin. Shuddering, tittering anger.

There’s more than enough fire to burn down an entire village.

‘Suguru,’ you think to your companion, your tormentor, ‘I think I’m starting to get it now.’

You reach for the bars of the cell. The twins shrink away.

“Ah! Mr. Geto, you musn’t get too close to them—”

“I’ll take them.”

“What?” The head of the village asks.

“The children.” You straighten yourself up. “I’ll take them off your hands.”

It’s pointless to do anything to these people. They’re delusional enough to think that they’re in the right. By torturing these children, they’re protecting their own. It’s fear. That’s all it ever was. Even without a curse, it’ll fester on and on until this village is nothing but abandoned homes. There’s no point to punish these people any further.

If you look at the adults a bit too long, you’re afraid of what you’d do, even without Suguru’s interference. Instead, you focus on Himiko and Nanako, looking into their wary gazes. Their hands are so tiny. You could protect them with your own.

When you got out of this backward village, you’d find them something to eat.

ⴵ

You go to Shoko first.

She looks surprised to see the twins. You can’t imagine why. Still, her voice is calm when she speaks to them, setting both of them up in the clinic room. Since you got them into the car, Nanako and Himiko seemed to calm down. Himiko even told you the name of her doll.

A little while later, Yaga comes for a visit. He’s the principal now. Usually, his voice is filled with gruff, but he’s oddly gentle when he speaks to them. Nanako cracks a shy smile.

You can’t escape the ‘we’ll talk later’ look he gives you. Inwardly, you sympathize with Suguru. But a harsh lecture is better than being branded a murderer.

He hasn’t come by, yet. With the twins aided for, you decide to go find him yourself.

Walking through campus feels a little nostalgic. The grounds of the infamous jujutsu technical college are a bright green. It’s summer again. You’ve met so many colorful characters since your time here. You’ve only seen snippets, mere seconds of their lives, and yet it feels like an entire lifetime.

He’s sitting on a bench when you finally see him, nursing a drink. He doesn’t acknowledge you. You have to roll your eyes at his childish behavior, plopping down beside him.

“Hey.” You say first.

“Heard you adopted two kids,” Satoru says, “Never thought Suguru would be a teen mom, but here we are.”

You laugh, light and breathless. The sky is so pretty today.

“I don’t think he’d have it any other way, personally.” You respond.

He reminisces on your words.

“This happened before too?” He asked.

It did. It was a lot less of a happy ending, however.

“Yeah,” you say regardless, “he took good care of them last time. He’ll do the same in this timeline too. I’m sure of it.”

And this time, he’d have help. Shoko, Satoru, his teachers. They’d all be there for him. Suguru’s memories haven’t changed yet, but you know the future you step into will be a different one.

“In any case, I’m glad I got to see jujutsu tech one last time. It’s a beautiful campus.”

“You act like you’re leaving,” Satoru says, uncaring. “You’ll just come back again next month. Or next year.”

You play with your fingers.

“I...won’t be doing that from now on.”

He pauses. Then, he looks at you.

“What?”

You can’t gauge his reaction, but he doesn’t look happy. You find this a bit hard to swallow.

“I fixed the future.” You smile at him. “I finally did it. Suguru won’t break. Himiko and Nanako won’t lose their father. You won’t lose a friend, anymore. There’s no reason for me to keep coming back. You’re all free.”

You phrased the last part as a joke, but Satoru isn’t laughing.

“Wait, you’re leaving? You’re...leaving leaving.”

You nod. “I can’t believe it either.” You still can’t believe you accomplished everything you set out to do. A task that seemed so impossible, now you’re standing on the other side of it.

It wasn’t truly over. Not really, but you were able to get Suguru through the worst of it. Now, you were sure Satoru and Shoko would take up your mantel, pushing Suguru through the finish line. Just like he’ll do to them.

Satoru’s quiet.

“You seem happy.” He notes.

“Well, I did just save everyone, I think I deserve to feel a little good about myself.”

For a moment, you want to ask if it’ll be okay to visit everyone in the future. To see how Shoko and Suguru and Satoru are doing as adults. You stop yourself. Of course, they wouldn’t want to see you. You needed to stop being so greedy.

This, was more than enough.

“Will you at least tell me your name?” Satoru asks.

“You know I can’t do that.” You tell him with a smile.

“Right right.” He laughs, it sounds hollow. “Time travel, bullshit. Makes sense.”

“I’ll miss you.” You tell him.

He straightens himself up.

“I’ll miss you too, old man.” He responds. “You were a lotta’ fun to mess with.”

For once, you aren’t offended by the old man’, comment. If anything, it feels somber.

“Can I ask for some advice?” He suddenly asks. “Y’know what they say, ask the old and wise or whatever.” Okay, now he was starting to push it.

“What is it?”

It’s his turn to shuffle with his fingers.

“What would you do if...there’s something you really want, but no matter how fast you run, you just can’t catch up to it?”

You glance at him. He looks earnest. Did something like that even exist for Satoru?

“Something I can’t catch up to?” You ponder out loud. “I guess I’d have to make a big enough ruckus to where it has no choice but to look back.”

He frowns. “That makes no sense. You’re growing senile.”

You laugh. You’ll miss this brat.

You wish you could stay more. You wish you could ask about Haibara, and Shoko, and Nanami, but the clock is ticking.

Suguru’s getting impatient.

“Bye, Satoru.” You reach out your hand.

He scrutinizes it, before clasping it within his own.

“Yeah, Greeny.”

Within a blink, you’re back again in the middle of Shinjuku. December 24th, 7:06 pm.

It’s the same as always. People bustle around you. Children’s laughter. Everything always repeats itself, but you don’t think you can ever get sick of it. You’ll savor this peace for as long as you can.

You reach into your pocket, flicking out a lighter and the first cigarette of the box. You don’t know why you always chose this one. Despite outmaneuvering time itself, perhaps it’s within human nature to follow what’s written stone.

You’ve relived this hour so many times that you can list everything that happens. Down to the exact minute. 7:08- a little girl wearing a red dress walks by. 7:09- a lady with short hair catches your eyes and smiles. 7:14-an old man and woman bicker with each other as they pass you by. 7:21- A little dog sniffs the bench you sit on. 7:34- Two schoolchildren run past you, babbling. 7:45- five construction workers grumble out their grievances. 7:58- a businessman talks loudly on the phone.

You wait. You sit on a bench and wait until 8:06.

Five seconds after 8:06. Twenty seconds after 8:06.

The clock clicks to 8:07.

You were expecting to feel something else. Celebration. Elation. You half-expected to cause a scene and jump for joy right there in the streets of Shinjuku.

None of that comes. There’s just a feeling of relief. A weight presses you down, and you slump in your seat.

It was over.

It was finally over.

How long do you stay like that? Hours? Days? When you feel like you can finally breathe again, it’s only 8:12. Time travel warped your sense of time.

You stand up, stretch, feel your bones crack and pop. In the second timeline, you wanted to get a drink to drown your misery of nearly getting killed by a curse and being alone on December 24th. It felt like a lifetime ago when being single was the worst of your problems.

Honestly, you’d stay celibate for the rest of your life if it meant you wouldn’t have to go through that ever again.

Tomorrow, you’ll decompress and devolve into hysteria over what happened.

Next week, you’ll check yourself into therapy.

Today, you decide to go home and sleep for a couple hundred years.

You must look like a zombie with the way you wobble down the street. Physically, your body is perfectly fine. You’ve suffered no bruises or cuts. Even the numerous times you’ve been killed leaves nothing on your skin.

Mentally, you’re in shambles. The indomitable human spirit within you is snuffed out.

The stairs to your flat is your last enemy that you must vanquish before you can reunite with your adoring bed. You cling onto the railing with dazed eyes. You don’t see the curse until you’re right before it.

Distantly, you wonder how often you’ve passed a curse and didn’t even realize it. It’s almost instinct to reach out with your hand, intent on absorbing it.

Nothing happens. You remember you aren’t Suguru anymore.

It’s a grotesque-looking thing. No eyes, too many hands, a gaping mouth. It turns and looks at you.

Strange. Its’ smile mirrors the one in the abandoned house.

Adrenaline. You feel it coarse through your veins, meld into your bones, explode in your skin. You’re stumbling back, nearly tripping down the steps in your haste to get away.

It screeches. Loud and clear and angry and you can almost feel its teeth chomp on your leg, ripping your muscles and skin to mere tatters.

You’ve died before. You’ve been skinned alive before. You’ve been eaten before. Yet, it all amounts to nothing compared to the fear you feel at the thought of the curse catching you.

It can’t have been nothing more than a third grade. If you were taller, larger, special-grade, you could have killed it immediately. But you weren’t, not anymore, you were at the same level as a plant. Useless. Helpless.

A dead man stumbling, tripping, running.

The streets were quiet. You supposed that meant there’d be fewer casualties. But it didn’t make you feel any better. And even if there were people around, no one would have been able to help you.

Your brain isn’t working as clearly. Fear is the only thing that guides you. You’re reduced to a rat scampering through a maze. Sooner or later, that rodent reaches a dead end.

The alleyway was blocked off. You felt the rough brick wall scrape your hands and even the feeling of your raw skin couldn’t assuage your heart pumping in your throat. When you whirled your head back, it was right there, and you knew you were dead.

Again.

It might kill you, if it’s feeling generous. It might cut your legs off and watch you bleed, if its feeling kind. It might eat you, if it’s a decent curse.

It shouldn’t be happening. You fixed it. You were supposed to have fixed everything. But clearly you didn't. There must have been some piece of the puzzle that you forgot. You need to go back. You need to fix things, but why do you need to why can't he just leave you alone—

You don’t see what happens. One moment, the curse is there. The next it isn’t.

“Those things are so annoying.” The newcomer complains.

No, not new. You know him.

You blink. He grins. It’s kind. A toothy smile that warms.

“You alright?” He asks in sympathy. “Curses are pretty scary, aren’t they? Are you hurt?”

It’s him. You weren’t in 2006. You were in the present, here and now, and he was here with you.

He actually made it.

“Ma’am?” He asks.

It wasn’t intentional. You just blurted it out, the promise you made to him. It was a decade for him. Mere hours for you.

“Um, broccoli head...?” And then you instantly regret it.

Haibara Yu takes a minute, eyes squinting like you just grew a new head.

Then, he gasps.

“Greeny?”

ⴵ

A few minutes later, you’re seated at a restaurant. Haibara has not shut up.

“—I—I can’t believe it? It’s actually you! I thought I’d never see you again ‘cuz Gojo said you weren’t gonna be around anymore, and—and then suddenly you pop up outta’ nowhere—not that I’m complaining— but—”

“—Haibara.” You interrupt. “Please, slow down.”

He stops himself, right when the server comes with drinks. He shoots the waiter a smile, and then he’s back on you.

“Sorry.” He scratches the back of his neck. “I—I got a little excited. And nervous. It’s just...well, I didn’t expect you to be a girl.”

That might have been your fault. Both Haibara and Gojo kept referring to you as a man, so you decided to roll with it. Earlier, you would have justified it by insisting the less they know about you, the better. Now, you just think you were being petty.

“So, how you’ve been? A whole decade...” You murmur to yourself.

“Fine! But what about you?” Haibara asks, concern etched into his eyes. “Where’d you go?”

Wow, he was actually worried for you. Despite being in Suguru’s body, you didn’t really feel like part of the group Shoko, Gojo, Nanami, and Haibara were part of. You felt like an outsider, being somewhere you didn’t belong. It's because you were an outsider. Nevertheless, it’s nice to know one person missed you.

“This might be a little hard to believe, but I just came back to 2017 two hours ago.”

Haibara gapes.

“Wait, so to you, that whole thing happened, today?” You nod. He leans back in his chair.

“Holy fuck.” You laugh at his awe.

“Thanks for saving me, by the way.” You change the topic. “From the curse.”

He waves it off. “I was just paying my debt. From what you did for me all those years ago.”

Ah, Gojo must have told him. Oddly enough, Haibara doesn't seem all that perturbed that he shouldn’t exist currently. At the same time, it feels just like Haibara.

He’s different from when he was younger. Taller. The baby fat is gone. His face is more built, just like the rest of his body. His eyes are less round, but they haven’t lost the spark. A few scars here and there, but he’s all in one piece.

You weren’t able to see what he looked like as an adult from Suguru’s memories, he’d never grown up. But now, you can see it for yourself. You can see the active change you made in his life, to his life.

“Haibara—”

“Yu—” He says seriously. “My friends call me Yu.”

A smile twitches on your lips.

“Tell me about everyone.” You scoot your chair closer. “You, Suguru. How is everyone doing?”

He perks up at that, clearly delighted to be talking.

“Great! Everyone’s doing great! You should totally come visit the school, sometime. They’d love to see you. Uh, even if they don’t technically know you, but I’m sure they’ll love to meet you!” He rambles, and it’s nice to know he hasn’t changed from his younger self.

“Let’s see, Kento’s teaching the first years. I teach the second years—”

“—You’re a teacher?”

He nods. “We all are! Except for Shoko, but she has her own thing going on. Anyway, Mimiko and Nanako have become second-grade semi-sorcerors. Isn’t that incredible? I’m just a first grade semi-sorceror, and at their young ages too! But Suguru wasn’t surprised, he kept saying his girls were prodigies. Oh! You probably want to know about Suguru too, right?”

You nod. Even if you hadn’t done anything, you don’t think that would have stopped his enthusiasm.

“He’s a teacher too! At least, for right now. Yaga’s been wanting to retire, and there have been talks of Suguru becoming the next principal. Principal Geto has a ring to it, right? Oh, and Shoko is currently planning the wedding. You’ll definitely be invited, of course! She said I could bring a plus-one. Oh, and—”

It goes on like that for hours, you think. Not that you mind. You listen to Yu babble on and on about his friends, his students. He talks about Nanami’s recent baking addiction, Shoko’s new office cat, Suguru’s favorite tea pot. It’s a never-ending surge of information.

Eventually, you catch on to the fact that he’s deliberately leaving someone out.

"Yu?" You interrupt him while he's talking about the prank the fourth year pulled on Nanami. "What about Satoru? What's he up to?" 

Maybe you were overthinking things. Haibara likes to talk; perhaps he forgot to exclude someone else's story in his rants. But then, he grimaces. For the first time in this entire conversation, Haibara is reluctant to talk. 

"Satoru is..." He winces, and your hands turn into fists. 

No. No. You were supposed to save everyone. Why hadn't you saved everyone? 

A warm hand grips your own. You'd been shaking. 

Yu gives a soft smile, and you remember he's no longer younger than you. 

"He's not dead." He assures you, but his smile fades. He straightens himself up, and his hand pulls away. 

"Satoru defected from Jujutsu tech. We don't know where he is." 

What? You must have misheard him wrong. Satoru wouldn't do that. That's not like him. This is some sick joke.

But there's no teasing grin on Haibara. His face is grave. You hate it more than anything. 

"It happened when he was a fourth year. No one really knows what happened. Suguru refuses to say anything about it, but I think he's just as confused as the rest of us. It came outta nowhere." 

Yeah, it definitely came out of nowhere. It's so random. Why would Satoru do that? The last time you saw him, he was so happy. He was smiling; he teased you. What happened? It made no sense. 

"So, you haven't seen him for nine years?" You ask. "Not even a glimpse?" 

Yu shakes his head. "Nothing but his residuals. That's how we know he's still alive." 

Nothing computes in your brain. None of it made any sense. You saved Suguru. That was supposed to make everyone happy, including Satoru. Why would he turn around and do this? Defecting made no sense.

"We've actually been tasked to execute him. Since he’s been branded a curse user, all four of us. " Yu laughs with no humor. "Isn't that insane? I don't think any one of us could even fathom doing that, even if it were possible." 

It wasn't possible. Gojo was the strongest. Nothing could go toe to toe with him. Once he put his mind to something, no one could stop him.

But maybe you could. 

You're shutting that idea down immediately. You were done. You were done with dying and time-travel and strange powers. You wanted it all to be over. It'd be so easy to thank Haibara for the nice meal, to go home and sleep this entire day off. Satoru dug his own grave, he can go lay in it. You weren't responsible for someone else's actions. You wouldn’t. You can’t do that another time.

You're the kind of person who'll jump in front of a truck to save a kitten, right?

You hate that brat so much. 

You close your eyes. Take in a breath. Then, you open them. 

"Haibara?" You ask. "Did Gojo tell you how my technique worked?" 

He shakes his head. You grimace because convincing him might take a while.

"Okay, well, I'll need you to do a tiny favor for me."

ⴵ

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"Oh, you're back already?" Satoru says casually, turning back to gaze at you. "I just left today. How did you convince Haibara to snap your neck? That guy cries after killing a mosquito.”

You’d caught him just as he was leaving campus. Yu’s body was less athletic than Suguru’s. Your breath was slightly ragged, pulled down by minor exhaustion.

It doesn’t weigh down your frustration for Gojo Satoru. The biggest pain in your ass you’ve ever met.

“Shut up.” You snap. “Just answer the question.”

“We haven’t seen each other for a year and that’s how you react?” Satoru ignores you. “That’s mean, Greeny. How ‘bout we discuss my treason over steak. Haibara can pay.”

“Satoru.” You beg, “Why are you doing this? What’s the point? Why is everyone happy with their life except for you?”

That seems to get him. His posture stiffens ever so slightly. You can see him work his jaw. He finally drops his act.

“You didn’t have to come back, y’know.” He murmurs quietly. “You could’ve just stayed in the future. Like you said, Greeny, everyone’s happy with their life. 4 outta’ five. That’s a passing grade.”

For once, you wish you could possess him. You wished you could open his brain and peer into his memories until he finally made sense.

“I could never leave you behind like that.” You say the truth just as quietly. “I’ll die a thousand more deaths than do that.”

He smiles. It looks genuine as it looks painful.

“Yeah, I know. I know you, Greeny. Always gotta’ play hero.” He gives a bitter laugh. “That’s why I defected.”

You stare at him. He’s a fourth-year now, even taller than before. You aren’t equal to him anymore in this body, now you’re starting to think you never were.

“Satoru.” You start because what he’s saying can’t be the truth. Your heart broke and broke. “Did—did you leave—did you leave everyone for a decade just so I’d come back? Why would you do that to yourself?”

He doesn’t say anything. Then, he steps forward, just a bit.

“It’s your fault,” Satoru says like it’s instinct to blame you for his actions, “this was your idea.”

What’s he talking about? And then memories of the two of you sitting on that bench just outside of campus.

What would you do if...there’s something you really want, but no matter how fast you run, you just can’t catch up to it? So that’s what he meant. You were an idiot.

“That’s not fair, Satoru,” you say regardless, “I—I never—I couldn’t expect you’d do this.”

“What choice did I fucking have, Greeny?” There’s rapid steps and he’s in front of you, desperate and wild. “You—you just left me here. You left me alone and I couldn’t even look for you because I know nothing about you. Your face, your eyes, your hair, not even your fucking name! How’s that fair?”

It’s true. It’s all true. As much as you tried to claim you tried to make everyone happy, you only focused on Suguru. And Suguru’s happiness enlisted space from the strongest. In a different timeline, things would be different between them. A button he never left behind. Words Satoru never said. That timeline held too much pain and suffering, so you scrubbed it from history. In this rendition, everything was changed. Suguru had Shoko. Yu had Kento. Who did Satoru have?

You saved Suguru in this timeline. But to save him, you neglected Satoru.

Satoru must have known. He must have known you intentionally distanced Suguru from him, but he allowed it anyway. Satoru’s selfless like that. Too giving. Too Godlike.

But he’s selfish too. Purposefully demeaning himself so he could get one more glimpse of you, uncaring if you went through hell for his sake. Too taking. Too human.

Once, you told him that if he was selfish, just once, you wouldn’t fault him. What a liar you are.

You forgive Satoru.

“I’m sorry.” Haibara’s voice is like your own. You step closer. His infinity lets you in. “I’m sorry Satoru. I didn’t mean to leave you alone.”

It’s hard to wrap him in a hug. The brat’s too big. He sinks into your touch like a tiger, filled with dangerous claws, retracted just for your sake. He shakes the tiniest bit; even now, he’s keeping himself as a pinnacle. If you hear a sniffle or two, you don’t comment on it.

It’s why your heart breaks to tell him the truth.

“I can’t give you my name.” You whisper in his ear. He pulls back. He doesn’t look at you.

“Yeah, I know. I know. time-travel bullshit—”

“For now.” You add. “I can’t do that for now.”

Three pairs of eyes look at you. You’re not hiding behind Haibara anymore. You’re not trying to.

“December 24th, 2017. 8:06. Tokyo Skytree.” You look at him. “Can you wait until then?”

For you, it’d only be an hour. For Satoru, it’d be a decade.

You expect him to reject it, to yell at you. You decide if he wants to be selfish; you’d let him.

“If you don’t show up, I’ll turn evil.” You laugh. His grin widens and he’s back again. “I’m serious. I’ll take over the world. I’ll throw the biggest temper tantrum ever.”

“You’re such a brat.” There’s no hostility in your tone. “I will. I promise.”

‘I’ll save you,’ You promise in your head because he’s too prideful to hear it.

“Is it still possible for you to go back?” You ask, the wariness present again. “The higher ups haven’t taken any action against you, right?”

He shakes his head.

“I think Yaga might yell at me, but other than that.” He shrugs. “They’ll decide it’s teen rebellion and sweep it under the rug.”

You laugh again. Satoru shoots you a toothy grin.

When you reach out a hand, Satoru mirrors you. He clasps your hand in his. For once, you wonder how they’ll feel on your own.

“See ya’ later, Greeny.”

A blink. Satoru’s gone. Your hand is empty, and you’re standing in the streets of Shinjuku once again.

ⴵ

December 24th, 2017. 8:06, at the top of the Tokyo Skytree.

Why did you decide on that date and time for all the places? You were so fucking stupid. You needed to stop being so poetic.

It’s already 7:12 when you’re desperately waving down a taxi. The driver looks disinterested when you blubber out the location. When he tells you it’ll cost extra because Sumida City isn’t part of his route, you’re more than happy to fork over the money.

It’s already 7:35 when you stumble through the interiors of Tokyo Skytree town. It’s crowded. Fuck, it’s December 24th, of course people would be out and about.

At 7:44, you finally reach the observational building. And then you hit upon a snag.

It’s closed.

Renovations, the sign reads, accompanied by an irritatingly cute drawing of a cat, please come visit us next week.

Would this excuse be enough to satisfy Satoru? You’re only human. Surely he’d understand if you couldn’t make it because the entire building was shut down.

Or wait. Was this Satoru’s doing?

You look up at the tower. Lights were still on and flickering. No crowds. No people. No prying eyes.

Let it be known that you’ve never trespassed before, until you met Gojo Satoru.

With a guilty conscious, you step over the line. You justify it by convincing yourself you were saving the world because you know Satoru wasn’t joking a decade ago.

The elevators still worked. Thank God. Yet another hint he’s paving the way for you. You made the location, but it feels like you’re a mouse stuck in a human-designed maze. Even though you set up the game, he’s still managed to rig it.

You land on the first deck at 7:52. At 7:56, you reach the second observational deck.

It’s empty. You’ve never seen the skytree so empty before. Not a single soul is here except for you. Your footsteps echo across the floor. Were you early?

Out the corner of your eye, there’s a post-it note stuck on the window. A hand-drawn arrow. Up ahead, there’s another one.

You follow the next, and then the next. All the time you don’t know how to feel about him doing all of this just for an encounter. Something bubbles in your stomach. You’re pushing it down.

You follow the post-its until there’s one placed right on top of a door.

Authorized personnel only. Why does this brat continue to test you?

But it’s already 8:03; you’re far too deep to complain.

A service elevator greets you. If you press the button, it’ll take you all the way up to the broadcast equipment, the top of the Tokyo Skytree.

It’s different from the past two elevator rides. The service elevator isn’t all that polished. The wheels squeak a little too dangerously at times. It’s slower, too.

That’s bad, because now you’re starting to think.

That familiar feeling boils within your stomach, again. You’re anxious. It’s strange to say, but meeting Satoru through Suguru, meeting Satoru through Yu, it felt like you had a protective shell around yourself. You were free from his judgement, only invoking curiosity.

If you show yourself to him, how would he react? What would he say? Would he get angry that you made him wait a decade for such a blunder? Even worse, what if he doesn’t get angry?

What if—what if he’s disappointed by you?

Cold feet. It freezes your toes. You want to go back. You want the elevator to go back down, you want to go home and hide away.

But you promised Satoru. He deserves answers.

Pathetic answers are better than no answers at all.

Instead of your soul being protected by a sorcerer's body, it’s protected by your own. You’d steel yourself for whatever comes next. You could melt after.

It’s windy up here. That’s the first thing you notice. Icy wind cuts at your face and your eyes squint so they don’t dry out so quickly. It’s colder, too; your jacket is nice protection, but nothing helps your vulnerable hands.

But the view. Oh, what a view.

The sea of twinkling lights shines from the city. The sun has set, leaving Tokyo to do nothing but shine. She’s gorgeous like she’s picked the stars from the sky, burying them within her own soul. You could stay there forever, if she let you.

It’s 8:09. Satoru was late.

Or maybe he just wasn’t planning to show up.

You lean away from the railing. It’s just like him to make huge gestures and at the last moment, ditch everything. The balloon in your lungs deflates ever so slightly.

And then, you can feel hands.

Around your shoulders, caging you in. Large and warm despite the icy air. You know these hands. They’re familiar, even a decade later. His chest presses up against your back. His face settles in the crook of your neck.

His laugh tickles your ear, and you aren’t so cold anymore.

“Caught ya, Greeny.”

(“Did something happen to you, back there in the house?”

"Hm?" Suguru asked.

They were wading through long grass and overgrown weeds. Satoru glances at his friend. Suguru looks fine. His cursed energy has gone back to normal. That's probably good.

"You were just acting weird," Satoru said, "I mean you fell on your ass in front of a curse. Embarrassing."

Suguru huffed, a red hue across his cheeks. "Shut up, don't remind me."

'So he remembered,' Satoru thinks, 'didn't expect that.'

They're almost to the car when Suguru speaks again.

"Actually, I did feel a little strange," he says, "I felt like I wasn't really all there. There was this voice, guiding me along."

"Really?" Satoru shivers. "That sounds creepy."

So the entity within Suguru was a bad thing after all. He should try to get rid of it if it ever comes back. It might take a complex spell or something-

"Not really." Suguru said. "It's hard to explain, but it felt....nice."

"Nice?" Satoru echoes.

"Yeah."

And then it's quiet again.)

Part two: Rewound Infinitely