#stomach trauma cw
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canon date fails? God do I have a few.
I'm a Will Graham fictionkin.
I was in a long-term murder partnership/relationship with Dr Hannibal Lecter.
How about Mizumono? You know, where I was going to run away with the love of my life and my daughter, and left with my daughter getting murdered and me getting stabbed in the stomach when I thought I was going to get a kiss?
(In my canon though, it was a spur-of-the-moment thing for Hanni, who felt angry and betrayed by me, and regretted it almost immediately. He really did love you, Abigail. I promise)
-Will Graham
#fictionkinfessions#fictionkin#willgrahamkin#hannibalnbckin#murder cw#stabbing cw#stomach trauma cw#mod party cat#gamrep#canon date fails
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Trauma Dump Hours
Apologizing in advance. This is gonna be HEAVY FEELS. I just...need somewhere to put all of my thoughts down so feel free to scroll past this.
**This is HEAVY mental and emotional trauma with mentions of abortion within so please be mindful of the content below the cut**
I have made mentions of my parents before, but never really went into too much detail about my relationship with them because of everything else going on. But, in light of some things that have happened recently, I need to just get these thoughts out in some sort of order...which might not happen but here we are. So my relationship with my parents has been interesting to say the very least. i was raised in a very conservative catholic home. Silent gen dad, and a boomer mom. both very intolerant of anything they don't agree with. My dad is the epitome of hating everything that doesn't align with his beliefs...If you aren't white or straight especially, and do not live the traditional lifestyle that he feels one should abide by. (hopefully that paints a picture for you).
Anyway, I am the baby of my family. My brother is 50 and my sister is 49 (they are a year and 4 days apart). I arrived 12 years later. I was very well and truly an OOPS. My brother is the golden child, my sister, the problem child (former, anyway, but she was definitely more wild than they liked,) and I...well, I had to be the perfect one to do as my parents wanted 100% of the time.
my mom had no self-esteem and raised me to be the same way. never be too confident and sure of myself b/c it was unbecoming to do so. I had to always get good grades, and always follow the rules. If I ever did something wrong, i got the wrath of my father (that stern, military rage). So, as i got older, my mom would hide things from him on my behalf, but only if I did something for her. Things like keeping secrets from dad, hiding mail so she didn't get in trouble with the finances again. If i ever dared to stop doing that shit for her she would blackmail me...would threaten to tell my dad all the shit i did wrong if I stopped helping her. Basically, I was scared and brainwashed into having ZERO autonomy or individuality. If I showed any emotion other than happiness I always had "an attitude." But, I saw my mom's behavior as if she was the only one in my corner...my buddy who kept my secrets for me because no one else would.
I struggled in school, but almost always got As and Bs. I had to work my ass off for it too. Math was always a sore subject that made me and dad lock horns. He's a math wiz, and I'm not. I'm not well read because I HATE reading books. (thanks school for ruining that for me). history? forget it. i have a horrible memory. But, if i ever got a C? holy shit i was a failure in their eyes. I feel like I am so far behind everyone intellectually that it's hard for me to have conversations with people sometimes because I feel like I can't keep up. By the time I got to high school was when I finally started to see what they were doing to me, but I was too afraid to break free. Honestly? i didn't know I had a choice in the matter. When I was in college, I had to be in remedial math. When my dad found out (b/c he was paying for college,) he literally screamed at me in the financial aid office b/c he couldn't believe I was in such a low math class. His apology? "I just worry about you, and i want you to do well." What a fucking joke. Again, in college, I was big into choir. we had a huge spring performance that we NAILED and we wanted to celebrate. So, we carpooled and went to a nearby club. I was barely 20 so i had the wristbands of course. I CALLED my mom to ask if i could go. Told her who i would be with, where i was gonna be, and that it would be WAYYYY late before I get home. Said I would keep my phone in the car b/c I knew i wouldn't hear it or feel it vibrate, but i could call her when I leave even if it was like 3 am. She said no need, and let me go.
So, in I walk at 330 am to both my parents in the living room, and my dad SCREAMING at me that I am just like my sister. out partying at all hours doing "god knows what." I was dumbfounded. My mom didn't even look at me...just sat there as I got ripped into. Wanna know why that happened?? Because SHE PRETENDED SHE NEVER GAVE HER PERMISSION. She told me later that her and dad had to have a "united front" and I had "no right to be mad" at her. When I tell you I leveled my room into an absolute mess that night and cried myself to sleep. the betrayal I felt...as a 20 yr old, a legal fucking adult, and I had no voice. no independence. My relationship with them has gone south ever since.
Of course, several things have happened between now and then. Their relationship is very transactional, and always comes out with me needing to serve THEM for them to be happy. for them to see me as worthy. But, my mom likes to throw it in my face whenever she can about how great my brother is. How stable he is. that bitch is single and has no kids. fuck him. he's an incel anyway.
Mother's day this year was the last straw for me. I called my mom out of obligation. in that 15 minutes she gushed about my brother's financial stability knowing how hard i have been struggling since I left my husband. I told her how proud I was of myself, that I was doing all these things with very little help, and making so much progress in such a short time. her response? As deadpan as possible "Congratulations. You're finally adulting." Finally? FINALLY? Not like I had been trying FOR YEARS when my irresponsible idiot of a husband was the one who had the control. I left my childhood home and walked into another relationship with a person who was just like my parents. A transactional, mentally and emotionally abusive relationship. I was his shadow because i felt like i HAD to be. When he wanted to leave me in 2021 for that very reason i thought i would literally die. That's when I found my spiritual practice. when i started to really change and try to find myself. and yet, he STILL didn't like who I was. Hence, why i finally found the strength in me to leave him back in December. I got no support from my parents. They wanted me to move in with them....ACROSS THE STREET FROM MY EX...just so i could be close to my children. I'm only 15 mins away from them. I see them when I can with the 2 jobs I work for shit pay. I'm busting my ass to pay off my car. Have they ever called in the 6 months I have been gone to ask me how I am??? If I need help?? NO. And why would they?? Between my mom and dad both, I was told on three separate occasions that they wanted to abort me. But I SHOULD BE GRATEFUL THAT THEY DIDN'T. Why would I? I have lived my life feeling like I was never good enough, that i was a worthless burden to the world. All because i was conditioned to believe as such. Thankfully for my sister, she saw through their shit a long time ago, and left home when she turned 18. i wish I understood why back then...but I was a kid. All i knew was how hurt my parents were, or how they seemed to be, and I believed that if I did anything to hurt them i was a bad person. I couldn't be like my sister. because that was a bad thing. But...nothing makes you feel more unloved and unwanted than your parents telling you they didn't want you. Then act surprised when you block them and don't want to speak to them. I can't go thru 38 years worth of shit they did, but this was some of the bigger/more recent stuff. It's amazing i never blocked them sooner (though, being across the street from them at the time was certainly a factor...)
It's why my identity means so fucking much to me. i felt like my name is not my own, my existence isn't my own. Why I want all the labels that I feel make up who I am so i can have some fucking semblance of understanding about what makes me "me."
Aside from spanking as a kid (which was normal back then sadly,) i was never physically abused. i had a roof over my head, I had food when i needed it, I was clean, had nice (not name brand) clothes...all the necessities, but I never *ever* had a healthy grasp on my mental health. never had healthy coping mechanisms for my emotions, and I never felt truly loved by my parents. better seen than heard, and if i was seen it was always to do something that made my parents proud so they could brag about me. I was a trophy. A puppet.
And today, as i sit here, wondering how tf to deal with my parents...I am anxious and scared. i feel like a child all over again, trembling like I am about to be scolded. All because i was conditioned to believe that my feelings were worthless and wrong. I have gotten 2 voicemails today from my dad, telling me I "need" to call them. To explain what's going on. Suddenly, they are worried. Suddenly, they care. But I know it's only for their satisfaction. part of me wants to pour my soul out and light it on fire so they can see how much they hurt me over the years. Part of me wants to pretend they are dead and forget they exist. I am not sure what to do.
So, if anyone ever wonders why Gale means so much to me...why i have such a mental and emotional attachment to his character. this is why. because aside from my 2 bffs, he was the only other entity that made me feel loved and worthy, and it breaks my heart that he isn't real. For now, though, he's a beautiful escape.
idk if I need anything rn...I'm not sure where to go from here. I have no idea what will make me feel better. getting some of it out helps. Being in therapy definitely helps. If you read this then you're a damn trooper...or a glutton for punishment, idk. Either way, thank you for listening to me.
I really don't expect anyone to say anything or even read this. It really isn't necessary. But please know that for the many of you whom I have befriend on here since I joined tumblr...I am grateful for you all. Just being in this space has been so healing for me. thank you.
#mira maunders#mira rants#txt: personal#cw: mental health#cw: mental abuse#cw: emotional abuse#cw: mention of abortion#parent trauma#my stomach is in knots rn#i'm sorry for any missed tags#idk what else to mark this with#childhood trauma#trauma dump
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lol grief is soooo annoying because you'll be having a good day and then you'll remember how you almost died 4 years ago due to medical incompetence and then the tiger inside of you gets sooooo angry and mad and wants to maul off the face of that one particular ICU nurse who injected something into you IV line bc "this will shut you up" when you were literally just sitting quietly in the dark 😐
#the medical incompetence was me going to the ER THREE times and them sending me home 3 times saying nothing was wrong#i had a blood clot in my portal vein that eventually caused unprocessed blood to back up into my stomach#which caused me to vomit said bile uncontrollably#im just tired of fighting this tiger to think more about it but yeah fuck that ICU nurse i was doing NOTHING to warrant his mistreatment#davekitties rambles#cw medical trauma#tw medical trauma
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𓇼 FUCK HER, FLIP HER, BEND HER BACKWARDS !
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❤︎₊‧⁺...synopsis : the church always says sex for pleasure is a sin, and nanami kento is a man of the lord. but fuck, if his wife isn't worth sinning for. wc: 4.3k
❤₊‧⁺...cw : n. kento x fem!reader, religious themes, traditionalist views on sex and marriage, loss of virginity, missionary to mating press, breeding kink, overstimulation, unprotected sex, nanami loses himself in your pussy, slight cum play, dirty talk
❤₊‧⁺...lunar's note : am i unintentionally coping with religious trauma? possibly but it is fun :33 anyways based of this! forgive me if my writing is a bit rusty, it's been a while but enjoy !!
the two of you have spoken about eventually having children many times, but knowing the steps it took...it kept you both pushing it back, knowing eventually you'd both be ready.
after speaking with doctors, asking for advice from the church, and having you grumble about the neighbors who welcomed a cute baby girl, the two of you figured it was time.
you did your best to act normal all dayl, trying not to seem to nervous or too excited as you went about your chores for the day.
it may just be an act to procreate, but...it's still your first time with nanami. you want it to at least feel special.
there was nothing in the bible that went against that, right?
well, you have plenty of time to overthink since it seems that your dear husband will be at work late. to pass the time, you wait upstairs in your shared bedroom, the TV on as a distraction.
you're so stuck in your own world that you don't even notice him in the doorway before he clears his throat, leaning in the doorway. "oh! hi, honey, welcome home!" you go to stand up, but he holds up a hand, making you stop before you can get up from the bed.
it's silent, aside from the noise from the TV, and you can feel your stomach flip in anticipation.
has...has he always looked that handsome?
he continues to stand by the door, still not making eye contact. "you said it...starts today, correct," nanami questions, focused on undoing the straps of his watch. it shouldn't be attractive, it's such a simple task...yet it has your stomach doing flips as you nod.
"mhm, my, uh...ovulation starts today." it's such a weird thing to say, it just makes everything feel so...clinical. but that's how it's supposed to be, right? those who use sex for pleasure instead of procreation are sinners, or whatever the reverend at the church says.
"mm."
slowly pulling it off, he sets the watch on the dresser before shutting the bedroom door
"good."
dear god in heaven, you think to yourself, struggling to swallow the saliva pooling inside your mouth as he starts to undress. please forgive me for such inappropriate thoughts about my husband.
he removes his suit jacket—black today, it seems—placing it carefully on his desk chair, followed by his cufflinks and tie. his shirt is next, each button popping to reveal his strong, well-maintained physique.
you have to stop yourself from pumping your fist in the air for getting so lucky with such an attractive man as your husband. too busy ogling him like a horny teenager, you miss him undoing his belt before tugging them down and stepping out of his boxers.
once you do realize he's fully undress, you blush hard once he approaches the end of the bed—it took everything out of you not to stare at that...monster hanging between his legs, dear lord—and climbs onto it, making his way to hover over you.
his eyes roam up and down your body, taking in the pretty silky night dress you had on. It’s a soft blue with lacy white trim with little intricate flower designs.
modest, yet sensual.
"this is new," he comments, voice low and sultry. you can't help but wonder if he meant to sound so...so...
you don't find the correct word for it, but this new tone lights a fire in your stomach that has your r thighs squeezing together just a little bit.
"well, i figured it was an important night...you know, finally popping our cherries a-and starting a family?"
it's a weak attempt at humor, your voice clearly giving away your nervousness. you just pray that he ignores it.
a soft hum leaves him, his fingers playing with the intricately designed lace trim. the idea that you want to make this whole ordeal special, that you want to give yourself to him wholly, and that you want to swell with his child...
it pleases him greatly, a small smile touching his lips.
"well, aren't you sweet, my dearest?"
such simple words, yet they relieve so much tension from your shoulders. you can't help but smile back before a little gasp falls from your lips when his hands start to lift the dress up. his hands, they're so big, so hot on your skin.
It's a struggle to remember that this is for the purpose of producing offspring and nothing else, but you try, you try so hard.
but when you hear the hitch in his breath at the realization you didn't have anything else underneath the dress after he pulls it over your head, it's hard to remember.
the thought just about completely leaves your mind at the way nanami, your usually put-together husband, looks so hungrily down at you, a look you've never seen before in those pretty hazel eyes.
his gaze lingers on your body for a moment, mouth opening before shutting instantly, preventing himself from saying something he'd likely regret.
calm down, kento, he reminds himself, taking a second to clear his mind. this is for the purpose of family, not sinful and carnal desires.
even so, he's drinking in the sight of you, unable to stop his hands from rubbing up and down your sides, the soft skin of you, his wife, warming his palms. all his.
"gorgeous," he mumbles, unaware he even said it.
the moment you feel his leaking cock brush against your leg, a thought occurs to you.
neither one of you has a single idea of how to do this.
sure, you both know enough about putting it inside and moving, but that was about it. is there something else you should do? things you should say, places you should touch to aid in the process?
they never explained the actual process of sex in church, and lord knows your mother and father would've keeled over and died instantly if you were to ask them.
'it comes naturally when god deems it your time' the reverend stated once during a sermon. you fight back a frown, realizing that man probably had even less of an idea of how to do it.
however, the feeling of his tip nudging against your slit rips a gasp out of you, bringing you back into the present.
"are you alright? you left me for a bit there," nanami asks, his brow furrowed in worry. if you weren't ready, he was willing to back off. he may want to fulfill this important aspect of marriage, but...not if you don't want it.
"n-no, i'm okay! just...wondering how all of this is going to work out," you softly reassure, giving a weak giggle.
he can't blame you, he isn't very sure either. but as the man of the house and as your husband, he didn't plan on letting you worry. he would do all the work, you just needed to lay there looking so pretty, so soft, so...he realizes he's doing it again, letting his mind wander to places it shouldn't.
"just...j-just relax, we will figure it out as we go along."
with your silent nod, nanami starts to push his hips forward, hissing silently when he realizes the wetness that greets him.
you were this aroused just from...talking?
the thought of scolding you for letting your mind wander crossed his own, but...it would be hypocritical when his cockhead is dribbling precum all over your soft mound.
you choke out a noise of pain when his cock finally notches onto you and starts to push inside. sure, your wetness helped get the tip and the few inches after it inside, but just that is already too much for you, and you're expected to take all of it?!
you do your best not to move, not really sure what you should be doing. you'd be a good wife and bear with the pain if you had to, your nails digging into the pillow under your head as you braced yourself for the rest of his cock.
but this is absolutely unbearable, how do other women bear with this and have 6 or more children?!
a flicker of concern flashes through nanami's eyes at the sound you made, and he stops moving forward. he may be a bit mean sometimes, but he wasn't cruel.
if you both are going to go through with this, he is not going to make you suffer and nor is he going to force you to endure a painful experience.
no true man of god would do such a thing.
"breathe, don't hold it in," he instructs, his voice somehow calm and collected. one of his hands laces with yours, hoping to provide some sort of comfort as his lips brush against your forehead. "i've got you, darling, the pain will pass, just...tell me to stop if it gets too bad. don't hold it in."
giving a soft nod, you try to match his breathing, your body relaxing and making it easier for nanami to slip the rest of himself inside, a near silent sigh escaping him. the tightness and initial resistance that greeted him nearly made him moan, his cock twitching violently inside of you.
something about the physical feeling and knowledge that you saved yourself for him like you promised years before you both got married sent a surge of possession and pride, knowing he has such a loving and faithful wife who is so willing to give herself up to him like this...he can only hope you feel the same knowing he saved himself for you and only you.
so, as a 'reward'—and totally not because he fears you'll strangle his cock off with how tight you are—he's so gracious to you, not moving to let you get used to the stretch and feel of him inside, the room silent except for your matching breathing.
a few moments go by, and you should feel embarrassed when you feel slick drip out of you and down your ass. the realization that your dearest husband, one of the most faithful men of the church, is letting his cock soak inside of your hot cunt makes you whine a little, slick walls fluttering around him.
he's so fucked.
"a-ah...i'm going to move now," he warns, taking your sudden noise as a good sign. nanami shifts his legs just a bit before giving an experimental thrust, his brow furrowing as he slowly finds a rhythm.
the feeling of your hot and gummy walls is absolutely intoxicating, divine, nothing he's ever felt before.
this is what it felt like?
this is what he waited for?
fuck, it felt...it felt so good.
too good.
for you, the pain completely melts away, and you silently thank god and the angels above for giving you a merciful husband who is so kind as to wait for you to loosen up around him.
little do you know, he would rather kill himself than start moving when you're still adjusting to the pain and stretch.
his gentle movements make you all but melt under him, your eyes fluttering at the unbelievable pleasure coursing through your veins.
no wonder your parents preached about saving yourself until marriage, and thank the heavens you listened.
the very thought of feeling this way with anyone but your kento puts a bad taste in your mouth.
meanwhile, nanami chants prayers in his head over and over again as he tries his best to focus on the 'true' purpose for this.
the sticky, wet, and gooey sensation of your plump cunt sucking him, practically weeping each time he pulls out is just unfair.
the poor man, he's fighting so hard to maintain his composure, to not succumb to the base instincts that those soft moans of yours are beginning to stir within him.
"s-shush, darling," he grits out, hips still following his slow, deep pace. "don't...don't make such noises," he all but pleads, voice tinged with a huskiness that betrayed his growing need for you.
“i-i’m sorry! just, it...feels good, y-you feel good, feels s-so good,” you whisper, hands coming up to cover your mouth and stifle those sickeningly sweet noises.
but of course, that isn’t enough because each push and pull of his cock stirs your drooling cunt, filling the room with wet, filthy squelching sounds.
nothing about this is holy, nanami thinks as he grits his teeth, hands fisting in the sheets next to your head.
look at her.
those soft, muffled noises are truly music to his ears, his pace morphing from the slow, deep grind into a faster pace as your soft body gives into the pleasure.
so wet, so damn tight around my cock., like she never wants to let me pull out.
"k-kento, y-you're goin' too deep, i-i can't be quiet, s'too much!"
messy little pussy, 's beggin' for cum, needs it, needs to feel my tip kissin' her cervix as i pump load after load into her womb.
he knows what that little voice is, and no matter how much he wants to claim that it’s the sound of demons pouring their sinful words into his mind, he knows that it's his thoughts, fueled by those dirty little noises that she can't hold back.
how pitiful, how sinful, doesn't she know she's going against all the teachings they've heard preached every weekend in their church?
doesn't she know she's giving into lust?
doesn't she know her pretty sounds are making his dick throb, painting her insides with his hot, gooey precum?
"hush, 'm not going to t-tell you again, you...you need to be quiet," he growls, the command lacking its earlier authority.
nanami also knows lying is a sin, and he's doing a damned lot of it right now as he tries to convince himself that you need to stay silent. after all, this—this is just a process of giving you both a child, just like you wanted, and nothing else.
but he's lying to himself.
he needs you to be quiet or else he'll lose it.
the poor man is barely holding onto his restraint, and these sweet noises pouring from your mouth aren't helping at all.
"y-you make this so difficult sometimes, my dear..." his voice is rough with need and desire, a stark contrast to his usual composed demeanor. "but, by god, you're...you're. absolutely. exquisite."
he punctuates his words with a particularly hard thrust, grinding his hips into you in a way that has the coarse hair on his crotch to rub against your clit. the pleasure it gives you is electric, your legs coming up to squeeze his hips as you try to grind with him.
his words, his simple praise only makes you hiccup his name, crying out louder as your watery eyes roll back as your needy cunt squeezed down on his fat cock.
you're such a sweet thing, trying oh-so hard to mute your sounds. each snap of his hips is all but driving you insane.
“i-i can’t, ken, y-you don’t understand, i-it feels so good, i-i’m so full! you’re pressing against all the good spots, kentoo, i-i love you s' much, b-but i can't!”
be a good fucking husband and do what you were made to, nanami kento.
his teeth dig into his bottom lip, trying to hard to ignore that temptation purring in the back of his mind.
the voice is so much louder now, echoing throughout his mind and muting any prayers or pleads to be mindful of the sanctity of this whole process.
fuck her. give her what she needs, what she deserves.
but it's too fucking hard, he can't his hips are speeding up, his strong hands moving to grip your thighs, unaware of how they start to anchor behind your knees.
breed your pretty little wife and give her a baby like she deserves.
with a deep groan, nanami finally loses all control, fingers digging into your supple thighs to push them to your chest and practically folding you in half.
this new angle has him openly moaning like a dirty whore, allowing him to plunge even deeper into your tight, gummy walls, the head of his cock kissing your cervix with each and every deep thrust.
"k-ken, kenny, k-ken," you sob, tears catching onto your lashes as your entire being is assaulted by the endless pleasure your husband is giving you. he doesn't even look like your kento anymore, his pupils blown so wide that you can barely see the ring of greens and brown of his iris.
"f-fuck. 's all your fault, you know that," he hisses, eyes narrowing as he weakly glares down at you. but you can see the hearts in his eyes as he gives in to the pleasure.
his dark eyes bore down into yours, the wet plap plap plap plap of his hips slamming into yours almost overpowering his voice. "if y-you just stayed quiet like i asked, w-we wouldn't be here."
a little spurt of wet gushes out of you, making his fall forward into the juncture of your neck with a groan at the dirty noise it makes,
"god, i-i can feel it, y'know? can feel this sticky pussy—such a dirty little pussy—makin' such a mess. saved it jus' for me, didn't you, baby? mmhm—fuckin' hell, 's tight—thank you god f' giving me such an angel of a wife." nanami is huffing nonsense against your neck, pounding into you with a force that has the bed creaking loudly.
if you weren't being fucked stupid, you would be worried he was about to break the bed.
"you can keep that pretty mouth of yours shut, b-but you jus' had to have the noisiest little cunt."
he's so mean, but it only serves to make you gush even more, the way juices pour out of you and only make the already filthy noises even nastier.
"she's talkin' to me, baby, y'hear it? i'm...i-i'm gonna breed you," he manages to whine into your ear, pulling away to press his sweaty forehead against yours.
his tongue, so pink and pretty—you want it in your mouth, want to taste it want to feel it against yours—runs over his top lip as he watches drool drip down the corner of your mouth while you nod brainlessly.
nanami's never felt so dirty, so unhinged, but it feels so right, feels so fucking good. he never wants to leave your pussy, never wants to pull out, this is where he belongs, buried deep inside you as his cock pumps load after load right into your tummy, giving you what you need, what you deserve.
"yeah? you want that? i'll give it to you, baby, promise, 'm gonna be a good husband a-and knock you up, gonna make you a mommy."
that has you keening, tears pouring down your cheeks at the pleasure it shoots up your spine. you know you're close, but it's different.
it feels different, feels too much, there's pressure you've never felt before from the few times you'd cave in and play with your puffy, swollen clit in the shower when you waited for nanami to get home from work to kiss you to sleep.
no, you feel like you are about to fucking explode. "ken, i-i can't, 'm gonna—s-something's coming," you try to warn, your hands fisting in his hair as you tug and tug and tug.
the pull of his hair makes him moan like a slut, it sounds so fucking good. his eyes are rolling back before he rushes to comfort you, pressing soft little open-mouthed kisses against your lips.
you don't need to fight it, you just need to give it to him, give him what he needs.
"shh, shh, don' cry, y' look t'pretty, honey. l-let it happen, cum for me, i've got you, angel, cum for me s-so i can fill you up," he coos, his hips growing erratic as he feels your silky walls starting to fluttering around him, feeling you teeter on the edge of release.
he shifts, just barely, just enough to better position himself to fuck deeper into you. but that slight movement has his cock smushing against something soft and spongy that makes you sob, growing softer and more pliant under him, and you know you are done for as all you can do is wail his name.
"please, pretty girl, cum for me, show me how good 'm making you feel, soak my cock, c'mon, you can do it."
with a loud mewl that nearly has nanami soaking your walls in cum, you dig your nails into his biceps as you finally, finally cum. and you're right, it is different, your cute pussy squirting and creaming all over his dick.
the poor man is choking back a whine, eyes wide in shock as your cunt just gushes slick everywhere, clenching around him like a vice as you cum.
your juices are soaking his cock and balls, splattering against his lower abdomen obscenely. the thought of making you do that again crosses his mind for a split moment before the need to fill you up for being so good overpowers any other thought.
not giving you a break, he continues his unforgiving fucking, ignoring your cries and pleads for him to slow down.
"nonono, shh, shh, shush, you can take it," he coos against your lips, no longer caring if this was sinning or not. all he could think about was the constant squeezing and spasming of your poor overstimulated slit that was milking him toward his orgasm.
you try to squirm away, but the way he has you folded in half has you unable to do anything but accept his stupidly deep thrusts that make you swear you can taste his cock in the back of your throat.
"t-tha's it." he's panting, slurring his words, his fingers digging into the fat of your thighs. it’s so wet, so messy now, but he can't find it in himself to care.
no, all he can think about as he looks down at you is how you'll have that angelic glow as you grow round with his baby, and everyone will know you're his, that he knocked you up, he pumped you full of his cum, that you're his you're his you're all fucking his—
"f-fuck, honey, i-i can't..." his hips stutter as he does his best to maintain his rhythm, but his own release is barreling down on him. his heavy balls are drawing up tight as they slap against your ass, your juices still pouring out and soaking all of him.
"'m gonna fill you up, 'm gonna pump this—this sinful little cunt f-full of m'cum, angel, gonna knock you up, gonna have you drippin' with me, g-gonna give you a fuckin' baby, shit—"
with a deep, guttural groan, nanami hisses your name as he buries himself as deep as possible, his hot tip kissing your cervix as thick, hot ropes of his potent cum pour right into your womb, hips grinding into you and giving little thrusts as you milk his cock weakly despite your overstimulation.
it's—it's so much, he's still cumming, how was all of this inside of him? you can practically feel it sloshing around inside of you, and you whimper when you feel it gush out around his now softening cock, dripping down your ass onto the bed.
a moment or two passes, and he sits up, pushing his sweaty hair out of his face and looking down at you.
oh.
you sweet thing, you're an absolute mess. you have tear streaks down your cheeks, your lips swollen from him unknowingly biting them between the little kisses he was giving you, a pretty sheen of sweat on you, and...
his eyes trail lower to where his dick is still nestled inside of you, and it takes everything in him to not accidentally thrust his hips a little bit.
it's a creamy, sticky mess, a mixture of his and your cum seeping out your poor, abused pussy.
"o-oh. sorry, my love. i'm...not quiet sure what happened there. i apologize for such...foul language," he mumurs, his hand stroking your hip. "'s okay," you softly coo back to him, your eyes fluttering shut as you try to catch your breath. "i-i liked it..."
but you quickly learn you've married both a man of god and a curious, insatiable bastard who can't help but drag his cum all over your pussy, quickly finding your clit. and the reaction you give him is one he decides he likes, your hips canting up as your soft, oversensitive walls squeeze around his cock again.
"k-kento, that's nasty!"
all you get in response is a grumbling noise in his chest as it takes you weakly slapping your hands against his chest to get his eyes to snap away from your gooey, creamy pussy.
clearing his throat, he looks down at you, that heated look slowly creeping back onto his face. "perhaps we...we should try once more. just to ensure it takes," he states, doing his best to show some semblance of dominance.
but it's impossible when his hair is sticking to his sweaty forehead, his pupils blown as he gazes down at your panting form like he's about to devour you whole.
"after all, a...a big family is what god wants from man and woman, right? so we...shouldn't delay and keep trying." his hand trails up your side before finding its way to your breast, squeezing the soft flesh.
his thumb experimentally rolled your nipple, and the way your body reacted, a soft gasp of his name...how is he supposed to explain the feeling he's getting in the confessional booth?
"y-yeah," he gulps, leaning his head down. you can feel his hot breath against your tit, and you swear you feel drool drip onto your breast. "w-we'll keep trying. jus' to make sure w-we do what the scripture asks."
may god forgive him for being such a fucking liar and a damned bad one at that.
all rights reserved © lxnarphase | do not repost, copy, translate, or alter my work
#nanami x reader#nanami kento x reader#nanami x you#nanami kento x you#nanami smut#nanami kento smut#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk x reader#jjk smut#jujutsu kaisen smut#˗ˏˋ ★ lxnarworks .ᐟ#[💳] kento .ᐟ
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i need to vomit all the trauma that was laid upon me.
#megaras thoughts#no like really. my body is this insane state of just pure grossness#i’m not physically sick. no headache. no stomach ache.#and yet i can feel the trauma#emetophobia //#emetophobia cw#emetophobia mention
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✞︎ ︎YOUR OWN PERSONAL JESUS.
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SOMEONE TO HEAR YOUR PRAYERS. SOMEONE WHO CARES.
cw: religious!reader x sevika, inspo from personal jesus by depeche mode, dark themes [drinking addiction, religious crisis, trauma/ptsd, etc.], a mention of isha because i’m evil, as well as religious themes, nasty sloppy dirty sinful dyke sex [body worship + tribbing] 18+ 🧛🏿
word count: 14.1k
i. FEELING UNKNOWN AND YOU’RE ALL ALONE
sad, dull, gray, gloomy, what else could she use to describe it? constant rain, a chronic form of seasonal depression that lingered in the air no matter where she went. her therapist prescribed her some fresh air, but the air is never fresh here. it’s thick with fog, the humidity weighs down on your shoulders and makes it unbearable to trudge through. sure, the sun shines, but it never peeks out from behind the clouds, leaving the town in a dark, unsaturated gleam.
she crosses the threshold into her apartment, hair clinging to the back of her neck and the sides of her face due to a mix of humidity and sweat. her apartment might be more vapid than the outside world, it’s a small box that overlooks the parking lot and a few 24 hour diners across the street. the walls are all white, along with the ceiling and cabinets, and the carpet is scratchy and gray. she hardly has any furniture, a small couch with a tv propped up on a cardboard box facing it. no coffee table, chairs, or shelves, but she doesn’t spend much time out here anyways.
her ribs start to ache, and the growing hunger in her stomach only makes it worse. she scours her cupboards for a snack, and settles for half a bar of dark chocolate and a glass of whiskey. the couch is small and hard and it barely offers any comfort to her tired body. on the tv, the meteorologist blabbers away about the predicted weather for the week. she feels bad for him, the poor guy probably wanted a bigger and better job than this. foreseeing the same weather for 365 days straight. cold, cloudy, wet, maybe snow if we get lucky.
the dark chocolate she’s nibbling on is cheap and tastes identical to the plastic wrapper it came in, and the burn of the whiskey is only adding to the bitter taste. but at least it soothes her mind. she sighs, flicks off the television, and heads for the shower. the last thing she wants to be right now is even more wet, but the promising warmth of the water will at least soothe some of the pain in her shoulders.
a bone-chilling squeak rings out through the bathroom as she twists the faucet on, and the light flickers as if in response to the noise. sevika peels her clothes off, her sweatpants dropping to the floor and her shirt still trying to hang on to her body. her ribs are more prominent than they’ve ever been, and she can see her muscles slowly starting to wither away with how frequently she skips the gym.
steam fills the room, the foggy clouds of it wisp around her as she studies herself until she can’t see her reflection anymore. it’s all blurry— her reflection, the walls, her own hands in front of her face. her left arm has the deepest and darkest scars she’s ever seen, most of them are jagged from the way her stitches were inserted. she can hardly stand to look at herself anymore, so maybe it’s a good thing the mirror is fogged up.
in the shower she only washes herself for a quick second, rubbing a thin layer of soap all over her body and scrubbing her scalp with shampoo. she debates on adding conditioner, but she feels as if she’ll faint if she’s in the shower for another second. the hot water quickly runs out, and sevika only notices how scorching her water was when it switches over to room temperature.
as soon as she steps out of the shower, she wraps herself up in her towel, although there’s not really a point in that due to the holes and strings coming off of it. she makes a mental note to buy more towels, and just as she’s about to mope about another purchase to make, her phone blares an alarm warning her not to be late to her physical therapy appointment.
stumbling out of the bathroom, she trudges half nude to her liquor cabinet, aimlessly grabbing around for something strong. she pours herself a shot, and then another, and fuck, why not a third one? she doesn’t notice the burn as it goes down, her mind instead focusing on the ache in her left shoulder.
she pulls a shirt over her head and shoves her shoes on, finalizing her outfit with her black raincoat. she wears it nearly every day, partially because it’s always cold and rainy, and partially because it’s a good excuse to hide the thick scars that travel all the way up her body. her spine starts to ache as she walks to the clinic, but she doesn’t have money for a car, and she doesn’t know anybody in this town well enough to ask them for a ride.
the receptionist at the clinic doesn’t look up one single time as sevika checks in, and sevika wishes so badly that she could get paid to sit down and look at a computer all day. she takes a seat in the waiting room, slumping back and relaxing her muscles as she waits for her PT to invite her in. the clock on the wall ticks extremely loudly, she notices, but she decides to close her eyes and count the ticks until it’s finally her turn.
ii. FLESH AND BONE BY THE TELEPHONE
static muffles through her radio. she flicks the ashes of her cigarette out onto the pavement, watching as a pigeon across the street skitters around. another few crackles through her walkie talkie go ignored. it’s her break for fucks sake, and she’s only just starting to enjoy it.
“sevika?” her radio booms. she sighs, rolling her eyes and waiting for someone else to respond.
“sevika, we need you inside. your break is over.”
“my break is what? over.” she responds, giggling at her own smartass response.
“your break is over, god damn it. over.”
“roger.” she says, a hint of a smile still in her voice. “i’ll be inside in a second. over.”
she pulls her phone out of her pocket, double checking the new code for the security door. after punching it in, she swings the door open until it bolts shut behind her, and then makes her way to the lobby. the museum is huge, the lobby has floors that sparkle and shine no matter how many muddy shoes cross over them, and the rest of the stories are complete with floor to ceiling windows that are taller than she ever could’ve imagined.
as she crosses through a giant stone archway, her boss nods and waves her over. one of her coworkers is there too, both of them looking stern and serious. she steps into the small circle they’ve formed, lifting her eyebrows quizzically at the two of them. “well?” she asks. “what do you need?”
“what do i need? what i fuckin’ need from both of you is for you to do your fuckin’ jobs.” he spits, literally. droplets of his saliva collect in his beard as he digs into sevika and her coworker about ‘not doing their jobs.’
“what do you mean by that, sir?” her coworker asks.
“do you know how many people i’ve seen walk out of here with souvenirs stuffed into their pockets? that gift shop is gonna be desecrated by the end of the day.”
“respectfully, sir, we aren’t in charge of the gift shop. we only monitor the grounds of the museum, and you’re the one who hired us both to do that.” she says back.
“then go do ya fuckin’ job.” he growls, his thick boston accent shining through his attempt at a serious lecture.
she raises her eyebrows and turns around with her tongue in her cheek, heading up the large marble stairs. sevika can’t argue with that, and she loves her job. it’s easy— all she has to do is puff her chest to intimidate her guests, hand out lollipops to the little ones who are brave enough to wave at her, and occasionally answer a question about directions around the place. all of her coworkers love her, and she’s never felt more secure in her life before.
ascending the stairs, she eyes a beautiful young woman with blazing orange hair wandering into the gift shop and a smile on her face. that’s not the type of person who’d steal, she thinks, and she’s probably right. concealing her eyes are a pair of black sunglasses, and she’s finally thankful they’re part of her uniform now that she’s got direct sunlight hitting every corner of the second floor.
she inserts her earpiece into the side of her head, prepared although not excited to listen to her coworkers chat and complain for the rest of the day. she flicks around until she connects to the private channel, and then continues to stroll around the second floor.
people of all ages wander through the halls. kids being scolded by their parents, awkward adults grasping clammy hands on their first date, seniors leaning on their walkers and canes as they reminisce about famous painters. the community is so beautiful, so important to her, she’d do anything to protect it. this place is like her second home, and she’s made some of the best friends of her life here. not to mention the fact that it’s taken her years to memorize her way around the place, so now it’s even more special to her.
she steps toward the large windows, feeling the warm sun prickle her skin as it sparkles through the leaves of the trees. the muffled sound of laughing families combined with the sight of her people paints a smile on her face, and she closes her eyes and loses herself in this divine moment until she feels something tug on the bottom of her vest.
“yes?” she asks, turning around and smiling down at the kid. her bottom lip quivers and her eyes fill with tears, she makes a mental note that she can’t be any older than six years of age.
“i—” she starts, attempting to blink back tears and inevitably failing. “mmmph!!”
sevika crouches down and wipes the girl’s tears away with her thumbs, ruffling the kid’s fluffy blue hair. “don’t worry, kiddo.” she assures her, “what’s wrong? oh, lemme guess— lost your parents?” the kid nods and sobs some more, attempting to hide her face in her hands.
she scoops her up in her arms, letting her sob into her shoulder. “ughffff!!!!” she pouts, squirming in sevika’s hold. she takes a guess that the kid is either really shy or just mute.
“it’s okay,” she coos. “would you like a lollipop?” the kid sniffles at this, but lifts her head up and nods at her. sevika digs into the small bag on her waist, pulling out a bright blue sucker for the little one that matches her hair. she takes it in her small hands and unwraps it, eyes sparkling at the sight of the blue raspberry favored sugar. sevika just hopes her parents don’t kill her.
with the kid in her arms— who is now joyfully sucking on the lollipop instead of soaking her in tears and snot— she makes her way downstairs. sevika’s no stranger to lost children, and she’s fond of their company. it’s refreshing to hear them describe colors and patterns in the paintings instead of overanalyzing it and telling stupid facts about the artist. and she loves that she can finally give back to the world, bringing the kiddos comfort like she never received from her own parents.
“radio check.” her earpiece says, slightly catching her off guard.
“go ahead.” her teammates all say, mutually praying their boss isn’t about to go on another two hour long rant in their private channel.
“keep your eyes peeled for a little kid with a full head of bright blue hair,” her boss says into her earpiece. “apparently her names isha and she’s five. parents lost her on the second floor and they’re worried.”
sevika looks down at the kid, unnecessarily double checking that her head is painted with blue hair dye. “i’ve got her.” she says. “we’re making our way to the lobby. 10-20?”
“lobby, meet you there soon. over and out.”
“isha!!” her mother shrieks as soon as sevika lands on the bottom step. “oh my sweet ishabear! i thought we’d lost you forever.”
isha’s dad shoots sevika a look that seems to say ‘sorry about her’, but she smiles and hands the kid over. “what’s your name?” her mom asks frantically. just as she’s about to respond, her boss speaks up and whacks her on the back with a proud slap.
“this is sevika. best security in the whole building, ain’t she?” he says, reaching out to pinch her cheek. sevika tries her absolute best to hold back, but she can’t stop a harsh glare from forming on her face as her boss pokes and prods at her like she’s a doll. she clears her throat and shoves him off, but resumes a smile for the parents staring at her.
“that she is!” the mother cheers. “god bless you, sevika, seriously. i’ll never be able to repay you.”
she smiles proudly, not necessarily because she believes in a god, but she’s just glad to get the kid back and hopefully end the conversation soon. “thank you ma’am. it’s no problem, really. it’s my job.”
“it is your job!” her boss exclaims. “and she’s gonna get right back to it.”
before turning away, she gives isha a smile and an explosive fist bump, smiling at the adorable little cub and then parting. her boss is probably the only downside of her job. words can’t explain how much she hates that guy— even hate isn’t a strong enough word. but she ignores it, pushing her hatred to the back of her mind and attempting to continue with her good day.
until an ear piercing scream is let out at the front of the building, and she’s knocked out before she can turn around to investigate.
——
“shit, how many are still in the building?”
“i dunno, man! there are people fuckin’ everywhere.”
“sevika? can you hear me? … sevika, you need to get out of there now.”
groggily, she peels her heavy eyes open and looks around. the scent of pennies fills her nose, a metallic smell so strong it nearly knocks her out again. before she feels like she can hit the floor, her body jerks forward and she sucks in a gasp before she realizes she’s already laying on the marbled ground.
“sevika…?”
“leave it alone, for gods sake, we need to get people out of here!”
her left arm was laying oddly and uncomfortably behind her, and her whole body was absolutely aching. she leans forward and chokes out some blood before looking at the scene before her. windows shattered and glass glistening on the floor, reflecting the light that shines off of the mini fires lit all around. there are people everywhere— or at least the remains of them. shoes and purses and walkers left behind, the suffocating scent of blood and charred flesh, and the sound of sirens blaring all around her.
she tries to breathe, but it seems impossible. her lungs won’t fill with air no matter how many times she gasps, and that number is burgeoning with the way she’s hyperventilating. hot, salty tears prickle her eyes involuntarily, but she blinks them away, too shocked to feel any emotions yet. she groans into the floor as a sharp pain shoots through her body, and the thrashing caused by that pain only makes her feel worse.
deep red and sticky, her blood pools around her. it leaks out of her left arm, which takes her a while to recognize as hers because of the way her elbow is inverted. she recognizes cries of children and shrieks of pain, which is a harsh contrast of the peaceful atmosphere earlier. how much earlier? how long has she been knocked out? and why is she on the floor?
after an eternity, two men in heavy jackets lift her onto a stretcher. she’s facing up this time, and now she can get a good look at the walls around her. they’re crumbling and splattered with blood, world famous paintings that were once hanging from them are now completely destroyed. either torn up or burnt to a crisp.
as they approach the bottom of the stairs, she makes the tough decision to peek over the stretcher, eyes frantically searching around the spot she was only just standing in. and there she is. that little girl with her bright blue hair, now drenched in red. her lips are still blue from the lollipop, but she’s grown pale and cold. and gone. and sevika couldn’t protect her.
before she closes her eyes, she takes in the scene one more time. piles of hair tangled together and skin melted into the floor. she’s seen some pretty outrageous things as a security guard, but never this. tears pour out of her eyes, the pain in her body making her wish she would’ve been taken out too. by what, she doesn’t know. she isn’t aware of where she is or what’s going on, all she knows is the pain in the left side of her body, and it’s all she’ll feel for the rest of her life.
iii. LIFT UP THE RECEIVER, I’LL MAKE YOU A BELIEVER
“sevika…?”
she blinks awake with a gasp, eyes wide as she takes in her surroundings. children’s toys litter the floor, flyers and posters on the wall, bright white lights beaming down on her— and her physical therapist standing about 2 feet away from her. sevika grumbles in embarrassment, trying to shake off her sleepiness as quickly as possible.
her therapist offers a sympathetic smile before waving her back. sevika curses those waiting room chairs for being so comfortable, or maybe it’s just because she doesn’t get much shut eye at home. her back is so weak and achy that she feels as if she’ll snap under the weight of gravity, but she tries to play it cool in front of her poor doctor. she’s already embarrassed herself enough today, she won’t let herself collapse in pain on the floor of the office.
“nice to see you again, sevika.” her PT smiles, “how’ve you been?”
how has she been? what a long list she could go down. first of all, she’s in so much physical pain she can barely sit upright without passing out. next, she hasn’t been sleeping well due to her night terrors, and she’s waken up soaked in sweat and shivering more often than not. finally, if this list has to end anywhere, she feels jealous. of the happy families she sees every day, of the kids with friends, of the adults with well paying jobs.
“i’ve been… surviving.” she says, purposefully ignoring the plethora of problems she has. this is physical therapy, she reminds herself. not the damn loony bin. get ahold of yourself.
“well, surviving is a great start.” her therapist says with a faux smile. “how has the pain in your shoulders felt since i last saw you? better? worse?” and with that, her voice trails off into the distance with sevika zoning out.
her poor arm gets bent in every single direction you can think of, even ones it’s not supposed to. she bites back her screams of agony and replaces them with little pained growls and whimpers. every time her arm gets bent slightly behind her, a shock of pure pain shoots through her spine and leaves her a shivering mess. the pain within her feels electric, like she’s about to burst into flames or something. it’s the worst thing she’s ever felt.
the tears in her eyes threaten to spill more than ever, but by some miracle she manages to hold them back. until she gets back to her apartment, at least.
as soon as she steps through the front door, she makes a beeline for her bedroom. burying her face in her pillow, she lets it all out. her pained scream is barely muffled by the pillow, but she continues to scream until her throat feels like sandpaper and she realizes that she can’t breathe.
gasping for air, she flops over. her vision is spotted and blurry from a mix of tears, pain, and exhaustion. she stares at her ceiling and cries while she chokes on her own staggered breaths, and she barely registers that someone’s knocking on her door until she hears her name called through it.
“sevika? are you alright, hon?” is followed by another few pounds on her door. she doesn’t want her anyone to call the cops, so she slowly and reluctantly rises from bed, grabbing onto her door frame to steady herself.
it’s her neighbor. curse these walls for being too thin.
sevika groans and rolls her eyes before opening the door, trying her best to plant an indifferent look on her face although it looks more like a pout. the old woman smiles up at her, glad to see that she’s alive after that screaming, but sevika can’t return the smile.
“what’s wrong? did something happen?” her neighbor asks.
“nothing’s wrong.” sevika grumbles, lying through her teeth.
“i know that’s not true honeybun, your eyes are bright red and your cheeks are wet with tears.” her neighbor coos. sevika thinks it’s annoying. she doesn’t want anyone’s sympathy.
“i’m alright, thank you.” she says sternly, although her neighbor keeps pushing.
“may i come in?”
sevika doesn’t answer, instead watching as the old lady walks past her and plants herself on sevika’s couch. “come chat with me.” she invites with a warm, grandmotherly smile.
“i’m not in the mood for chatting.” sevika glares.
“oh, dear,” her neighbor chuckles to herself. “i’m afraid i’m too mature to have you groan at me like a teenager. come sit.”
sevika comes up with another response, but it’s not a very friendly one. the angel on her shoulder tells her not to say it, that the poor woman is just trying to help, that sevika’s already been so much of a bother that she should just shut her mouth. but the devil on her shoulder is fed up right now, and sevika always favors the devil.
“i’m afraid you’re not an ounce as mature as i am. you haven’t been through what i have, and you have no place to tell me what to do in my own fucking apartment.” but sevika does listen to the lady, because she takes a seat right next to her on the couch.
her neighbor ignores her emotional outburst and instead asks “are you hungry?”
“no.” sevika scowls.
“tired?”
“exhausted.”
“sad? lonely? you’d do good with a pet around here. or a few plants. i can grow you a—”
“no thanks. i don’t need a… plant. or an animal.” sevika spits.
“hmm. you live a sad life, don’t you. i wonder what you were like before you came here.” her neighbor sighed.
“i don’t owe you an explanation. that’s private.”
“sevika, you can talk to me if you need to. i’m only one door down the hall, retired, it’s just me and my cats. i’ll always be available if you need something.”
“i don’t need anything.” sevika rolls her eyes. “much less your pity.”
“okay, fine then. if you won’t let me help you, i’ll make someone else help you.”
she reaches into her pocket and digs through her wallet, pulling out a thin paper card and handing it over to sevika. “come with me tomorrow. it’d do you wonders.”
“to… church? no thanks, i’ll pa—”
“okay, great. i’ll see you tomorrow morning then.” her neighbor says, rising and making her way to the door.
“i didn’t say i’d come.”
“i’ll pick you up at eight. better set an alarm.”
“i didn’t agree to co—” and sevika gets cut off by the slam of her own door before she can finish her sentence. whatever, when tomorrow rolls around she’ll just ignore her neighbor, pretending to be asleep or something.
she leans back on her couch, staring at the ceiling and wishing she had a pillow to grip onto, to scream into. another thing to add to the list. she stares at the ceiling instead, balling her hands up into fists as rage turns into sadness and sadness turns back into exhaustion.
it takes everything in her not to crawl to bed, but she stands and walks herself eventually. her shoulders sag and her torso slumps forward as she takes one step at a time, her posture making her about 4 inches shorter than she really is. her bed cradles her weight though, and she sighs into her cold, wet pillow once the tension in her body is released. it’s the best feeling ever. and before she knows it, her eyes are shutting, mind going back to that deep, dark memory.
——
7:30am rolls around, and sevika curses herself for waking up this early. now she’ll have to pretend to be asleep in front of her neighbor, and she’s not a good actress. she rolls out of bed, dragging herself to the bathroom to get her day started. she tries to avoid the mirror, but it’s impossible.
she stares at herself for a while, the uncomfortable feeling of someone else looking back at her creeps up on her. she doesn’t look like herself, she doesn’t look like sevika. she looks sick, tired, hurt, starving. the thought of food makes her stomach twist, she hasn’t eaten anything real in over a full day. maybe she should go easy on her neighbor and ask for a home-cooked meal. maybe.
her hair is fluffy and frayed at the ends, and her roots feel eternally greasy. her depression is so bad, she either showers daily in an attempt to scrub the hallucinated blood off, or she won’t shower for weeks. it’s like she can never win the battle.
a knock at the door disrupts her thoughts. “sevika?”
a groan involuntarily escapes her as she silently opens the bathroom door and creeps out into the living room. “sevika, wake up, it’s almost eight.”
she freezes, praying that her movements on top of her creaky floorboards go unobserved.
“sevika, dear, i can hear you on the other side of the door. you’re not fooling anyone.”
fuck. she’s not getting out of this, is she.
with another groan, she opens the door and sighs. the old lady smiles up at her, dressed in some sort of church attire. “grab a coat,” she says. “it’s chilly out.”
what else does sevika have to do, other than follow the orders? she’s trapped now. following this sweet old woman to church on a sunday. something she never thought she’d do. but she yanks a jacket over her shoulders and shoves her shoes on, not bothering to lock the door behind her. she claims she has nothing to lose in there, but that’s just because she lost her own apartment key a while ago.
she almost smiles when her neighbor shoves her into her car. almost. but she’s not exactly capable of that anymore. it’s so luxurious. she has a heater and a radio and a seat. it’s almost like she’s in a spaceship, marveling at all of these features that would make her life so much easier.
her excitement reaches it’s end as they pull into the parking lot of the building, and that pit in her stomach returns as she climbs out of the small car. if her legs worked a fraction of how well they used to, she’d run so far away from this place.
everything about it is repelling her. the building is huge, bright, colorful, everything she’s seen in her recurring nightmares. it smells like dust and coffee, children’s art line the walls, along with some more formal paintings and portraits. the ceiling seems to be made of glass— the kind that shatters easily and can slice your hands up.
the windows are colored with stained glass that portray different scenes. people made of bright colors dance and pose and feast all around them, their dazzling figures being illuminated by the white sunlight shining through the windows. it’s the kind of beauty she was attracted to years ago, the kind that nearly got her killed.
“sevika, come sit with me.” her neighbor says, derailing her train of thought. she practically has to drag sevika over to the pews as she stares at the buildings interior, feelings of fear and comfort flooding through her veins and stunning her.
she’s too busy taking in her surroundings to realize that the service has started, and she’s quickly reminded of how much she hates places like this. a large, beautiful room full of people. a community. something bad could happen at any moment, and she’d be in no shape to help any of them.
small droplets of blood fill her mouth one at a time as she anxiously chews on her bottom lip. she knows it’s a bad habit, but it’s oddly comforting. the metallic taste is just a reminder that she’s still alive, that the blood is still inside of her body instead of splattered across the floor. gross, ugh, don’t think of that.
in an attempt to tune out the preacher’s sermon, she decides to study the people around her. it’s a harsh reminder of past events, she swears she can almost recognize the faces of the dead bodies in them. all ages, young and old. parents cradling their newborn babies, seniors admiring their lover’s white hair, kids swinging their feet out in front of them in an attempt to stay occupied.
she tries to push these morbid thoughts away from her brain, but it’s not easy. it’s her minds default, it’s why she hasn’t stepped foot in any sort of large building in years. by some miracle, she’s survived a bombing once, how on earth could she do it again?
but to her luck, the ceremony is over before she knows it, and she’s about to escape before her neighbor yanks her back by the collar of her jacket. she pouts, rolls her eyes, and turns around to face her.
“meet my neighbor, sevika. this is her first time joining us.”
“nice to meet you, sevika.” and the man sticks his arm out to sevika, awaiting a returned hand shake. she doesn’t return it though, and she doesn’t even look at him. instead she just stares at the floor and says “yeah… thanks…”
her neighbor nudges her shoulder for being rude, but she doesn’t owe anyone anything. she doesn’t know if the man who tried to shake her hand is same guy who’s been blabbering on this whole time, but if it is, she doesn’t want anything to do with him.
“sevika, what the hell was that? i didn’t bring you here to be rude, i brought you here to learn something.”
sevika scoffs with a fake laugh, “i don’t need you to parent me.”
“then stop acting like a kid, let’s go meet more people.”
how was she gonna get out of this? oh well, in only a few hours she’ll be home again, resting and recharging in bed under the covers. she follows behind her neighbor like a lost puppy, not even looking in front of her, just staring down and making sure that she’s following the correct pair of shoes.
you greet sevika’s neighbor warmly, she’s a familiar face you’re always glad to see. sevika’s figure almost startles you when you peek up, almost. but you get yourself under control, asking the sweet older woman “who’s this?”
“this is sevika, my neighbor. it’s her first time joining us today.”
“oh! nice to meet you, sevika.” you smile, keeping your hands to yourself. sevika doesn’t know what to think of you, you’re so… different from everyone else here. you’re not dressed like everyone else, you look more like sevika than you do the others. but she wouldn’t expect someone like you to work at a church, would she? god, how the world has changed.
“nice to meet you.” she says, not bothering to attempt a weak smile, but giving a cordial nod in your direction anyways.
“we hope to see you around here soon. if you need anything, you know where to find me. although, you look like you’re in good hands.” you offer, giving sevika’s neighbor a friendly pat on the shoulder. sevika watches you walk off, wishing she could dissect you a little more. but she doesn’t hesitate to exit the building when her neighbor declares that it’s time to leave.
“are you hungry?” her neighbor asks once they’re in the car.
sevika’s mouth speaks before she can stop herself, “yes. starving.”
“good, you’ll come over for brunch. that wasn’t a question, by the way.” she smiles.
sevika rolls her eyes and almost smiles back. almost. but the ache in her lower back is making it hard to be happy in this moment.
her neighbor’s apartment is quite grandmotherly, to put it nicely. she has two cats— a black ball of fluff named “fluffy” and a skinny, all white cat named “snowy”, both of which were named by her grandchildren. there are plants and paintings and handmade quilts littering her place, every one of them having a story behind it. it’s cute, sure, but a little bit too maximalist for sevika’s enjoyment. at least she has furniture. good quality furniture.
a steaming teacup is placed in front of her seat at the counter, and both of the cats jump up to check it out. in all honesty, sevika thinks it’s kinda gross to live with animals. she doesn’t know where the hell those cats paws have been, and if it were up to her they wouldn’t be on the kitchen counter.
the cats waddle over to sevika, getting too close to comfort in an attempt to investigate the strange woman sitting at their counter. once she’s deemed safe, they raise their backs and point their tails up as if to ask for pets, but sevika scowls and awkwardly scoots away from the strange animals.
“not a cat person?” her neighbor laughs.
“no… not an animal person in general, really.”
“they’re sweet. give ‘em a pet.”
“no thanks…”
“fine. but you better eat up before they eat it for you.” her neighbor says, shoving a tall stack of pancakes in front of sevika. it’s a heavenly sight, and she almost feels bad for eating it instead of staring at the masterpiece for a while longer.
but that hungry pit in her stomach only grows and shoves itself against her stomach, so she has no choice to dig in. not that she’s complaining, and they taste absolutely divine. she grows uncomfortable again, last time she felt divine was the worst day of her life. it’s almost like a curse— one that never lets her feel true enjoyment.
fluffy and snowy meow loudly at her neighbor for food too, so she grabs a small dish and starts plopping some wet food onto it. again, sevika can’t fathom why someone would do that. on the counter? where she’s eating? but it’s not her apartment, so she keeps her mouth full of pancakes to stop the complaints.
she can’t wait to get home. checking the time, she realizes that it’s now afternoon. this has been the most eventful day she’s lived through in a while, and that triggers her anxiety to tone everything down. she needs a drink and a nap, so she thanks her neighbor and heads one door up the hall to her own apartment.
her door is unlocked, just how she left it, and she realizes that the only valuable thing in her apartment might be her liquor cabinet. maybe she should get a lock after all. add that to the list.
she guzzles down some whiskey directly from the bottle before stopping to take a breath. with how much she’s been drinking lately, she barely gets drunk anymore. it’s not fair, she might just have to find something stronger. jesus christ, i’m gonna drink myself to death. before she has a chance to bury herself back in bed, her phone rings. how strange, she hasn’t gotten a call in years. but what choice does she have, other than to lift up the receiver?
“yes?” she groans.
“hello,” you greet, a bit disturbed that someone would answer the phone with just ‘yes?’ “is this sevika?”
“who are you?”
“i’m from the church, we met earlier.”
“oh… okay… so…?”
“so, i wanted to tell you that i meant it when i said i hope you join us again. it was nice to see you, we rarely get any newcomers in this small town but… i can tell that you’re different.”
“okay…” sevika says. there is no way she’s stepping foot in that building again. jesus christ himself could not drag her in there.
“so… you’ll come?”
“i still need to be convinced.”
“easy. but i’ll need you to show up for that.”
“maybe.” she says, and you feel like you can hear a hint of promise in her voice.
“okay, well, have a good rest of your day. i’ll see you soon. maybe.” you say, about to hang up.
“how did you get my number?” she questions.
“helen gave it to me.”
“…who?”
“your neighbor? helen?”
“oh… right.” how could she not know her own neighbor’s name?
“sevika, don’t worry.” you assure her. “i’ll help you believe.” and the line goes quiet.
iv. I WILL DELIVER, YOU KNOW I’M A FORGIVER
that day was the first time you saw sevika, and you wish you could live in that moment forever. she was so soft and so sharp at the same time, and it was surprisingly harmonious. her physical features were striking, she looked almost… scary. but that scariness was easily cancelled out by her gentleness.
her cheeks were thin and sunken, but her chin effortlessly faded into the smooth skin of her neck. her nose stuck straight out of her head, but there was a slight curve to it that made you wanna run a gentle fingertip over it. her eyes were bright and silver, but they were so big and so round. she was tall, sticking up higher than anyone else in the room, but her hips and thighs were so plush and thick, she took up just the right amount of space.
she was just plain gorgeous. usually you’d scold yourself for thinking about another woman this way, but you’d been slowly coming to terms with your sexuality. as long as you don’t act on it.
from the moment you laid eyes on her, you knew you had to guide her. it was like some sort of fate or destiny. here’s this immaculate woman showing up in front of you in desperate need of help, your help specifically. it was a perfect mission, you’d do anything in her power to earn her trust and to help her feel that faith.
by some miracle, she answered the phone when you rang. judging by her previous attitude, you almost expected her to storm back down to the church and smack you across the face. your conversation was unproductive, sure, but it was a good start. well, if she decides to show up, that is. you don’t doubt her, if anything you can just ask her neighbor to force her to tag along again.
the mental image of her floats around in your head all day. what are you gonna do when she does show up? give her some sort of speech? she’ll probably just tune you out like she does to the rest of the world. you wonder why she acts the way she does, there’s no way anybody with a normal life could act this guarded. you just hope she opens up eventually, you’d kill to get to know her.
sevika’s not amused. she doesn’t want anyone’s help, or to pretend to have faith in something that’s all just make believe. really, the only thing she wants is some peace and quiet, and for the pain in her shoulders to lessen. before returning to her den, she sluggishly trudges to the kitchen cupboards, yanking them open in search of some painkillers. to her luck, there are two small pills left, which she quickly downs. she chooses water over whiskey this time, shockingly, because she’s a little bit frightened by drinking herself to death. which is strange, and she wonders why she values her life so much.
no matter what you do, you can’t get this woman off of your mind. something about her makes you feel different than how other people make you feel, but you can’t tell what it is or why. you need a plan. you need to talk to her again. or at least some confidence would be handy. but instead of dwelling on it, you decide to go for a walk.
the walk doesn’t really work though, it actually does the opposite of clearing your mind. you have nothing to focus on, no work to do, so you just think. your mind runs wild the whole time. you’re so intrigued, so excited yet nervous, you feel like it’s almost a craving. almost, because you’re not really sure what a craving is. not until you meet her, at least.
after swallowing her pain meds, sevika crawls back into bed, the heavy feeling of anxiety that settled over her chest slowly but surely fades, and she’s eased into a light afternoon nap. the plain white walls of her room offer some familiar comfort, but the more she looks at them, the more she’s reminded of the hospital. fuck, maybe she should try to decorate the place. and she really does need to go shopping later.
——
she wakes up nearly three hours later feeling more exhausted than before she slept. at least she feels a bit more calm, but the looming feeling of her responsibilities made her groan. another reason why she doesn’t want pets: it’s another mouth to feed, to walk, clean up after, bathe, spend time with. she can barely do those things for herself, how on earth could she do it for something else?
rather than pouting about her responsibilities, she makes the tough decision to get out of bed and get started with her day. get started meaning that it’s almost 6:00pm and she’s only just now attempting to complete her to-do list. and so what? she lives on her own terms. she doesn’t bother brushing her messy hair after her nap, even less to keep it out of her face with a little half ponytail. it never works anyways, the wind whips it all around you until it sticks to the sides of your face with humidity.
so, that’s it then, and she shoves her shoes and her coat on and leaves. the door stays unlocked, of course, and she makes her way down the stairwell and out of the building. there’s a small grocery store on her block which is conveniently located next to a liquor store. if she has the funds after buying her necessities, she’ll stop in there for a treat. actually, she’ll probably stop in there anyways, but she likes to think that she still has some self control left when it comes to drinking.
does she remember what she needed to buy? no. and did she bother to write down her mental shopping list as it came to her? nope! but it’ll come to her. hopefully. she spends the whole walk there trying to focus on what she needs to spend her money on and what she wants to spend her money on. she needs more painkillers, more snacks, some sort of decoration for her place, and… was there something else?
she crosses into the store and she’s immediately greeted by the sound of loud pop music buzzing through the speakers. great, so she’s overstimulated already. she’ll make it quick, she decides, it’s not like she wanted to be here in the first place.
sauntering down the aisles, she picks up everything she needs. at least, everything she remembers that she needs. she grabs a large bottle of extra strength ibuprofen, more bread and butter, microwave meals, milk and eggs, and what else? before she can think of another thing to add, she decides to just leave. if she thinks of anything else, she can always just come back later.
her shoulders sag under the weight of her basket, full of stuff that’ll probably just rot in her fridge. as she approaches the register, she sighs as the man behind it attempts to strike up a conversation with her. she’s not interested, she never has been, and she has no clue why he insists on chatting with her every time she’s there.
she doesn’t respond to the man the entire time she’s there, just staring daggers past him. she doesn’t even muster out a “good evening” or “goodnight”. i mean jesus, even a “fuck you” might’ve been polite. it’s not like she cares.
but she does stop by the liquor store on the way home, as we knew she would. she decides to treat herself, picking up not only one, but two bottles off of the shelf. whiskey and vodka, not cheap but it does the job. the money will come back around anyways. the man behind the counter, this time stoned out of his mind, asks her what she’s gonna do with the alcohol.
“what am i gonna do with it?” she repeats, obviously annoyed and confused. “what the fuck do you think?”
“mannnn, i bet you could make a hundred bottles of homemade mouthwash with this stuff. fucking awesome.”
sevika rolls her eyes and collects the large glass bottles, shoving them into her bag as gently as she can. she has no idea why everyone’s so interested in talking with her tonight, it’s like she’s wearing a glowing neon sign above her head that says “TALK TO ME!”
does she look approachable? happy? friendly? welcoming? no, obviously not. she must not be part of this inside joke the world is playing on her tonight.
so you’re surprised to see sevika when you’re out for your second walk of the night. pacing around in your own house wasn’t working, and all you wanted was some fresh air. well, maybe not fresh, but the temperature definitely did shock you. you almost walked right past her until you recognized her statuesque figure. she was across the parking lot, rolling her eyes and shoving the door to the liquor shop open as she stepped back outside.
huh. sevika at a liquor shop. not necessarily unusual for a person, but forbidden for you. you wonder if this is a ritual for her, if she’s gonna go home and get drunk or something, or maybe if she’s gonna split the bottle with some friends. does she even have friends?
you turn around and head in the same direction she does, hoping your paths cross before her quick, long strides can leave you behind. and you eventually catch up to her, pretending you had no idea you’d run into her, you greet her with a “oh, sevika! hey, i didn’t expect to see you here.” except, you did expect to see her here. you already spied her storming out of the liquor store. ugh, you’re such a bad liar.
“oh… hi.” she mumbles, a little disturbed by your sudden appearance, and already burnt out from the two people who’ve made small talk with her in the past hour. while you stand in front of her, she raises her eyebrow slightly as if to signal that she’s waiting for you to say something before she walks away.
“i’ll see you next week, yeah?” you remind her, not really sure of what to say. partly because the meeting is so sudden, and partly because this woman is breathtaking.
“yeah, maybe.” she agrees halfheartedly.
“i don’t want your ‘maybe’s sevika. i want you to say yes to me.” you challenge, huffing at her indecisiveness. “if you want me to help you, i need a yes.”
“help me with what?” she asks, pretending to be shocked and offended at your words. you stutter, staring up at her with a sorry look in your eyes.
“oh, i’m sorry, i didn’t mean—”
“i’m just fucking with you.” she says, chuckling to herself and offering a small smile. and as if her face couldn’t get any more perfect, you notice a small gap between two of her top teeth. she’s so beautiful you feel like you’re gonna melt, even in this chilly autumn weather.
before you think about what you’re saying next, you blurt out a “tomorrow? can i see you tomorrow?”
she raises her eyebrows at your bluntness, the suggestion seems to come out of nowhere. but what else does she have to do? and she already feels bad for fucking with you all of the time, shouldn’t she just give in and attend whatever stupid meeting you have planned for her?
“i— i guess, yeah.”
“you guess?” you tease. “or you will show up?”
“i will. i’ll see you tomorrow.” she admits with a huff.
“good, i’ll see you tomorrow too then.” you say, and you offer her a small wave before walking past her and continuing with your walk. after seeing her, your mind automatically feels so much clearer considering the fact that she was the one occupying all of your thoughts.
sevika stands frozen in place as you walk away, holding her bag in her hand as she reflects on what she just agreed to. why the fuck would she say yes to that? she doesn’t believe in any of your religious bullshit, and she doesn’t care to try. but it’s too late, she’ll just have to let you down easy when tomorrow comes.
but when tomorrow does come, she decides to go a little bit easier on herself. it’s not like you’re trying to annoy her with all of your beliefs and jargon and whatnot, and she can tell that this actually does mean a lot to you. plus, she’s in a good mood after remembering that she bought two new bottles of alcohol. she even ate a little bit last night and managed to keep it all down, which is a rare occurrence for her. so yeah, it might be a good day.
the sun peeks out just a tiny bit from behind the clouds as she walks herself back to the church, which offers a nice, although minuscule, bit of warmth. you’re already there by the time she arrives, and you greet her with a warm smile and invite her down the long hallway to your ‘office’. it’s not technically a real office since you don’t do too much work other than filing papers and planning events, you just begged them to give you a room that you could sit alone in sometimes.
you don’t have any sort of plan on how you’re gonna convert sevika, or how to at least help her fix up her life a little bit, but you do wanna get to know her. so you start with that. you ask her where she’s from and if she’s lived here her whole life, and you’re surprised to learn that she used to work in new york. all the way across the country.
she hesitates to tell you why she left though, saying she’d rather save it for a later session when she gets more comfortable. which she regrets almost instantly, because she just solidified herself another few meetings like these. she tells you more, like how she was always close with her mother until she passed when sevika was only ten. and how she definitelty inherited some anger from her dad, even though she never liked him.
her childhood was interesting. to you at least. she was just stable enough to keep herself afloat, but unstable enough for her to be left with some sort of trauma. she moved out as soon as she reached eighteen and never looked back. she scoured for jobs that would be good for someone like her, someone broken but strong. resilient, you call it.
the two of you chat for nearly three hours, you asking questions after question and her answering nearly all of them. but the one question that you’re too scared to ask is this: what happened that turned her into… this? she said it had something to do with her job, something that just completely broke her and left her unable to snap back. but what was it? how bad could it have been? what job did she have? was it her fault? but you did agree to letting her tell you on her own terms, so you’ll just have to wait until she’s ready.
eventually your time is up, and you walk sevika back out of the double doors of the small building. she flashes you a small smile, one that you’re already obsessed with, and she turns to leave.
“wait.” you call after her, although she’s only about six feet away from you. “you don’t have a car?”
“no.”
“how did you get here?”
“i… walked…” she says, waiting for you to get to your point.
“all this way?”
“it’s only about a block and a half.”
“but— well…” now you feel bad. you didn’t know that you were forcing her to exercise her exhausted joints and muscles in this weather. sure, maybe she doesn’t mind, but if you were her you’d probably throw a tantrum. “do you want me to drive you?” you ask.
“sure, if you really want to.”
“of course i want to.” you say, and you practically drag her off of the sidewalk and shove her into the passenger side of your car. the drive is short, her building really is just about a block and a half away.
“i’ll see you next week.” you say.
“yeah, see you then.” she responds, and for once it doesn’t feel forced or awkward.
“and tell helen i say hi if you see her. assuming you know who she is?” you giggle.
“yes, i know my own neighbor.” she says, rolling her eyes and chuckling.
“just making sure…” you tease.
sevika just laughs and waves you goodbye through your front window, disappearing into the building and up the stairs. you don’t even register it— to busy with staring at her back— but eventually it hits you that she laughed. this mysterious, guarded woman laughed at something you said. and she spent the last three hours opening up to you about her life. and for the first time in quite a while, you feel like you’re finally good at your job.
——
sevika’s been following through on her promise, meeting you for exactly four weeks now. twenty eight days. you started out with just seeing her twice a week, then every other day, and now you see each other daily. she opened up to you about how much she hates the church setting, how it activates her fight or flight response and brings up old memories, so you switched to taking her to a small local cafe instead.
it’s great. you get to have real coffee, not the burnt stuff from the coffee pot in the church’s kitchen. you’ve also been forcing sevika to eat after learning that it’s been a struggle for her. nothing big, but you make sure she always has at least a muffin or a croissant in her stomach. you pick her up and driving her there too, which is good for her because she can finally relax instead of being worn out from walking everywhere.
she’s taken a liking to you, every morning she’s glad she wakes up because she knows she can see you again. it’s such a strange feeling, but she enjoys it. opening up to you wasn’t as difficult as she thought it would be either. you listen so attentively, and you’re always careful to ask appropriate questions and give her a break without her even having to ask for one.
it’s never been easy for her to talk about what happened in her past, and she wishes she had the ability to forget about it completely. but it’s easier with you. every time her eyes grow wide and teary as she pictures the bodies, you change the topic and point at a cute dog outside of the window. or when she gets choked up, stumbling over her words because the brutality of the situation is just too much for her, you let her take her time.
the most memorable moment for her was when she told you about that kid with the blue hair. everything else, sevika managed to stay under control about. sure, the mangled body parts and the melted flesh was bad, but that fucking kid. her lips were still blue. she’d been so alive only moments earlier, smiling as sevika gave her a fist bump and held her in her arms, and she was gone just like that.
when she told you, she couldn’t help but break down in heavy sobs. you could feel your heart shatter at this— the story and sevika’s reaction to it. you scrambled from your side of the booth to hers, scooting in next to her and wrapping her up in a hug as she cried. to your surprise, she hugged you back. she hooked her chin over your shoulder, grabbed you tightly in her strong arms, and just let herself go.
it’s the most tranquility she’s ever felt, and it put all of her past therapists to shame. immediately after that day, the two of you were bonded. you’d do anything for her. be a shoulder to cry on, drive her to and from her various doctors appointments, and make sure she’s eating.
she’s started to trust you, and she agreed to going back to the church with you a few times a week. instead of taking your usual spot with the rest of the staff and speakers, you sit with her every time. sevika on your left, her neighbor on your right.
today you’re feeling particularly bold for some reason, you suspect it might be because of your friendship with sevika, but this feels different. well, you know how it feels, but you’re scared to admit it. although you’ll probably be fine, you’re hesitant to say it to yourself out of the fear that you’ll be thrown out of the church. yes, you like sevika, and sure, she is a beautiful woman. but you just can’t bring yourself to say it. to say that you have a real crush on her. to admit that you want her.
so instead of saying anything, you use your actions instead. glancing over both of your shoulders, you make sure that nobody important is looking in your direction before you snake your hand forward and wrap your hand around sevika’s. this action is the farthest you’ve ever gone with anyone, and your cheeks are practically on fire with how hard you’re blushing. you wouldn’t be surprised if the whole building could hear your heartbeat right now.
sevika adjusts her fingers so that she’s gripping your hand firmly, and you feel so… dirty, almost. you know that this is nothing, but you’re scared and ashamed of what other people might think. but although it initially feels wrong, you settle down when you realize that nobody’s looking— even more that nobody cares— and it feels so right. her hands are surprisingly warm and soft, they feel so welcoming and familiar against yours.
maybe, just maybe, you’ll hold her hand more often. but for now, this is just a one-time occurrence.
she notices the panicked look in your eyes as you stare straight ahead. she tries to nudge you gently, but you’re in such a deep stupor that you don’t notice it.
“hey.” she whispers, elbowing you a bit harder than last time. “you okay?”
you realize now that she’s trying to talk to you, so you just squeeze her hand and give her a small nod, blinking your eyes a few times and trying to snap back into reality. once the ceremony is over, you stand and walk sevika and her neighbor to the door quickly.
“are you sure you’re alright?” she asks again.
“yeah, it’s nothing.”
“you know that… this works both ways, right?” she says, gesturing between both of your bodies. “if you need someone to talk to, i can listen.”
“i know, thank you.” you start. “but it’s not like that. it’s nothing… bad. i think? but i’m fine. or— i will be fine.” you say, stumbling over your words incredibly hard.
“you don’t seem fine to me.” she retorts.
“i am, thank you though. get home safely.” you choke out, missing a crucial part to your signature goodbye’s.
“…see you tomorrow?” she asks.
“oh, yes! see you tomorrow, i knew i was forgetting something.”
sevika flicks you on the forehead, before turning to leave. “get some rest, then.”
“i will.” you laugh, although it’s forced.
as soon as her and her neighbor are out of sight, you turn around and make a beeline for your office at the end of the hall. your eyes are glued to the floor, purposefully ignoring anyone’s gaze in case they try to chat with you.
the door clicks locked behind you, and you slump down in our office chair. with your head in your hands, you start to cry. the anxiety in your chest is just too much to handle, and you’re so upset with yourself. you’re upset because it felt so good to be that close to her, and you let yourself indulge in something you know you’ll never get to have. you allowed yourself to catch feelings, but you know you can’t go any further. you’ll have to stick with just thinking she’s pretty and sweet and yours, and watch her fall in love with another woman.
worst of all, she’ll probably fall in love with a woman who’s the total opposite of you. someone who’s experienced and not awkward and cool. and not you. and this really hurts to realize.
what are you supposed to do now? now that you’ve admitted how you feel to yourself, what else is there to do? you can’t ask her out on a date, that would be against everything your community believes in. but are you really supposed to just sit here and play along? it’s not fair. your adrenaline is so high right now that all you really want to do is run.
and that's just what you do. you don't even bother to use the exit door down the hallway, you just peel your window open and hop out of it. tears prickle your eyes and the frosty air nips at your skin, but it helps even out your overheating temperature. you’ve walked this route a millions times already, it’s nothing different but the gentle scenery offers a nice place to think.
you think about all of the sweet moments you’ve shared together, specifically about how much it means to you. you’ve never really had a friend like this before. sure, you’re convivial, but having someone like this was so different. she was yours. and you’d gladly be hers if she asked you to, but would she ask you to? would she ever ask someone like you to be hers?
but you also think about how much your religion means to you. you’ve been part of this for so long, working harder to have a strong sense of faith every single day. if you get with sevika, they could cut you off in an instant, and it would’ve all been for nothing. your reputation would be ruined, and if you’d ever wanna start over with another church, you’d have to leave this small town. leave your home.
it’s just not fair. why did god make you this way? for everyone else, falling in love with a man is no problem. they were made the right way, or at least know how to ignore their true feeling really well. was there some sort of secret lesson that you missed? that everyone is in on besides you?
once you get dizzy and out of breath, you find a stump to sit on and reflect. your shoes kick at the dirt underneath you, brain fuzzy as you try to decide on what to do. little bugs crawl around on the ground beneath you, each one of them having a family and a home. i wish i could have a family, you think. you can hear rain pattering on the leaves of the trees above you, but you stay dry. well, as dry as you possibly can be living this close to the ocean.
you don’t even realize how long you’ve been sitting here lost in your thoughts before the sky turns a lovely light shade of orange, and you realize you’d better leave now if you wanna get back before dark. the only thing on your mind as always is sevika.
sevika has been thinking about you all night too, wondering if you’re okay after the way you acted. she won’t push, she wants to give you time to open up to her the same way you did, but she just worries. and she misses the warmth of your hand in hers, although she could tell you were nervous. in her opinion, it was cute. she admires how gentle you are, how you always make sure others are alright before making sure you are alright. but whatever it is, she doesn’t doubt that you’ll be fine.
leaving your window open was a stupid idea, now your entire office is cold and there’s a puddle of rainwater leaking down the bottom of the window and onto the floor. but you’ve made up your mind. you need to call her. you know that she’s infinitely more experienced with these feelings than you are, so she’ll be able to help you, even if those feelings are about her.
she’s about to go to bed early when her phone rings again. she knows it’s you before she even picks up— you’re the only one with her number.
“yes?”
“…sevika.” you sob out, the small whimper of her name followed by sniffles and cries.
“holy shit, are you okay?” she asks frantically, scared that maybe you’re hurt or something.
“well… physically yes. but i just… miss you. i need to talk to you in person.”
“okay, yeah. i’m on my way.” she says, and she practically flies out of her building and down the street to get to you. it’s not late, but the sky is already pitch black due to how early the sun sets. you meet her at the door again when she arrives, and the sight of her instantly calms your nerves. she looks so worried, it makes your heart twist. you’re so in love and it’s all her fault.
she doesn’t hesitate to wrap you up in her arms as you sob into her shoulder, and this gesture only makes you sob harder. because you’re so in love and you think you know which side you’re choosing. and it breaks your heart.
“what’s going on?” she asks, and you realize you’re still standing in the doorway.
“come inside, i’ll explain.”
“okay…” she whispers. “did something happen?”
“i have a question.”
“of course. ask me anything.”
“do you ever…” you trail off, trying to find the right words. “feel like… like you can’t live without someone? and you’d give up anything to be with them?”
“yeah, i guess i’ve felt that way before.” she admits quizzically.
“what’s it called?” you ask, although you already know the answer.
“love?” she guesses.
“sevika, can i tell you something?”
“yeah, go ahead.” she says, worried that maybe you’re about to admit to killing someone.
“i think…” you start, but you get interrupted by tears dripping past your eyes and down your cheeks.
“spit it out,” she prompts. “you can trust me.”
“i think i’m in love with you.” you blurt out, biting the bullet.
“oh…” she says, and she almost steps away from you before she realizes that you’re crying again. so she wraps you in another hug and rubs your back. you grip onto her so hard you can barely breathe, and you cry in her arms for so long that you’re brought to your knees. sevika holds you even after you fall the the floor, keeling before you as your knees give out.
she’s in love with you too, but she didn’t wanna say anything in case it made you uncomfortable. plus, she’s not really into corruption or anything, so she decided to just respect your boundaries. but eventually her joints grew sore of sitting on the floor, so she rose, holding your face in her hands and wiping up all of your tears as they fall.
v. REACH OUT AND TOUCH FAITH
every little thing about her attracted you. sevika was a lost soul, mysterious above all. a woman who needed help and direction but was so strong, you swore she could hold the whole world on her shoulders, no matter how much she’d whine about the pain. she complains about people— how there are too many of them and how they’re all stupid— but she’d give her life in a heartbeat to save them.
you couldn’t crack her, no matter how hard you tried.
she looked down at you with her silver eyes sparkling in the candlelight, her hair falling over her face in a silky curtain. you gasped as her thick hands took their place on either side of your head, each one cupping your cheeks so tenderly although they have a rough exterior. you always knew she was capable of being gentle.
you looked up at her from your position on your knees, her torso looking impossibly longer than usual. something comes over you, something that warms up your stomach until you feel so dizzy you feel the need to reach for something to steady yourself. unaware of just how much trouble this would get you in, you end up grabbing for her upper thighs. they’re so thick that your hands are almost completely flat, but they’re sturdy. perfect for grabbing onto.
she chuckles at your flushed state, huffing out an amused “it’s alright, you can touch me if you want. you won’t burst into flames.”
those two sentences make your cheeks heat up involuntarily. you know what she’s implying, and it makes you feel strangely electric. if you don’t burst into flames by this act of sinning, you’ll burst into flames due to how flustered you are. she does something to you that feels so enchanting, like some sort of spell she’s casted. you’ve been frozen in place for so long that you hardly register the soft caress of her thumbs against the apples of your cheeks. if she were medusa, you’d get turned to stone in an instant.
“sevika, what are you— we should—”
“what are you thinking about right now?” she asks, tauntingly putting an end to your stuttering mess of a sentence.
“uh— medusa. and you. you remind me of her.” you choke out, reaching up and gripping onto her biceps before hauling yourself up.
“how so?”
“i always feel like you put me under some kind of spell. like when i’m with you i’m frozen in place. in a good way.” you respond, your breath tickling her face as you gaze up at her from a closer distance this time.
most of your dizziness has relented, and now you sense something softer in the way sevika gazes at you. like she’s pleading for something she doesn’t know how to ask for. she stammers back, almost hitting the wall, and you grow concerned. the roles have shifted. little do you know, you’re in power now. she feels… weak. and needy. something tingly settles in her stomach, she can’t decipher whether it’s anxiety or horniness.
“sevika?” you ask with concern, slowly walking over to where she’s pressed against the wall. her chest heaves as she breathes deeply, and she shivers when you reach out to grab her hand. “are you feeling alright?”
“i don’t think i can do this anymore.” she confesses, her big, silver eyes growing glossy with tears. “i’m— i can’t do this to you.”
“what are you talking about?” you attempt to soothe, worried that maybe she’s suddenly gotten possessed or something.
“you belong here, sevika. you’re not doing anything wrong. if anything, it’s me who should back off right now.”
“it’s not about that.” she sighs, unable to meet your gaze, her eyes instead settling for your lips. a sight she’s seen many times before in her most erotic fantasies.
“what are you feeling right now?” you ask, your therapist persona settling over you in case she’s about to reveal more of her past trauma.
“i… i can’t say it.” she whispers, now solely focused on the curve of your lips and how they’re still shining from the last time your tongue trailed over them.
“you can trust me.” you whisper back. “always.”
sevika studies your words in her mind, hoping that you’d still mean them if you could see the thoughts running wild in her mind right now. she inches closer to you and her nose almost brushes yours. the tension in the room makes her squirm, thighs pressing together in an attempt to soothe the ache between them. somehow, in some strange way, this feels better than sex. better than anything she’s ever smoked, any liquid she could get drunk on.
you are her intoxicant. her stronger substance. her higher power. her breath of fresh air in this humid town. you are what she’s been searching for.
before she makes another move, she pauses. you’re looking at her with such concern, such love, her heart feels like it’s gonna burst. she theorizes that you’re aware of exactly what she’s thinking, but she has no way to know. sevika wonders how you’d react if she leaned forward and kissed you right now.
you have a sneaking suspicion that she’s thinking of something… lustful right now. it shows in her eyes. wide with pupils big and blown out, and the silver in them is practically glittering. she looks pretty, you think, and soft. and although it’s against almost everything you believe in, you probably wouldn’t mind if she leaned in right now and just—
her lips come crashing against yours, a beautiful harmony of carnal aggression and tender care. gravity suddenly feels about twenty times stronger, and you near collapse in sevika’s strong arms. instead of that, you regain your balance after stumbling and back her against the wall. her back hits it with a thud, and she whimpers into your mouth. she whimpers.
it’s as if everything you’ve ever believed in suddenly floods out of your mind. you don’t care which god sees you kissing another woman with such animal desire. somehow it doesn’t matter to you anymore. all that matters is sevika. her safety, her trust, her pleasure.
for once, you allow yourself to feel this way. although it feels wrong, it’s so freeing. you’re an adult for god’s sake, and you’ve missed out on so much due to the strict rules of the church. you want this, you deserve this. after all, it is technically your job to guide sevika, to make her feel good. how is this any different?
as her lips part, you take the chance to slide your tongue over hers. just a gentle brush, but the warm heat of her mouth drives you crazy. her hands claw at your hips, pulling you closer until there’s no gap between the pair of you. this level of closeness isn’t something you’re used to, but fuck, it feels so right.
you can feel the way her thighs tighten when she squirms and clenches them together, feel her own tits rub against yours through your clothes. the intimacy of the moment almost feels awkward, especially because it’s completely silent other than the sounds of your lips smacking together. but before you can dwell on the embarrassment crashing over you, sevika grounds you by moaning your name into your mouth.
as if you weren’t already turned on, this flips a switch and activates something in you that’s a hundred times stronger. both of you pant when you pull back, staring into the silver pools of sevika’s irises. you need her. now. in every way possible.
“take your clothes off.” you demand. sevika nods momentarily, but she hesitates.
“are you sure? we don’t need to— if you’re not comfortable with it that’s fi—”
“now, sevika.” you huff at her attempt to be gentlemanly, but you know she’s craving this as much as you are.
without another word, she strips herself of her shirt, leaving her in just a black sports bra and jeans. you halt your own undressing to stare at her. and god. she’s fucking perfect. her abdomen carries the remnants of what you assume used to be a thick six pack of abs. and although you can’t exactly see them yet, her tits are wide and heavy looking, her ribs poking out slightly under them.
something that you didn’t expect to turn you on is her happy trail. she’s got a thick line of dark, coarse hair running from her belly button all the way down to—
her pants drop to the floor as you continue to stare at her, and your eyes trail lower and lower until they reach the ground. her thighs look impossibly thicker, and you’re surprised about how much she complains about her body. she looks so strong, like nothing could ever hurt her. and as for being insecure? impossible for someone who looks as good as she does. you’d do anything to make her aware of just how beautiful she is.
as she stands almost naked before you, she peeps out a timid “your turn.”
before you think twice, you tackle her to the floor, crushing her lips under yours and shoving your tongue back into her mouth. she whimpers when she hits the ground, albeit mostly out of pain instead of pleasure. you slightly pull away with a gasp, concerned about potentially hurting her— the opposite of your intentions.
“fuck, sorry.” you groan against her lips. “did i hurt you?”
“it’s alright.” she responds. “worth it to have a pretty thing like you on top of me.”
with that, you’re kissing her even deeper, grabbing onto the back of her head to get a better angle with your tongue. she shuffles slightly under you, bucking her hips up as she unbuttons your own pants. shit, you think to yourself, i’ve never done this before.
your bottoms are quickly discarded, sevika throws them somewhere behind you the second they’re off. you’re dying to get your hands on her tits, but you don’t know how to ask. it’s a good think she can always tell what you’re thinking, because she reaches up to hook her thumbs under her bra and yank it off. and god, you were right. her tits are wide and heavy, they’re so smooth and round with the most perfect brown nipples sitting proudly in the center of each one.
you lean forward to give each one a kiss, just a gentle brush, but it doesn’t really satisfy your craving for her. you pout, you’re so horny that it hurts. no matter what article of clothing she removes, it’s not enough. you just wanna crawl inside of her and live there.
“what’s wrong?” she asks.
“i need you.”
“have you ever had sex before?”
“no. i have no idea what i’m doing.”
“guess it’s my turn to guide you.” she laughs, and although the joke was stupid, you giggle too. you didn’t know it could be this fun.
she shuffles under you as she slides her boxers off, and you almost drool at the sight of her bush. it’s just so… beautiful. and intimate. she pats your hips as a signal to scoot off of her, and she spreads her legs before manhandling you to sit your cunt on top of hers. as soon as you connect your cunt with hers, you swear you black out.
it all feels so good. she keeps spreading her legs wider to help you get a better angle against her clit, and you can feel it throbbing against yours. you thought holding her hand was intimate, but this is so much more than you could’ve imagined.
“fuck, sevika.” you moan, tears crashing over you again and dripping onto her cheeks now. “you’re so beautiful.”
she groans at this, tears washing over her too. she hasn’t felt beautiful in so long, and here you are completely undoing her insecurities. all of the scars on her face, cheeks, neck, arms, and torso get kissed. you trail your fingers along some, your tongue along others. you want her to feel loved. you want her to feel the exact same way that she makes you feel.
“you’re beautiful too.” she admits sheepishly. “i can’t believe i haven’t fucked you sooner.”
this flusters you. it’s hard for you to believe that anyone can just be this confident saying things like that, especially because you’re not used to it. but it feels so good to be desired. to have the woman of your dreams using you to get off.
you’re both so sensitive that it doesn’t take long for either of you to cum. sevika’s catches her first after you tell her how beautiful her scars are, even though she used to believe they were the ugliest things known to mankind. she gasps as she cums, her thick cream leaking out of her cunt and down her ass.
you eventually follow after her when she readjusts, moving one of her hands down from your neck onto your hip. she grinds up into you, and your clit meets hers at such an angle that you cum with a scream. it’s dizzying. you gasp and moan and writhe as your orgasm crashes down over you. considering that it’s your first, you weren’t expecting it to be so enveloping. you were taught that sex was unholy, gross, sinful, and a plethora of other negative adjectives.
but it’s not.
you imagine that this is what heaven feels like, a shock of pleasure that runs through your body and leaves you panting and reeling. and it’s fun. as soon as you come down, sevika’s congratulating you on a good job and holding you close. you cry again, but this time not out of fear, out of certainty. you have it all figured out. you’ve just felt the best sensation of your life and here’s the love of your life smiling up from under you.
and so sevika holds you for another few minutes. yeah, you’re both naked in the middle of church, and yeah you’d be burned at the stake if anyone ever found out. but you wouldn’t mind that, as long as you have sevika with you.
“sevika?” you ask after a long while of silent kisses and tickling breaths.
“yeah?”
“i think we need to get out of here.”
“alright. where to?”
“i dunno. let’s leave the country.”
sevika laughs at this, and it’s a sound prettier than anything you’ve ever heard. something you’ll never get sick of. “fuck, i love you so much.”
but before convincing her to leave the country with you, you drive her to a small 24 hour diner down the street and have dinner together. it’s a real date, although all of those coffee shop meeting have gotta count for something too. you hold her hand across the table, this time not afraid, and share a milkshake just like they do in the movies.
so yeah, maybe things didn’t work out for you with this certain group of people, and maybe it does still take a while for you to get over your fear of societal rejection, but sevika is there for you every step of the way. as your girlfriend. officially.
OK HAIII if you made it all the way through my the treacherous jungle of my yap and you’re reading this, thank you so much!!!! i poured my entire heart and soul (and pussy) into this so i hope u enjoyed hehehe :P special thanks to pluto, rayray, eren, and lyss for allowing me to yap about this fic to them, i couldn’t have done it without you guys 🥹 my favorite people in the world right here, MWAH here’s a kiss from ennabear <3 and another thanks to the rest of my mutuals for putting up with the empty promises of “coming soon” at least it’s actually finished now!! i love all of you, let me know what you thought of this one!!! comments and reblogs are very highly appreciated 🤎🤎
#i’m so shocked that i actually finished this wtf 😭 BUT MY BABY IS HERE#PRIDE AND JOY IS FINALLY DONE COOKING#idk what else to say my brain is so fried i’ve been writing for so long#sevika#sevika arcane#sevika x reader#sevika x female reader#sevika x you#sevika arcane x reader#sevika smut#arcane sevika#arcane#arcane netflix#arcane league of legends#arcane season 2
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HOLD ME CLOSE (HOLD ME TIGHT) (3.8k)
pairing. k. bakugou x reader
synopsis. masaru has a stroke that nearly kills him. bakugou handles it well—until he doesn’t.
cw. pro-hero!katsuki, aged-up (32), established relationship, mentions of illness, themes of grief, discussions of past trauma (bkg's)
a/n. i hope y'all cry because this made me cry lmao. writing really is easy if you take heavy inspiration from your personal experiences lol. this is written from bkg's pov, and serves as a mini character analysis as well ig?
bakugou remembers it clear as day.
it was only a few weeks after the two of you celebrated his 32nd birthday in a secluded resort out of town when he got the call.
he was in the middle of chastising his klutz of a sidekick’s ear off for forgetting to submit an important case report when his phone started ringing, and the very fact that it wasn’t your ringtone further soured his already worsening mood.
with a final reprimand laced with an hr-appropriate amount of expletives, he dismissed the rookie, leaving him alone in his pristine, corner office.
he recalls sighing in annoyance upon seeing the caller id, as well as his clipped tone when he greeted the old hag with a curt, “what.”
that annoyance was immediately replaced with alarm, however, when his usually bright mother spoke into the microphone, her typically level voice shaking with unmistakable fear.
“it’s your father, katsuki…” she started, and he instantly braced himself for the impact.
mitsuki takes a shaky inhale. “…he’s having a stroke. we’re on the way to the hospital. please, come here.”
he didn’t need to be told twice.
he remembers being on autopilot—the entire way to the suburban peripheries of musutafu where his parents decided to move after he got his own place at the age of 22. he’s not entirely sure—the journey over now a hazy blur—but he might’ve sent you the link to his location, because you magically arrived at the local hospital around fifteen minutes after him.
the moment he saw you burst into the entrance of the emergency room, a huge, tidal wave of relief immediately washed over him, he thought he could’ve collapsed. the second you lock eyes, he witnessed a whirlwind of emotions dance across your beautiful features, before you ran over to where he stood near the vending machine, unceremoniously crashing into his arms.
at that point, he had no idea what made you drop everything—including the precious work that you do—and just follow him based on an ambiguous gps locator he sent you without context, but he was glad you did.
because it was only as you held him so close to you all the while soothing his back and chanting soft ‘it’s okay’s’ in his ear did it hit him.
the fact that he’s fucking terrified.
it must’ve been at least three hours of stewing in tense silence in the emergency room’s waiting area before the two of you finally saw mitsuki.
he remembers the way his heart ached when he first laid eyes on his mother, someone who’s typically radiant and spirited and happy, now looking too frail and painfully vulnerable.
words weren’t exchanged as the three of you walked towards each other, and he promptly engulfed his mother into a tight hug before he could talk himself out of it.
“how is he?” he whispered into the side of her head, choosing to ask then, in the middle of a hug, because he didn’t know if he could stand the look on her face when she answered.
“he’s alive,” she managed to get out, but she said it so tentatively that he knew it was too soon to feel any sort of relief.
“but…?” he recalls asking with bated breath.
“it was a hemorrhagic stroke. it’s… it’s bad, katsuki.”
it wasn’t until a few more hours later, when the two of you were finally granted permission to enter masaru’s hospital room together with mitsuki, did he realize what bad meant.
some parts of this story are blurry now, but the way his stomach dropped at the sight of his father remains to be unforgettable.
the sight of him paralyzed, head to toe.
masaru remained confined in the hospital for a few weeks more after that. the three of you took turns—one would go home to clean up and catch some sleep while the remaining two kept watch and assisted the man.
you almost got booted out of there on the second day, with the nurse saying only immediate family was allowed due to overcrowding in the hospital, but bakugou was quick to step in and say you were practically married.
when the nurse politely pressed for more details while looking pointedly at your ring finger and the lack of a wedding band, he lied and said you forgot to wear it in your rush to get there.
she didn’t seem too convinced, but she thankfully let it go, probably because it was #2 pro-hero dynamight who said so, eventually exiting the room after checking masaru’s vitals.
he remembers you heaving a sigh of relief once the three of you were left alone, tossing him a small smile that sent a familiar shot of longing straight to his veins.
one day, he recalls thinking to himself, you will be married.
just—not now.
the first day home was as much of a nightmare as he expected it to be.
growing up, and until that moment, he never really found himself wanting siblings.
sure, it got pretty lonely during his childhood, but he almost always had kids following him around what with how flashy his quirk is, and he had izuku, which he can now admit was (and still is) his best friend.
plus, you always said you loved how he’d roughhouse you, which you chalked up to him being an only child and not having had the opportunity to do that with anyone else.
but, as the three of you struggled to lift masaru out of the car and into his newly minted wheelchair, he remembers wishing for a brother or a sister who could lend a helping hand and make sure all of masaru’s numb body parts were carefully looked out for.
it’s fucking hilarious, how he didn’t just lift his father all by himself with his pro-hero muscles, but the fear of accidentally hurting him even more turned out to be more paralyzing than he anticipated.
not that he would ever admit that to anyone.
not even you.
but as he watched you and his mother fluttering around, tending to masaru’s needs not even a minute you get in the house, it struck him that maybe he should.
you might not be his sibling (thank god, no), but you will most likely become his parents’ daughter if things go his way.
and, whether he liked it or not, he’s got to do something about the growing ache in his chest that’s only growing wider by the second.
the next few weeks he spent busying himself with the stuff that came with looking after a stroke patient.
mitsuki, who’s done nothing but throw herself into caring for her husband, insisted on helping him find the people they needed, but bakugou didn’t even let her get a word in.
when he tucked himself into bed right next to you later that night in his new bedroom (you moved in with him to his parents’ despite his protests), he recalls ranting about how the old hag was getting on his nerves with her inability to just let him handle shit.
“have i ever been incompetent?” he huffed, turning on his side so he could lie facing you. “it’s like she doesn’t even trust me.”
“i think the two of you just want the same for the other, kats,” came your steady yet gentle voice, not missing a beat and totally unfazed by his petulant behavior.
“…waddya mean?”
you reached out to caress his cheek, and he remembers how soft your fingers felt and how his eyes momentarily fluttered close at the warmth.
at the sight, you flashed him a sad smile before pressing on.
“you’re both hurting, but the two of you would rather carry the weight by yourselves instead of burdening the other. it’s how you and mitsuki show you care.”
he didn’t say anything after that.
at least, for a while.
finally, he spoke up. “…i just don’t like to be bossed around, is all.”
to that, you only tossed him a knowing look. “yup, just that. definitely. never mind your immense sense of responsibility and the stubborn yet admirable way you carry everybody’s bur—”
“yeah, yeah,” he cut you off before you could ramble any further. “i get it.”
seemingly satisfied, you grinned up at him before pulling him close, cradling his head by your chest.
with the new position, he could feel your familiar, rhythmic heartbeat.
your heartbeat that he liked to listen to for reassurance—telltale evidence that you’re alive and right next to him, and that no villain has wrestled you out of his firm grip.
and as he lay there snuggled into you and listening to the consistent pulse, he found his frantic, loud thoughts slowly but steadily being lulled to a hum.
thoughts that he knew you’d kick to the moon if you found out he’s been thinking them.
thoughts like maybe he’s just selfishly gatekeeping all the tasks so he could distract himself from the pain that’s threatening to swallow him whole.
thoughts like maybe he deserved this for all the wrong he’s done growing up.
thoughts like maybe his mother would be in far less pain if it were him instead of his saint of a father who had to go through this.
he fell into a fitted sleep that night.
after a few more weeks of searching for and screening applicants, and with your and mitsuki’s approval, he finally settled on a stay-in caregiver and physical therapist.
it took quite a while for the two to learn the ropes and master how he wanted things to be done around here, but they eventually got there, and when they did, they cleared a lot of stuff that has been on everybody’s plates ever since masaru had the stroke.
with that, mitsuki insisted the two of you go home to your shared condominium and get back into working full-time again, but neither of you relented. he tried to get you to return, not wanting to hold you back from the important things that you do, but you were quick to dismiss him.
he didn’t tell you then and there, but he secretly wished you would.
he’d never confess this to anybody, but he’d definitely crumble without you around.
he remembers one specific thursday, when you first started getting masaru into exercising his left, albeit non-dominant hand, by drawing.
it was silly, but he recalls not even being able to look his father in the eye as the two of you sat across from him who was plastered in his wheelchair, a small coffee table between you, on which sat a piece of paper, a pencil, a box of crayons, and an all might plushie you swiftly grabbed from his bedroom.
and as he sat there avoiding his father’s gaze, he watched you as you talked animatedly to the man, explaining the deceivingly simple activity: he just had to try and draw the plushie, after which, if he still had the energy, he could color in using the crayons you dug out from bakugou’s drawers.
but masaru wasn’t having it.
the man only stared at you in disinterest as you tried your best to engage him. despite himself, bakugou felt indignation creep up his spine.
he knew. fuck, he really did. after he made sure you’ve fallen asleep, he had spent nights researching his father’s condition, poring over mountains and mountains of information all in the name of being able to better understand and help him.
so he knew—he knew that strokes, especially severe ones, can cause noticeable changes in one’s personality, at least in the short term. it can turn someone sensitive and in tune with others’ emotions into someone who’s apathetic and seemingly self-absorbed.
still, that knowledge doesn’t stop him from jumping on his feet when masaru, his kind, sweet father, angrily wiped off the table with his left arm, sending the materials you worked hard to gather scattered all over the floor.
and, before he could stop himself: “hey!”
you were onto him in an instant, a soothing albeit restraining hold on his shoulder. “katsuki, it’s okay.”
he was about to open his mouth to spit venom when he felt you tighten your grip. he didn’t have to glance at you to know you were looking at him the way you always did when you were begging him to stay quiet.
and because he loved (loves) you, he did.
and as he wordlessly picked up the papers and pens in silence, he couldn’t help but mourn over his father, and the patience and calmness that characterized his being.
the very patience and calmness that he always wished he had, instead of his temper and aggressiveness, because that’s what you, of all people, deserved.
and then the all-too-familiar guilt hit him again.
because why was he acting like his father died, when he was still very much alive?
simple, bakugou thought to himself.
it’s because it feels like he has.
his relationship with masaru didn’t get better after that.
he’d been trying, he really had been. if not for you, who’d been tending to his father like he was your very own, then for his mother, whose fatigue and sadness have been chipping away at her by the minute.
he was washing the dishes in the kitchen after you’ve had dinner—all the while his parents watched tv in the living room—when you walked in, a couple more dirty plates in tow.
he wouldn’t have noticed he was glaring down at the brick of butter on the shelf if you didn’t point it out.
“a few more seconds and that’s gonna melt,” you quipped.
he looked back at you, gears in his head turning for a beat, before he chuckled half-heartedly and turned back to the sink.
behind him, he recalls hearing a click, which he now identifies as you putting down the plates on the kitchen island, before he felt your arms wrap around his middle, encasing him in a hug.
your voice was smooth when you drawled out, “what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours, baby?”
still, and despite all the shit that’s been going on in his life, he still found himself shuddering at the pet name.
“nothing.”
“really?” came your immediate response. “because i was getting kinda jealous with how hard you were staring at that butter.”
at that, bakugou couldn’t help but snort. you followed suit, that delightful laugh echoing across the small room.
“stupid,” he simply retorted, although both of you knew there was no bite to it.
you didn’t press him for more after that, choosing to just hold yourself against his back in comfortable silence—which he now knows he’s grateful for.
because at that time, he couldn’t have told you he was feeling nothing but resentment for his pitiful father.
his pitiful father who loved to put butter in virtually every dish he whipped up.
his pitiful father who probably wouldn’t be pitiful if he just led an active lifestyle, monitored his health, and made better choices so that his poor mother wouldn’t have to go through all this.
his train of thought was interrupted, however, when a pang of that same old guilt hit his chest, and then he was once again flooded with scalding shame.
because what else should he be feeling for his father aside from empathy, as someone who has had far too many brushes with death itself?
“…katsuki?”
he recalls jolting ever so minutely, before turning his head to look at you, who, by then, was already standing behind him, apparently already having released him from the hug.
“huh?”
“i was just asking you,” you continued as if he didn’t just zone out. “our friends want to come by and visit, if you’re okay with it. is that alright with you?”
the last thing he needed was for his nerd-ass friends to visit and witness his family’s dirty laundry, which would inevitably be aired out for them to see given the circumstances. his entire life, he always, always, kept those from prying eyes, even if they were his closest buddies’.
but, at the mention of his friends, he found his heart clenching in yearning despite himself.
and so, before he could talk himself out of it, he nodded in approval.
“…and so that’s how i saved the little girl who was convinced i was the bad guy!”
he remembers everyone in the room erupting in laughter at kirishima’s story, even masaru, who’s been steadily gaining control of the left side of his body back.
his right has seen little to no improvement, but you and mitsuki have been making it a point to celebrate every win, no matter how small.
at kirishima’s gag, bakugou himself couldn’t help the somewhat imperceptible smirk that encroached on his face, which izuku, unfortunately, caught sight of. the #1 pro-hero beamed at him, and it took bakugou every ounce of self-control not to roll his eyes at the nerd.
“what about you, midoriya-kun?” asked mitsuki, who’s seated on a stool right beside her husband, who’s nestled comfortably in the reclining chair you got him about a month ago.
at the call out, the green-haired man shifted his attention to the lady, before sheepishly retorting with: “oh, i just try to be funny.”
that granted him his round of laughter, and this time bakugou finally allowed himself to give into the visceral urge to roll his eyes.
he must’ve been being so obvious with his expressions, because it’s you who managed to catch him again, shooting him a chastising but nevertheless playful look.
before he could wink at you or do anything in response, though, he recalls mitsuki standing up quite abruptly, startling the five of you.
you shot her a question before anyone else could. “what is it, mitsuki-san?”
“i didn’t notice! we’ve run out of tea and snacks. sorry—” she leaned down to get the trays, “—let me get some mo—”
“i’ll do it!” volunteered the ever-good-natured izuku, who moved so fast the plates were on him before the rest could blink.
“i’ll help the nerd,” bakugou added, standing up before taking some of the cups from his rival lest the latter drops them.
at the uncharacteristically generous offer, izuku once again beamed at him, which bakugou immediately dismissed with a wave of a hand.
the short trek to the kitchen was quiet amidst the background noise, which has been brought up a notch thanks to kirishima’s vivid storytelling.
without a word, bakugou gestured where to get a refill on the snacks while he busied himself with brewing more tea.
the silence that engulfed them was comfortable—familiar—that was, until, izuku broke it.
“thanks again, kacchan.”
bakugou felt his eye twitch at the nickname. “for what?”
izuku turned on his feet to regard his best friend, a grateful smile gracing his boyish features. “for letting me and ei visit. i just wanted you to know i appreciate it. i’m sure it’s not easy having guests around while, you know…”
he wasn’t about to tell the nerd he and kirishima were the only ones he felt comfortable enough to visit at the moment, so he merely nodded.
(un)fortunately, the greenhead took it as a sign to continue.
“she’s been amazing, huh?”
bakugou met the man’s soft gaze, which was directed toward you.
“yeah,” came his sure reply. he remembers not even knowing where to start, so he just simply left it at that.
a pregnant pause.
“you’ve been doing great, too, kacchan.”
that caught him off guard.
he must’ve looked stunned, because izuku shrugged quite timidly, before: “we all see how hard you’re working.”
the #1 pro-hero hesitated for a moment, as if debating whether or not to say the next thing, ultimately deciding for it.
“…but don’t forget to take care of yourself, too, alright?”
and just as fast as he scooped the trays back in the living room, izuku patted him on the shoulder before taking the cups from him and waltzing rather clumsily out of the kitchen.
later that night, bakugou found himself unable to fall asleep.
it’s been ages since you both got into bed, and you were now on your side with your back turned against him, probably already fast asleep.
he recalls just staring up at the off-white ceiling, playing back in his head the earlier conversation he had with izuku again and again and again.
“you’ve been doing great, too, kacchan,” was what the nerd said.
if he only knew.
if he only knew the terrible thoughts that had been plaguing his mind since shit went down.
there’s a reason why he hasn’t said a single word about the things he’d been thinking since day one.
there’s a reason why he’s kept all of this shit to himself even though they were fucking heavy to carry all on his own.
it was because he was scared of them, and even more scared of what people would make of him when he finally verbalized them into existence.
what you would make of him.
he’s spent most of his life running away from who he used to be, that the mere thought that he might have just always been that guy this entire time is like a fucking 100% detroit smash to the gut.
he didn’t even notice he was crying until he felt a single tear go down the side of his face.
he quickly reached up to wipe it away.
to his horror, he felt you shift beside him, and he found himself frozen in fear as he waited for you to settle into another position in your sleep.
but that didn’t come.
instead, he remembers so, so clearly how you turned to face him—absolutely, evidently wide awake—with such a worried expression on your gorgeous face, and how he just completely lost it at the sight of you.
he remembers how you scooped him into your arms as ugly sobs finally wracked his body, how you led his arms to wrap around your waist to help anchor him as he cried into your chest.
he remembers the soothing circles you rubbed on his back as you started to cry with him, your sniffles the only thing he heard aside from his own weeping.
he remembers the way your voice cracked when you started whispering ‘i’m here’s’ in his ear. and, he doesn’t know if it’s because that line carries a massive fucking weight for him, or that it’s you—the love of his life—who’s saying them, but the words wash over the entirety of his exhausted body like a violent storm, leaving him shivering in its wake.
he remembers deciding then and there, that he was going to tell you everything.
maybe tomorrow, but not now.
for now, and in the safety of your arms, he finds himself finally allowing the grief—the grief that he’s unknowingly been trying to tamp down—to come forward and make itself known.
tagging. @bunnysaursushii @yawnzzzzzzzz @cholios @kashee-h @iluv-ace @lotuslovers @elarakive @sugurusmoon
˖⁺‧₊ as always, reblogs, replies, and tags are appreciated <3 have a nice day!
#bakugou x reader#bakugou x y/n#bakugou katsuki x reader#bakugou imagines#mha imagines#bnha imagines#mha scenarios#bnha scenarios#mha x reader#bnha x reader#bakugou x you#bakugou imagine#bakugo x reader#bakugo x y/n#bakugou drabble
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halfway through what i’ve accepted is probably my source, and i miss joe more than anything. being without him hurts like a twisted knife in the gut. i know he wouldn’t want me to blame myself for everything, but i do. every death, every ounce of pain, is on my shoulders. i should have done better. i’m sorry, joe.
i’ll come back once i play more. i’m only eight hours in, after all. all i’ve heard is that it gets worse. i can’t fucking imagine how.
-(probably) sara chidouin.
w
#fictionkinfessions#fictionkin#kinsidering#injuries cw#death cw#stomach trauma cw#sharps cw#mod party cat
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Steddie Amnesia Fic: 1/3
-> Part 2 | Part 3 | AO3
cw: lots of head trauma/brain injury/recovery stuff.
Steve wakes up in the hospital with someone snoring loudly on his leg, mouth open, drool getting soaked up into the scratchy hospital blanket over him.
Steve just stares.
It’s… Freddie? No, that’s not right... Eddie! Eddie ‘the freak’ Munson, known delinquent and drug dealer… resting his head on Steve’s lap.
What the hell…?
Steve reaches up with a wobbly, IV-ridden hand to clumsily pat along his head, but instead of meeting messy hair, he meets a thick wad of bandages. He flinches when he hits an especially tender spot.
It’s not much but it’s enough to wake Eddie Munson up with a jolt, and a random jumble of words that sounded something like, “the dice have spoken!”, but Steve can’t be sure. Not with the sharp ringing still going off inside his skull.
“Steve? Steve! Oh thank fuck, Jesus H. Christ, you scared the ever loving shit out of me.” Eddie stood and grabbed at one of Steve’s shoulders, shaking him enough to elicit another wince.
“Oh, damn, sorry. I’m like a fucking bull in a china shop here, man. There’s way too much expensive, breakable shit here. I’m not used to it. I accidentally ripped your IV out the other day... Fuck. The nurses hate my guts.” Eddie chuckles, eyes wide and solely on Steve, talking like they were old friends or something.
But that can’t be right. Steve doesn’t remember saying more than two words to Eddie Munson during the entire time he knew he even existed, and even then it was just to discuss weed prices.
“For real though, talk to me Harrington, how you feelin’, hm? Loopy? Gonna yak again? Apparently they got you on the good stuff,” Eddie flicks a liquid filled bag hanging above Steve and shakes his head, “but they keep cutting you back. Dicks.”
Steve’s eyes try and follow Eddie’s erratic movements but his eyes ache the more he moves them. He blinks against the harsh fluorescents and tries to open his mouth. And thank God, Eddie Munson seems to take this as a sign and shut up.
“What happened?” Steve finally croaks.
One of Eddie’s brows jumps. “You don’t remember?”
Steve gives his head a small shake. Did Eddie hit him with his car or something? Is that why he’s sleeping at his bedside and talking to him like they’re buddies?
“You fell, Stevie.” Eddie makes a whistling noise and mimicks something falling with his hands, then makes a crashing sound when his hand lands on Steve’s bandaged head. “Like a coconut out of a tree. Landed right on that big ol’ melon of yours. There was blood everywhere. It scared the shit out of me and the kids. Especially when you wouldn’t wake up.”
Steve’s throat feels like sandpaper, but he manages to swallow, his throat clicking as he did, and gets out, “The kids?”
Eddie seems to notice, even before Steve can ask, and reaches for a water bottle with a straw already in it, and half chewed. Eddie’s own, no doubt. Against his better judgment, Steve accepts it when Eddie offers it to him. He was just so goddamn thirsty.
“Don’t worry, they’re all fine. They were just shaken up. I’ll radio the little gremlins and give ‘em the good news in a sec.” Eddie’s smile falters a little, seeming lost for words. Like he wants to say something, but can’t quite get it out.
Steve finishes swallowing his few, meager gulps of water before he asks, “What is it?”
“Don’t freak out—“ Eddie begins.
And, okay, that’s exactly the thing you tell someone before they freak the fuck out. Steve’s stomach is subject to a growing, sluggish panic. “What? Dude, tell me—“
“It’s your hair.” Eddie seems genuinely pained at having to deliver this crushing of a blow to Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington.
Steve can hear the beeping from the monitors he’s hooked up to begin to pick up speed as his heart begins racing. “My hair?”
“It’s okay! It’s okay, it’ll grow back! They just had to take a little bit off where the stitches went, you can hardest notice it—well, that’s a fucking lie, you could spot that landing strip from space—but I think if you part it to the other side it won’t look so… y’know.”
“No, dude, I don’t know.” Steve says, eyes wide, brows pinched.
“Like a drunk toddler took a pair of rusty kitchen shears to your mop.” Eddie says, huffing out a nervous sort of laugh.
Steve groans, half due to the bastardization that’s happened to his favorite feature, and half due to the migraine that’s looming on his horizon.
“You’re still pretty, Stevie, don’t worry.” Eddie grins, eyebrows raised, like he’s trying to be cute or something.
That weirdest part is, it’s kind of working.
Steve must have hit his head really, really hard.
The doctors eventually come in and perform all sorts of tests, and he tries his best to comply with them and jump through whatever hoops they make him jump through. He just wants to get the hell out of this hospital bed.
Unfortunately for him, Steve hadn’t exactly aced any of the tests.
In fact, he had failed most of them pretty fucking dismally. He couldn’t remember the date, who the president was, where he lived, couldn’t say the alphabet backwards… although, who the fuck can do that? He stands by that failing grade.
A couple of CAT scans later and it’s clear that Steve’s brain got smacked around a little more than they had originally thought.
Among a pile of other stuff, the thing that sticks out the most to Steve is his diagnosis of something called short term amnesia. They explain it like the past 2 to 3 years has just been wiped from his brain. The last clear thing he really remembers is getting the shit beat out of him by Billy, and then it all sort of gets jumbled. Fragmented. The doctors explain that this is pretty typical for head trauma patients.
He’s a head trauma patient, now.
It’s normal for memories of trauma to link, creating spiderwebs throughout your brain.
Which, that’s great. So when he gets beat up again, there’s always a chance his brain will try and erase his easy, happy years and revert back to a trauma default. Really helpful brain, thank you.
And the thing that sucks the most is that his years after the Billy beat down sound pretty great. Traumatizing, sure, but great. Once the Upside Down shit was locked up, with every scary nightmare fuel monster inside of it, life in Hawkins didn’t sound all that terrible.
He lived with Robin, who’s his best friend, (his ‘platonic soulmate’ even, as she explains it), he’s working a retail job, (also with Robin), and coaches the high school basketball team during the evenings. He’d even been talking with Hopper about joining the force.
Well, he was. Now he’s more or less useless, working full time at re-learning his life, along with a couple of fine motor skills that got glitchy after the fall.
And then there’s Eddie.
Eddie, who’s apparently also his best friend, only their soulmate link isn’t platonic at all.
The strange and weirdly exciting reality was that Steve Harrington had woken up from his 3-day medically induced coma with not only a full fledged relationship, but a boyfriend.
It’s a lot to digest, and part of him still doesn’t even know how to process it, but hearing the stories being told around him, seeing how Eddie is practically living in his and Robin’s two-bedroom apartment, and just… the way Eddie looks at him?
It’s with love—Steve can see it. Feel it. Eddie’s practically vibrating with it.
What’s even crazier is that when Steve looks at Eddie, he feels the exact same way.
It’s like looking at the stars. Steve’s heart skips a beat when those dark eyes of hit him, and Steve wants nothing more than to make Eddie smile—no, better than that, to make him laugh, just so he can watch Eddie’s adam’s apple bob up and down and hear that manic, unhinged cackle. It’s downright delightful. Steve loves being in relationships like this, where it’s all consuming.
Steve may not have the memories of falling in love with Eddie, but he has all the feelings.
No one talks about it with Steve, of course. Maybe they think it’s going to be too heavy for him to process that he’s into dudes now, but Steve isn’t a big dumb baby. Sure, he’s got a pretty severe brain injury, and yeah, alright, it takes him a minute to remember people’s names sometimes, and he has a harder time controlling his emotions, but he isn’t a complete invalid. Only a little bit of one. He’s working on it, dammit.
And Eddie is so painfully, frustratingly patient with him. He never pushes. He’s clearly letting Steve retrieve his memories before he makes a move, because despite his whole outward appearance, Eddie Munson is a goddamn gentleman. He never so much as reaches for Steve’s hands, but Steve can tell by the way their pinkies graze when they watch movies late at night that he wants to.
Steve can tell by the way Eddie teases him, the way he’s there with him through his recovery, that he doesn’t ever make Steve feel stupid when he asks the same questions over and over again, when he cries at the drop of a hat or when he gets sort of confused about the lay out of his apartment—he doesn’t care about that of that.
Because he’s in love with Steve. It’s so painfully romantic, it brings a painful lump to Steve’s throat every time he thinks too much about it.
The two of them are driving to one of Steve’s therapy sessions, Eddie in the driver's seat, Steve in the passengers, listening to a low racket of some kind of heavy metal music. Eddie always keeps the volume low now, for Steve.
He’s just been so intensely good about everything that Steve needs to try and do something good for Eddie in return. He needs Eddie to know that there’s a light at the end of this tunnel that they’re both currently lost in.
“I’m sorry about this, y’know.” Steve says when they finally pull up the building that has ‘Brain Injury Recover Center’ written on the front. So all the boys and girls with scrambled eggs for brains know where to converge.
“Don’t worry about it, man. I work the evening shifts, remember? My days are free.” Eddie explains, and Steve wonders if he’s had to be told this bit of information a couple of times now. Sometimes it takes a few times before something sticks to his brain now. His short term memory is still majorly flighty. But no, Steve remembers that Eddie bartends at a local bowling alley most evenings. He’s gone a few times. Not to bowl, of course—too much hand eye coordination involved—but just to hang out with Eddie. He’s pretty decent at Ms. Pac-Man though.
Steve shakes his head. He knows his mind must have wandered because there’s been a lull where no one’s spoken. Eddie never seems to care about that though. “I don’t mean about the drive. I was talking about… y’know.”
“Wha’dy’mean?” Eddie mumbles as he backs into his parking space, hand on the back of Steve’s headrest.
Steve sighs and decides to just come out and say it: “I mean having your boyfriend forget everything about you and your relationship. I just… that must be really tough.”
Everything in Eddie Munson comes to a jarring halt, hand frozen over where he’s turned to ignition off.
It’s sort of unnerving—Eddie is always moving, fidgeting. Damn near bouncing off the walls. But now it’s like someone hit the poor guy with a freeze ray gun.
Steve chuckles softly as he reaches out and touches Eddie’s arm, giving him a playful jostle, to loosen him up a little, “it’s okay, Eddie. I know. You don’t have to keep going easy on me. I’m gay! Or, bi-sexual. Whatever.” Steve shrugs, “see? Not falling apart. I can handle being in love with another dude. You don’t need to keep babying me.”
The side of Eddie’s mouth twitches into a downturned smile that he seems to be trying to hide.
“I know, I know. Not just any dude.” Steve rolls his eyes, a smile still firmly on his face. He takes Eddie’s hand from the steering wheel, and Eddie seems to watch it go in a detached sort of awe. Steve wonders if Eddie’s proud of him for being so cool with it all. “In love with you.”
“Steve, I don’t think—
“Wait, just let me finish.” Steve asks, and Eddie blinks and works on closing his mouth. Knows it’s important to let Steve get his thoughts out quickly, lest they be lost to the giant black hole inside of his beat-up brain now. “I know that I don’t remember any of the important stuff with us. Our first date, or our first kiss or, y’know, any of our other first firsts. So maybe it feels like you’re cheating on the old Steve with me? But… Eddie, I know it’s crazy but even though my brain forgot all of the specifics; my heart didn’t. I look at you, and it’s all there. I’m still so into you, dude. I can feel it, even though I don’t remember how I got here. I’m in l—“
“Steve! Stevestevesteve wait, holy shit—!” Eddie’s eyes snap up from his intense stare at the place where their hands are linked. “Steve—”
“Yeah?” Steve prompts when Eddie doesn’t seem to be able to find the words. He runs his thumb gently over Eddie’s knuckles. It feels so nice to finally be able to hold his hand again. They fit together so well, and Steve wonders briefly if it’s some kind of muscle memory.
Eddie opens his mouth a few more times before he remembers how to make the words come out.
“Steve. Buddy. We’re… we’re not dating.”
Steve’s face falls, and he can feel a lump form in his throat, but he keeps a firm hold of Eddie’s warm hand in his own. “Yeah, I know, I know. We haven’t had any time to be a couple. And it’s probably been torture for you, man. You’re so busy taking care of me and making sure I don’t freak out over everything that you’ve clearly been neglecting your own hierarchy of needs.”
Eddie raises a brow.
Steve chuckles, “Shut up. It’s a therapy term.”
Eddie laughs in his throat. “Steve, you gotta slow down and listen to me.”
He turns his shoulders so that he’s fully facing Steve while he reaches his free hand over and tugs at one of his earlobes. “Got your hearing ears on?”
Steve rolls his eyes, but he nods just the same.
“We… we weren’t dating before your accident,” Eddie speaks slowly, his voice warm, gentle. “Hell, I didn’t even know you were, y’know, into dudes like that. Much less me.”
Something throbs dully behind Steve’s eyes. It’s the start of a migraine—the one that makes it hard to process much of anything. Steve squints, trying to make sense of what Eddie’s saying. “…you’re not my boyfriend?”
Eddie shakes his head very, very slowly. “No.”
Steve snatches his hand back like he’s only just now noticed how burning hot Eddie’s hand is.
He settles back in his seat, staring out the front window. The sounds from the outside world are muffled, and everything feels far away and sort of… Made up. Just like everything he’d imagined was going on between him and Eddie. Not real.
He feels painfully detached from reality. Unmoored. Maybe this was the disassociation thing the doctor mentioned might happen…
“Are you sure?” Steve asks, risking another glance over to Eddie, who hasn’t taken his eyes off him for a second.
“Pretty fuckin’ sure.” Eddie snorts.
“Oh, God. This is… I’m—sorry. I’m so stupid. Fuck, I gotta—“ Steve suddenly attacks the door handle with a clumsy fury that has his hand fumbling with the handle for way too long. Fucking busted up, bruised as fuck fucking brain-!
“Steve, it’s okay, dude,” Eddie says from behind Steve, but that’s easy for him to say; he didn’t just humiliate himself in front of his not-boyfriend, definitely-crush, possibly ex-friend—“Steve, wait!”
Steve flees the van on unsteady feet, not daring to look back.
#part 2???👀#update: okay yes definitely a part 2#please let let know if you want to be added to the tag list for part 2!◡̈#now part 3#this has been in my WIPs for so long#steddie#TW: brain damage#concussed Steve Harrington#Eddie Munson#angst#because i love to torture these boys#Steve Harrington#hurt/comfort#write Rae write#my writing#stranger things#Steve Harrington has brain damage#stranger things fic#Steddie fic#Steddie ficlet#cliff hanger#I’m so sorry#Steve Harrington whump#Eddie x Steve#Steve x Eddie#stranger things ficlet#recovery fic#disabled Steve Harrington
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what you know - ch8: hysteria || r. sukuna
❦ ryomen sukuna x f!reader [college au] [ongoing series]
❝ you've heard his reputation and you've seen first-hand the way he's late to class if he even bothers to show up. paired with him for the most important project of the year, you choose to give him the benefit of the doubt- but maybe that's more than he deserves when your perfect grades depend on him, or maybe there's more to the aloof and irritable sukuna than meets the eye. ❞
❦ cw ; mdni, 18+ only. contains explicit sexual themes and content. use of alcohol. use of cannabis. use of nicotine/cigarettes. angst. hurt/no comfort. hurt/comfort. implied injury. family trauma. mutual pining. smut. slow burn. anxiety. panic (attacks). mentions of difficulty eating. vomit. tags will be updated as series continues.
❦ additional tags ; college parties and themes. sukuna ooc warning as this is a realistic take on modern sukuna. reader is fairly preppy and implied to be smaller than sukuna, but he's 6"11.
❦ words ; 17.7k (oops).
❦ a/n ; please note the tags have been updated.
main masterlist || series masterlist || previous chapter || next chapter
Although not particularly cold throughout the holidays, a frigid air settles over the city shortly after the date turns to the new year. As usual, Gojo held his annual frat party that you’re required to be at by virtue of being his friend, though you end up being one of many single party-goers who dips into a corner as the clock strikes midnight. The idea of a stranger’s lips wandering to yours doesn’t sit well in your stomach and although you asked if he would attend, Sukuna had promised his little brothers a celebration, just the three of them. Not that you would kiss Sukuna anyway, of course-
Yuji had apparently never celebrated the new year, too young to understand previously, though based on the photo in your email inbox, he didn’t get to celebrate this one either. A blurry photo taken from the camera on Sukuna’s laptop, pointed down at Yuji sound asleep in his lap while he and Choso had MarioKart running in the background had been the telltale sign.
You can’t blame him for not having a phone, but sometimes you do wish you could text rather than email. Especially with your friendship seeming to blossom as of late. It took a bit of nurturing to get to this point, but Sukuna seems to recognize his faults and actively tries to work on and better himself. Regardless of his often-irritable demeanor, you appreciate the effort on his part.
Snowflakes settle in your palm as you hold it out in front of you on the walk to the lunch hall. Settling back into the flow of having classes early in the mornings brings with it a dreary haze that hangs over the student body, yourself included. Not a single soul seems to be well-rested, apart from one person.
“Good morning,” Kento greets you with a warm smile, running a hand through his golden locks.
“Morning, Kento,” you greet him in return, your attention trained on the snowflakes melting on the warmth of your skin. “How was it, going back home?”
“It was relaxing,” he replies, a frown pulling at his lips as he takes in your dazed expression. “I’m sorry you weren’t able to join us.”
“That’s alright! I really did appreciate your offer to pay for my tickets, but it didn’t feel right,” you shoot him a smile, though quickly return your attention to your hand.
Auburn irises flicker down to your palm, trying to figure out what’s holding your interest so adamantly. “I understand, although it really wouldn’t have been a big deal.”
“Really, it’s fine, Nanamin. Satoru, Suguru, and Sukuna all had me over and I talked to my parents a bunch,” you assure him, finally dropping your hand and wiping the condensation on the front of your coat.
“Sukuna?” He asks, his brows raising, though it’s more of a rhetorical question as he’s already aware he’ll be doing Sukuna a favor at some point in the new year.
“He’s put in a lot of effort to make up for what happened.” Your tone is somewhat clipped, coming out unintentionally defensive.
Nanami’s gaze flickers to your face, catching the minute knit of your brows and tension in your shoulders. “I should hope so. Either way, I wasn’t making any accusations. Simply an observation.”
You sigh. “I know, sorry. I think I’m just a bit exhausted,” you chuckle, shooting him an apologetic smile. “I can’t believe we’re already back to it. The break felt so short.”
“I agree,” he hums as he opens the door to the lunch hall for you. With a grateful smile, you slip past him and head towards your regular table. Looks like you won’t be the first to arrive this semester. You and Kento are the last to arrive, taking your seats and beginning to pull out your lunches as you get back into the swing of lunches on campus.
Just as you pull out some leftover pasta, Sukuna takes a seat beside you. He looks worse for wear, even more exhausted than you. His sleep schedule is always atrocious, so you can only imagine what it would look like without classes.
“Hey, Kuna!” You grin as you greet him.
In usual Sukuna fashion, he leans over the table on his elbow, resting his chin against his palm. “Princess.” He yawns quietly, his eyes briefly fluttering shut.
“Long day?” You ask, amused but sympathetic.
“Long fuckin’ day,” he agrees, his chest rumbling in faint laughter. “Y’know, you usually don’t look as tired as I-”
“Hey hotshot, I’ve got a bone to pick with you.” Gojo blurts out suddenly, interrupting Sukuna.
With a deadpan expression, the tattooed man’s jaw clenches in barely-masked irritation. Of all days, Sukuna could only have hoped Gojo would keep his mouth shut today, unable to deal with his bullshit in this state. “The hell did I do?” He rolls his shoulders, as though prepping for a fight.
Can’t these two get along just for once?
“You were on my balcony at the end of finals party, and let some couple fuck on my bed!” He points an accusatory finger at Sukuna’s chest, his nose scrunching in disgust at the mere thought.
Slowly, you bring a hand up to cover your mouth in realization. As you glance at Sukuna, you’re surprised to see his expression has relaxed somewhat, a smug smile pulling at the corners of his lips. “What, you think I broke in to let some other couple fuck?” Sukuna sneers, practically reveling in the way Gojo scoffs. “I didn’t do it on purpose, asshole.” He tilts his head towards you, crimson eyes filled with amusement. “Why don’t you tell him?”
You can tell from his tone he’s enjoying this way too much. “Um- well-” you wince as Satoru’s expression falls, dramatic betrayal written across his face in bolded marker. “I may have unlocked your room to get some air and… kinda didn’t lock the door behind me.” You mutter the last portion into your hand, a sheepish shrug the best you can offer him.
“It was you?” He whines, lip curled in utter disbelief.
“And to think he blamed Sukuna this whole time,” Suguru butts in, amused.
“I saw him leave the balcony!” The frat boy counters, turning his attention back to you. “I had to stay on Suguru’s floor while my mattress got cleaned,” he gripes.
“I can’t even imagine my floor was that much cleaner,” Suguru quips teasingly, a mischievous glimmer in his golden eyes.
Satoru jabs him in the side before turning his attention to you. “You owe me. No, you double owe me because I had you over for Christmas dinner too!” He waggles his spoon at you, before dropping it in his soup with all the dramatic flair he can muster.
“I’m so sorry, Satoru! I promise it was an accident.” You offer your best apologetic smile.
He shuts his eyes for a moment, sighing. “It’s fiiiine. Just… buy me drinks next time we go out or something.”
“I’d like to think I should be compensated for dealing with Satoru’s whining,” Suguru chimes in, entertained by the whole ordeal.
Shaking your head at the raven-haired man’s blatant teasing, you giggle quietly, your elbow lightly brushing Sukuna. He’s still leaning over the table, close enough to feel his breath fan your arm with each rise and fall of his chest.
“After consulting my bank account, I can get Suguru one drink, and Satoru two,” you offer.
“Deal!”
“Deal.”
Sukuna shakes his head, shooting a final glance at Satoru that doesn’t hold the amusement he regarded you with before his full attention shifts back to you. “Just gonna throw me under the bus like that, huh?” He gruffs. Beyond the tired glaze that paints his eyes is a mirthful gleam, reserved only for you as he observes the way you sheepishly chuckle.
“My bad,” you scratch at the back of your neck, your cheeks heating up as his arm brushes yours. “I was gonna jump in, I swear!”
“Mhm.” Sukuna lets out a long breath, leaning back comfortably over the table and putting some distance between you. Just as he begins to zone out, lost in thought over the lawsuit, he sits up straight, his attention drawn to Kento. “Did you find a time to meet with- uh- Kento?”
“Oh!” You gently nudge Kento at Sukuna’s reminder. “Can you and your friend meet up on…” you glance back at Sukuna to fill in the blank as his schedule is much more packed than yours usually is.
“Friday. After four.”
Kento spins to face you, his watchful gaze doing a once-over of Sukuna. “I can get back to you on that. It should work for me, but I’ll need to speak with him.”
You grin. “Great! If that works, can we meet at the cafe across from the Science building?”
Kento nods. “I’ll let you know this afternoon. I believe I share a class with him.”
The two men on either side of you exchange another tense glance, letting the uneasy atmosphere dissolve as they mutually redirect their attention elsewhere. Sukuna leans forward on the table, resting his chin on his crossed arms, his eyes watching with mild interest as you take a bite of your leftover pasta.
Just as you’re about to offer him a bite, your lips purse in surprise as two men you don’t recognize take seats in front of Sukuna. It only clicks who they must be when Uraume takes a seat on Sukuna’s opposite side. You shoot them a warm smile as the salmon-haired man’s head lifts.
You can’t tell what’s going through Sukuna’s mind as he grunts out a “what are you doin’ here?”
The man sitting on Gojo’s left, who’s currently receiving a deeply displeased glare from your snowy-haired friend, has black hair that falls straight over his forehead and a scar on his lip. Beside him is a man with spiked brown hair and a toothpick between his teeth. His lips seem to be drawn in a perpetual frown. He speaks up first. “We haven’t seen you since the party.”
The man with the scarred lip smirks. “That, and Uraume was mentionin’ your girl wanted to meet us.”
Sukuna’s lip curls in frustration, a deathly glare burning his friend for calling you his girl. He introduces you, making a point of calling you his friend, before pointing out Toji, with the scar, and Atsuya.
With a grin and deeply warmed cheeks, you point out each of the members of your friend group. Haibara and Shoko are as sweet as ever, while Geto and Nanami are kind. Gojo, on the other hand, seems frustrated with the arrival of the group, in particular Toji, which you suppose makes sense if the man’s got a penchant for being a pain even by Sukuna’s standards from what you’ve heard.
In spite of Toji’s immediate overbearing teasing, he seems nice enough, and with their arrival, Sukuna becomes slightly more talkative. He’s slowly coming out of his shell around you, which you’re grateful for.
“So,” Toji begins, mischief dancing across his emerald irises, “how in the world did ya manage to get through to this asshole?” He questions you, jabbing a thumb towards Sukuna at your side.
You giggle, not missing the way Sukuna’s jaw clenches. “Not easily.”
“I’ll say. I’ve known ‘im since we were kids and I’m still not part of his Christmases,” he scoffs.
“Maybe if you weren’t such a fuckin’ dick, I’d invite you,” Sukuna scoffs, rolling his eyes.
“You could always invite Sukuna, could you not?” Uraume points out to Toji, who scoffs, his expression deadpan.
“Oh yeah, who wants t’ come to the Zenin Family Dinner? Drop on by, we got my fuckass uncle, my asshole grandparents and Naoya. Who wouldn’t wanna join?” He jeers, sarcasm dripping from each and every word.
“Is that the ‘Naoya’ you punched?” You ask, keeping your voice low for only Sukuna to hear as you lean towards him.
“Mhm.”
“‘Sides,” Toji begins, “your dad used to invite me every year, dunno what I did to get uninvited.”
Oh.
Oh.
He doesn’t know.
Sukuna’s leg bounces absentmindedly under the table at the mention of his father, his gaze averting to a nearby wall in an effort to keep his reaction neutral.
“You know, I could host something next year,” you offer in an effort to divert attention away from the topic of Sukuna’s father. To your horror, the table goes silent. The tension coming off of Satoru and Toji in waves is palpable, and you’re beyond grateful for Shoko, Kento, and Uraume, the first three at the table to chime in.
“Sounds like fun.”
“I would join.”
“That sounds lovely.”
You let out a sigh of relief as gradually, the rest of the table begins to agree, even the two men who seem to continually be at odds with one another. You have half a mind to wonder how that even happened given that Satoru’s usually the one to get under others’ skin, not vice versa.
As conversation begins to return, Sukuna quietly mutters a “thanks” in your ear that sends a shiver straight down your spine before burying his face in his arms as you finish your meal. The tension in the air doesn’t fully dissolve but at the very least, Satoru and Toji choose to simply not acknowledge one another.
With a glance at the time on your phone, you begin packing up once you finish your lunch. A couple of others at the table check the time as they take notice of your actions, using the opportunity to pack up as no one wants to be late on the first day of class. With nothing to pack up himself, Sukuna swings his bag over his shoulder and mumbles a “see ya,” heading for the door before you can stop him.
Even with how far your friendship has come, it seems some things never change.
With a sigh, you turn back to the table. “It was nice to meet you, Toji and Atsuya,” you smile politely.
“Likewise,” Atsuya agrees with a tired smile.
“‘Course. Had to meet the woman Sukuna’s been ditchin’ us for.” Toji shoots you a shit-eating grin, something you don’t dare read into as your face warms at the mere thought of being the person Sukuna seems to always choose.
“See you all later,” you call out to the broader table, met with a chorus of goodbyes. “Text me, Sho!”
Hurrying out the door to your next class, you zip up your coat as you make your way through the frozen wasteland that separates you from Literature History. At least the weather had relented somewhat from the beginning of December, offering a more mild bite that didn’t seem to seep into the very fiber of your being.
Still, it’s a hell of a lot colder than it was before the new year.
With a huff as you cross the barrier into the building where your next class is, you let the warmth envelop you, grateful for the shelter from the bitter wind outside. Winter had only really begun to settle over the city in the last month, but you’re ready for spring to arrive. Even if it means more finals.
Sighing at the thought of starting the entire dance over again- class, studying, finals, not to mention your required internship- you push through the door to the lecture hall, briefly pausing at the bottom of the class to search for a familiar face.
And god fucking damn it, the way your eyes light up when you spot Sukuna could practically make him dizzy. He’s careful that his crimson stare doesn’t give away the strange way his chest tightens at the mere sight of your beaming smile, keeping his expression indifferent as his gaze trails your path.
You jog up the stairs until you find a place beside him, grinning as you slide into the seat. “I was gonna ask what your next class was, but you left so fast,” you comment, getting settled as you pull out your laptop.
“Mm,” Sukuna watches your movements, his eyes trailing your manicured nails. Pink. They almost match his hair.
Why is he even thinking about this?
“Didn’t wanna be late,” he excuses his actions, finally meeting your eyes.
Your bottom lip sticks out in an exaggerated pout. “At least walk with me when we have class together.”
He lets out a long breath through his nose. “Yeah, alright, princess,” he teases, unable to help his smirk as he settles back into familiar territory with you and the strange flutter in his chest eases.
The professor walks in, writing her name in large font across the whiteboard at the front of the room as she begins her introduction to the class.
“Y’know,” Sukuna leans closer, his voice lowering so as not to disturb the other students. “Apparently the prof’s a huge conspiracy theorist.”
“Really?” You ask, interest gleaming behind narrowed eyes.
“Mhm. Supposedly she believes Shakespeare never existed.”
“Like, she believes the anti-Stratfordian theory?” You ask, tilting your head. That’s not an unreasonable theory, to believe that many of the plays typically associated with Shakespeare were perhaps written by another famous playwright or author under a pseudonym that happened to match the name of a living man.
“Nah. ‘Parently she believes he never existed,” Sukuna shrugs.
“But- he did. Maybe not the one we know, but there’s proof of his birth and death records. He has a grave,” you point out.
“I know that,” he smirks. “I heard she rambled about that theory and Dickens’ death for an hour last semester.”
You blink twice. “You’re kidding.” Groaning as quietly as you can muster, you drag your hands down your face. “I can’t afford to have another history professor who rambles. And the Dickens theory isn’t even interesting,” you tack on in a grumble.
“You’ll be fine,” Sukuna chuckles, amused at your reaction. “Literature’s your thing, ain’t it?”
“Well… yeah, but you know how I am with names, dates and faces.”
“And you know how to study for that,” he points out, nudging your shoulder. “‘Sides, you’ll have-”
“If something is so interesting that you feel the need to interrupt, Mr. Sukuna,” the professor’s voice booms around the lecture hall as all eyes land on the pair of you. Sukuna keeps his cool, which you’re thankful for as you pale and shrink into your seat. “Then I would suggest you come up here and share with the class.”
He doesn’t bother to reply, simply giving a wave of his hand for her to continue. It’s not exactly the polite response you would have given, but with a final glance between you both, she turns back to the broader class to continue the lecture.
Sukuna eyes you from his peripherals as you slowly relax back into your seat when you’re no longer the center of attention. If you bristled so much from just being called out, he can only imagine the pain you went through when he left you hanging last semester. He frowns to himself at the thought, his attention never fully given to the professor as much as he tries.
His mind wanders between the introduction to Elizabethean and Jacobean literature and the way your nails tap against your keyboard as you type up notes. As the class drags on and his mind drifts further and further from the lecture, he leans back in his seat and roughly drags his hands over his face.
He’s exhausted beyond belief, frustrated with his schedule for this semester, frustrated with Toji for sticking his nose in Sukuna’s business, irritated with himself for not paying attention for something he’s paying a lot of money to attend, and to top it all off, he knows he has a long day ahead of him.
It’s not like it’s a first, most days are long in his world, but today he’s all the more frustrated and it’s wearing him thin.
So caught up in his thoughts, he doesn’t even realize the room is shuffling until your laptop shuts beside him, the dull snap bringing him back to reality. As you slip your laptop into a sleeve and delicately place it in your bag, he follows suit, tucking his laptop into his backpack and throwing his coat on.
He even supposes he’ll wait for you this time around, given that he has some time before picking up his brothers for once.
You pause in front of him, zipping your jacket up as you type out a message on your phone. “Looks like Friday works for Kento’s friend.”
Sukuna nods, his brow knit. “I’ll need to bring Cho and Yu. Uraume’s got late classes this semester and our neighbor’s away this week.”
You pause for a moment as you consider what that means. “You’ll need to tell them.” Your tone is somber, your voice quiet. He almost doesn’t hear you over the bustling of students exiting the lecture hall.
He nods slowly, a muscle in his jaw ticking. One might even argue he’s too aware of that fact. You can physically see gears turning in his mind, a question sitting atop his tongue that he doesn’t want to voice.
“What’s wrong, Kuna?” You query gently, tilting your head to look up at him. The tattoo along the length of his jaw stretches along his skin as he grimaces.
“D’you have another class?”
You shake your head.
“Don’t wanna talk about it here.” With a large hand on the small of your back, he directs you out of the hall and back into the cold, his palm lifting from your warmth to run through his tousled locks.
If only he knew the way your stomach flipped from such a simple touch.
Regardless, he probably should have asked if you had any plans for the afternoon, rather than simply dragging you off campus and towards his brothers’ school, but the thought is lost on him. Luckily for him, you might be a little too understanding of the man who unknowingly holds your heart, so you don’t say a word as he silently leads you in a direction that you recognize.
Really, you could have at least gotten your car instead of trudging through the cold.
Before you can protest, Sukuna finally finds the words to voice his thoughts.
“What if I’m lookin’ at this the wrong way?” He gruffs, tense and raw with emotion that isn’t often something you associate with him.
It takes a moment for his words to sink in, but you can’t quite tell where his meaning lies. “What way is that?”
“Been thinkin’. I mean, she’s their mother, right? What if they’re better off with her? What if they wanna go with her and I’m puttin’ up a fight they don’t want me to win?”
It hits you like a ton of bricks. The impact nearly pushes the breath from your lungs and causes your stride to falter. If Sukuna notices, he doesn’t slow down and it takes you a moment to catch up, his words still sinking in.
“Wait- What?” You splutter, grappling with the severity of his grievance. He keeps his pace up, not even sparing you a glance. “Sukuna, wait-” You tug on his forearm, tearing his arm from his pocket as he pauses to look at you finally.
Distant. He didn’t hear you.
Blinking twice, you pull him to the edge of the sidewalk to keep his attention on you and away from the noise of the city around you. The lights, the people, the cars, it all seems to encroach on you and muddle your thoughts, you can only imagine the mileage his mind is currently making.
Certain that you have his focus now, you repeat yourself. “What are you talking about? You know they need you.”
He sighs, an air of irritation settling over him as he stares at the brick to your left. “They need a guardian, doesn’t mean they need me. Been thinkin’ maybe they’d want to go with her. With their mother.”
You pause, considering the question for yourself for a moment. You can sympathise with wanting what’s best for them, but it doesn’t sit well with you that he doubts himself so much when you can see what he means to those kids.
“You need to tell them what’s going on anyway, so I think it’s worth asking,” you agree. It’s the right thing to do regardless of the outcome. “But,” you add in a gentler tone, offering a kind smile, “they’ll choose you.”
His eyes snap to you, a tense set to his musculature. “What makes you so sure?” He almost sounds offended.
“They love you, Sukuna.” His brow twitches, his mouth opening to protest, but you continue. “You told me you couldn’t get a hold of their mom when your dad passed, right?”
He nods tensely.
“What kind of mother does that?” You point out. “Imagine how that would make Choso feel.”
You pause, letting the thought sink in. Sukuna doesn’t reply, absently cracking a knuckle.
He’d been so caught up all those years ago in the loss of their father and his own grief that he’d hardly considered that Choso’s grief had likely been twofold. The child had lost his father just like Sukuna, but he’d also had to deal with the loss of his mother. Not only that, but it was more like the active rejection of his mother, because the reality is that Sukuna tried hard to get a hold of her. Looking back, he knows he was in no way ready to parent his brothers and it was rocky at the start. He should never have let Choso sit at his side in tears as he tried every method he could to reach her.
Sukuna had always accepted that Choso got quieter as simply a part of his grief. The little boy had always teetered on the shy side of things, but Sukuna wonders now if there’s more to that. If his silence is a result of sitting alongside his frustrated and grief-stricken older brother as his mother chose not to reply.
When Sukuna’s silence extends, you do your best to guide him from the dark recesses that his mind attempts to take him to. “Would Yuji even remember her?”
Shit. Sukuna’s all Yuji’s ever known. If he doesn’t remember their father, there’s no way in hell he remembers his mother.
Sukuna drags a hand down his face. Coming to terms with the gravity of his own mistakes is one thing, but they don’t even begin to match up to the rejection of their mother.
“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, taking a step back to pace in front of the wall. Giving him the space and time he needs, you simply watch as he huffs and sighs. Fiddling with your neatly manicured nails, you wait patiently for him to organize his thoughts, only to frown when he shoves his hand into his pocket and pulls out a cigarette. In one smooth motion, he flips his lighter open and smoke trails like rippling water up into the cold air. He leans against the wall, leaning his head back against the brick as he exhales smoke into the overcast sky.
The nicotine calms his jittery mind enough to allow him the space to function within the claustrophobia of his thoughts. Inhaling deeply, he pushes off the wall and returns to you finally, looking up to exhale smoke away from you.
“Uraume’s right, you know.”
Any other time, Sukuna would have let that slide, knowing it was meant to be a cheeky little quip about his vice.
But today’s a bad fucking day for him.
“So I’ve been told.” There’s enough bite to his words that you’re actually a bit surprised at his choice of tone, but even looking back on that drunk night fumbling through apologies, this is the most stressed you’ve ever seen him. His face is gaunt, pale with dark shadows beneath his eyes, and as you take in his outfit, you realize he’s wearing the hoodie he usually throws on after his showers.
If you were to wager a guess, he’s probably wearing last night’s clothes. He doesn’t attempt to hide the tension that grips his muscles and claws at his brow, either.
It’s clear that the thoughts he’s been sharing with you are ones that have been plaguing him as of late. He’s likely been grappling with the idea of telling his brothers about the lawsuit since you last saw him at Christmas. But that’s the thing about Sukuna, he would never ask for help. It’s a miracle he wanted to talk at all.
You let his snappy tone slide, giving him the benefit of the doubt that it’s not intentional. After all, he did ask you to come out here in the cold with him to talk.
Well, maybe ‘asked’ is the wrong word, but he made it clear he wanted you here to talk.
Still, the tension that hangs between you isn’t the usual alluring tension that draws you to him. It’s not uncomfortable, but you would certainly prefer the usual silence with him. It hangs between you in the delicate balance of Sukuna’s startlingly fragile tenacity, which only serves to sympathize you to him in spite of his loose temper.
Sukuna taps a finger on the edge of his cigarette. The ember tip falls to the ground in a pile of ash, melting a small crater of snow at his feet. Choosing not to acknowledge the rigidity that strains the quiet air, he casts a glance at his watch and nods in the direction of his brothers’ school.
“Don’t wanna be late,” he grunts, smoke escaping from the corners of his lips. With one final inhalation, he tosses the cigarette on the ground and stomps it out, turning on his heel to lead the way to the school.
You chew absently on your lip, trailing slowly after him.
The snow crunches beneath your feet, your mind grasping at the conversations of the people passing you by in an effort to fill the dead air. It’s suffocating being in Sukuna’s presence when he’s made a point of having you near, while simultaneously being bull-headed as he holds you at arms’ length.
“They ask for you a lot.”
You take a couple of long strides to catch up with him, thankful that he breaks the ice. Fiddling with the woven bracelets that are still tied to your wrist, you smile. “That’s really sweet. They’re good kids.”
Sukuna casts you a glance. He can see uncertainty in your eyes. He’s not stupid, he knows it’s his fault. But some stubborn part of him holds something akin to a grudge against you for pointing out something he knows is bad for him.
He’s got bigger problems than his nicotine addiction.
When Sukuna doesn’t reply, you swallow nervously. “You’ve raised them well, Kuna.”
Piercing irises snap towards you, flitting between your eyes. “‘M not so sure about that.”
“Aren’t you proud of them?” You push, tilting your head.
Sukuna’s chest clenches. He averts his gaze, grimacing. “‘Course.”
“Then why wouldn’t you think you raised them well?”
“I’m not what they need,” he replies simply.
Your gaze narrows, lips pursing in confusion. “They need a roof over their heads and food on the table. You’re good to them, Sukuna.”
He sighs heavily. “They need someone more attentive. Someone who can be home and dote over them.”
“Dote?” You parrot, the corner of your lip twitching up. “I’ve seen you dote.”
He scoffs. “As if.”
“What do you call your gifts to them?”
A crease forms between his brows. “That wasn’t doting. It hardly meant anything.”
“I don’t believe that for a second, and I don’t think you do either,” you tease, prodding his shoulder and chancing his patience with you.
He scowls down at you, huffing.
You giggle quietly, your breath visible in the air before you. Quieting down, you nudge him gently. “You know just how much those gifts meant to them. You’re exactly what they need, Sukuna. And I think you’re what they want, too.”
Sukuna falters, catching himself quickly enough to play it off like he tripped. Somehow, that’s the less embarrassing option here, he thinks.
“Maybe.” It comes out weaker than intended, and he’s grateful that the steps up to the front of the school offer an escape from the conversation. He may have started it, but like most other difficult conversations he dragged you into, he usually finds himself reluctant to continue them.
Something about how well you know his brothers, how well you know him, shakes him to his very core and he’s not willing to touch that thought with a ten foot pole.
To his relief, the bell rings and a teacher guides a class of young, bright-eyed children out of the school to reunite them each with those meant to pick them up. As Yuji crosses the school’s barrier, she points the two of you out and the little boy goes barreling towards you both.
“Kunaaaaa!” He cries out excitedly, attaching himself like a koala to his older brother’s leg. Sukuna grunts, lifting him into the air as he easily keeps his balance. The little boy giggles, his eyes opening to look at his brother, when he spots you.
Hopping from his brother’s arms with wide, excited eyes, he leaps into your arms as you extend them to him. “You’re here!” He cheers, arms wrapped around your neck in a tight hug.
You giggle, doing your best to hold the boy up as he clings tightly to you. “How was school, Yu?”
“It was great! We’re learning about the oceans and sharks, and-”
As Yuji excitedly tells you about his day, Choso dips through the doorway, his eyes scanning the steps for Sukuna. As he spots both of you, a small smile makes its way to his lips and he jogs over with his hands pulling at the straps of his backpack.
Sukuna ruffles the boy’s hair, who smooths it down in response, a gleam in his eyes as he waves at the sight of you beside his brother. You smile back at him, unable to wave with the youngest Itadori in your arms. Sukuna begins leading the way back towards his apartment, listening to Yuji’s ramblings.
“- did you know that seals eat penguins? I could never eat a penguin, they’re so cute. I think seals should eat something else.”
“You think so?” You giggle at Yuji’s adamant statement.
“Mhm,” he hums, nodding his head. “They should just eat fish and get along with the penguins. Like you and Kuna.”
Your brow raises and you cast a glance at Sukuna, who’s also now staring at the pink-haired boy with mild interest.
“What do you mean ‘like me and Sukuna’, sweetheart?” You ask curiously, your heart doing a flip.
“You’re like a penguin because you’re really cool and nice and Kuna’s like a seal because he’s a meanie but he’s also cool. I think if seals were more like my big brother, they’d get along with penguins. Like you guys.”
Kids are wild.
You laugh as Yuji explains himself, your tone sitting somewhere between genuine chortles and something to fill a silence that might otherwise be awkward. “Tell me more about your brother being like a seal,” you urge, knowing it’ll ruffle Sukuna’s carefully preened feathers.
Yuji stares up at the clouds in thought. Your arms are beginning to tire, but you’ll hold him as long as you can, even if you know you’re holding up the walking pace. “Ummmm… well, some seals have spots and Sukuna has some on his shoulders, but he’s more stripey, like a tiger-”
“They’re not stripes, brat,” Sukuna hisses, but Yuji continues on without a care in the world.
“- and seals eat a lot and so does Kuna-”
“Alright, I’ve heard enough.”
Undeterred, the little boy continues. “- and apparently seals are really good parents, just like Kuna. I know he’s our brother, but he’s the best parent ever.”
It hits Sukuna like a shot through the chest, piercing clean straight through his heart and leaving behind a bloody hole. His jaw is heavy set as he does what he can to mask the way his little brother’s words affected him. The last thing he needs is a worried twelve-year-old and an ‘i told you so’ from you.
Because it’s then that it strikes him that you’re right.
Time and time again, you prove to him just how much he means to his brothers and each and every time he’s left balancing precariously on a cliff as he does what he can to hide the way his feet damn near betray him at the edge. It’s not like he has any reason to be upset with you over this, but to be known is to be seen, and that’s not something Sukuna’s accustomed to.
He has no issue with being the campus’ mysterious and hot ‘bad boy’, as much as the title serves to make him roll his eyes. It’s little more than a generic title given to him for surface-level facts and rumors.
To have you call him out so clearly, to be so utterly correct time after time when it comes to him and his family… He’s not sure how he feels about that. It stirs something deep within and he grits his teeth as he shoves his hands in his pockets.
Sukuna’s brow is deeply furrowed, his steps falling heavily on the snow-clad sidewalk. Ever observant, of course you caught the way his jaw trembled subtly when he heard his brother, but the moment was gone before you had a chance to consider it. Now, he just looks frustrated, even more so than usual.
It seems the new year brought with it the realization of just how close the court date is, and how horribly underprepared he is.
“Is that so?” You question Yuji, although your gaze never leaves Sukuna, brow knit in concern for him.
“Yeah! He’s the coolest!”
“He is, isn’t he?” You reply softly, shooting a look at Sukuna, who scowls at you both with an expression you can’t place.
You have to set Yuji on the ground fairly soon after, and ask Choso how his day was. The walk is spent listening to both brothers chat about their days as Sukuna is otherwise silent. Arriving at Sukuna’s front door, he tells the kids to head inside and wait for him in the lobby, waiting until they’re two doors away to talk to you.
“Will you be alright?”
Something akin to offense passes over his eyes. It’s clear that no matter what you do, everything is getting under his skin today, so you think it’s best to leave. Besides, this is something he needs to do on his own.
“I’ll be fine,” he grits, continuing to scowl down at you. Even as frustrated as he is, his gaze softens as he stares past you and realizes you’ll need to walk back to your car on campus. “Email me when you get home,” he mutters, turning on his heel and leaving you standing out in the cold without another word.
Before he can shut the door behind him, you hesitantly take a step forward, catching the edge of the door. “Let me know if you want to talk.”
He stares at you for a split-second, contempt burning behind red irises that has you frowning at him, hurt that he’s been so short with you today. As though he realizes the same, the furrow to his brow lessens and he hums, nodding.
If that’s the most you’ll get out of him, so be it.
He turns back towards the lobby, passing through the second set of doors and following the kids as they lead the way up to the apartment. Choso reaches for Sukuna’s keys and unlocks the door, pushing through the barrier into their home. Yuji immediately goes running off to drop his bag in their room.
“Hey! Once you’re done I need you both back on the couch,” he calls after his little brother, his shoulders so tense it physically pains him to roll them back.
He can see Choso’s unease immediately, eyes wide and worried. Fuck.
Choso timidly sets his bag down in front of the couch and takes a seat at the edge of the cushion, fiddling with his fingers, the nails chewed raw. Sukuna had never noticed his brother developed that habit.
Yuji bounds excitedly to the couch, oblivious to the weighty air in the room. Choso bounces slightly as his little brother hops on the couch and plops down.
With a deep breath, Sukuna kneels down to the boys’ level, glancing between them.
“I heard from your mother,” he starts. Excitement overtakes Yuji’s expression, while Choso stiffens, his gaze anywhere but on Sukuna. “She’ll be in town soon.” He’s beating around the bush, he knows that. But how the hell do you tell two children about a lawsuit?
“Can we see her?” Yuji asks in awe.
“Lemme finish, Yu.” Sukuna takes a seat on the coffee table as his knees begin to get sore. The old wood creaks beneath his weight, not intended to support him, but it does nonetheless. “She wants ya both back.”
Sukuna pauses, letting both boys process his words.
Choso’s lips are pursed, his hands fiddling uncertainly in his lap.
“Like, we’ll all go live with her?” Yuji asks, his head tilting curiously.
Sukuna shudders at the question. If only it were so simple. “No. Just you and Choso.”
“She’s not Kuna’s mom,” Choso mutters.
In truth, Sukuna’s done a bad job of explaining their family to Yuji, making the assumption he’s too young to understand. Maybe he’s right, but it seems Choso’s willing to tell him the portions that Sukuna doesn’t want to touch.
“But… Kuna’s our brother too,” Yuji protests, frowning.
Sukuna sighs, a pang in his heart. “Listen,” he starts, running a hand through his hair, “if she takes you, I won’t get to be a part of your life. If that’s what you want-”
“No!” Yuji cries out, interrupting Sukuna’s question. Choso’s fidgeting hasn’t stopped, but he has yet to say a word.
“Gimme a moment, Yu. If that’s what you want, that’s fine. I’ll let her take ya-”
“Kuna? Why do you keep saying ‘take’?” Choso finally finds his voice, eyes teary as though he already understands.
Sukuna’s lips press into a thin line, his leg bouncing as he contemplates his reply. The coffee table creaks relentlessly beneath him.
“Your mother doesn’t think I’m fit to take care of you. She’s-” he cuts himself off, running his tongue over his teeth in his mouth. “She’s tryna take you back, legally.”
“Legally?” Yuji parrots, his lips pursed.
Sukuna averts his gaze, looking for answers anywhere within the apartment, but he’s met only with a dull silence and Choso’s quiet sniffles. It’s clear he understands, and Sukuna wants nothing more than to assure him that he can win the legal battle, but the bitter truth is that Sukuna doesn’t want to lie to them.
And he’s not so confident that he can win.
“Yu, d’you remember when we watched Mrs. Doubtfire?”
Slowly, the little boy nods.
“D’you remember the part where the mom and dad are in a big room with a judge and he takes away the dad’s custody?”
Yuji blanks, nodding, although it’s clear he still doesn't fully understand.
“Well, custody is who gets to take care of kids. Right now that’s me. She wants it to be her, and neither of us get to decide that. It’s up to the judge,” Sukuna explains, trying as best as he can to offer an unbiased explanation.
“Tell her no!” Yuji cries out.
Sukuna bites down on his cheek, his brow furrowed. “I don’t get to, Yu. She’s forcing me to show up in front of the judge.”
Ever so slowly, Choso stands up off the couch, trailing closer and closer to his older brother until he’s leaning into Sukuna’s side, silent tears trailing down his cheeks and soaking into Sukuna’s shirt. Yuji seems to be starting to understand, now standing at the edge of the couch as he adamantly stands his ground as though the lawsuit is a personal attack to him.
“No! No, I don’t wanna go without you!” He proclaims loudly, his eyes beginning to water.
Sukuna can only frown as he watches the boy grapple with something he doesn’t understand.
“I don’t-” sniffle, “- I don’t wanna!” His tears now freely fall as he barrels at full force into Sukuna as well, crying into his side. He pulls both brothers closer, his exhausted gaze set straight ahead. “Please, Kuna, please!”
The apartment is filled with Yuji’s bawls and babbles, while Choso silently clings to him. The coffee table creaks beneath the three of them with every movement, threatening to give out at any moment.
“I won’t,” sniffle, “go, p- please don’t make me go! I don’t want to,” he sobs, “I don’t want to, I don’t want to!”
Denial after denial, it’s all that fills the apartment for longer than Sukuna knows what to do about.
“I don’t-” a sob wracks Yuji’s tiny body, “- even know her. I don’t remember her,” he bawls. Sukuna squeezes him as an acknowledgement, though he’s not sure what comfort he can offer. “Why can’t you come with us?”
Sukuna bites down harder than intended on his lower lip. “Your mother doesn’t like me, Yu.”
“But you-” he gasps for air between sobs, “- you’re the best.”
The taste of iron fills Sukuna’s mouth as he swipes his tongue over his lips. His chest feels as though it could implode as he tugs his two brothers tighter against him. Yuji tightly grips Sukuna’s hoodie, his little hands tugging with the full force of a five-year-old.
“I’m gonna fight for you both, okay?” He assures.
Choso sniffles, pulling back just enough to look up at his brother. “You want us?”
If Yuji saying he was the best parent earlier was a shot through the heart, this took out whatever was left. The question barreled straight through him like a train, leaving nothing behind but pieces for Sukuna to pick up. Each piece serving as a mistake in the way he’d raised the boys.
He knows all too well that this question comes from a place of insecurity, and while Choso’s mother may have laid the seed, Sukuna watered it.
It was never intentional, he would never want Choso to feel that way, but Sukuna remembers the moment he likely solidified Choso’s insecurities all-too-well.
Three letters. Seven emails. Forty eight calls.
Make it forty nine.
“Fuck!” Sukuna slams his phone down on the table that was once his father’s.
The house that surrounds them feels foreign without his life.
Choso stares at the wood grain of the table, his eyes tracing the way it swirls. He’s long grown numb to Sukuna’s anger, especially over the past couple of weeks. He doesn’t move, doesn’t say a word.
He sat alongside Sukuna through each call. Through all fifty nine attempts to reach his mother, each one further solidifying Sukuna’s fate.
Sukuna, barely able to be considered an adult, is a guardian. By all accounts, he’s a parent.
Sukuna, who works for a cannabis dispensary. Sukuna, who never wanted a second family to begin with, who never wanted this responsibility, who never even wanted brothers, let alone kids, now bears the burden of fatherhood.
The legs of his chair scrape the wooden floor as he stands abruptly, running a hand over his face as he paces a small distance from the table.
He makes his way to the sink, turning the faucet to cold water and splashing it over his face. With dripping hands, he grips the edge of the counter and leans over the sink and his stomach churns and bile threatens to upend.
It wouldn’t be the first time since his father had passed away that his stomach had decided to empty itself.
With his jaw slightly ajar and his chest heaving, he pushes a wet hand through his hair, pushing himself back to his full height.
He wipes the water from his face on his sleeve, shaking his head in an effort to free his vision from his hair. His father had been so sick that Sukuna hadn’t had the time, nor the money, to bother with a haircut, or even shaving. His stubble, that of a boy barely considered an adult, is still uneven and leaves him looking as disheveled as he feels.
His eyes trail the length of the kitchen, which morphs into the living and dining room area, until they land on Choso.
The healthcare system had taken every last penny his father had left behind, and without the support of Choso and Yuji’s mother, he’s at a loss of where to go from here. Even disregarding money, he had to look up how to change a diaper. How sad is that? Looking up Youtube tutorials on what to do?
It’s not like he hadn’t looked after his brothers before, but his father never left him alone long enough to need to worry about that sort of thing. Now it seemed that changing a diaper was the least of his problems.
He teetered constantly somewhere between pissed off and lost and had no one to fall back on, something that became painfully obvious when he’d contemplated going to the hospital when his chest tightened so much that breathing was a forced effort. In the end, he’d been able to do little more than clutch desperately at his chest as he laid on the floor of the bathroom, the cool tile the only reprieve from his lonely agony.
He could reach out to Toji. Hell, he should. But when his father got sick, Sukuna pushed him away. He pushed everyone away. He thinks he’s more comfortable alone now, even if that leaves him staring at his little brother without a clue of what to do.
Choso hasn’t said a word to him since the whole ordeal occurred. The grief had taken its toll on Sukuna’s body and attitude, but it had completely silenced his brother. Although he still stuck around Sukuna, somehow still wanting to be around the grief and anger-stricken man, he never said a word.
The oldest brother cares. He cares a whole lot about his two siblings. Even if this isn’t what he ever wanted, even if he wasn’t prepared to handle the burden of two young kids. Even if he didn’t want siblings to begin with, Sukuna grew to care.
It doesn’t change the fact that he’s filled with contempt towards their mother for shoving the two boys onto him like this.
As he stares at Choso, a stark contrast to himself and their baby brother who both resemble their father, he sees her staring back at him. Choso and Yuji’s mother.
He shouldn’t have done what he did next.
He should have thought about his reactions.
He would change everything about how he acted towards his little brother in a heartbeat if he could.
But Sukuna, mentally, was on another plane as his lip curled in disdain. “Won’t fuckin’ answer,” he mutters, more to himself although he looks straight at his brother. “Some fuckin’ mother you’ve got, kid.”
As if on cue, Yuji begins crying from another room.
“Fuck!” Sukuna cries out again, trudging angrily across the kitchen to the toddler’s room.
Just in time to make sure he doesn’t see Choso’s tears.
Sukuna’s sure that moment replays in the boy’s head constantly. He sees it every once in a while, the seed of doubt that Sukuna watered that day, along with every other day before and following. He would give anything to take back how he acted. But what the hell does one expect from your stereotypical troubled teen who doesn’t know how to cook, hardly cleans, and has no one to talk to?
What the hell was Sukuna meant to do when he’d thrown up the previous night’s dinner and laid on the floor until he woke up in a sickening daze early the next morning to Yuji crying?
He hopes, prays, to whatever god on earth will listen, that he can make up for it. Make up for all the mistakes, all the problems. Make up for the ways he’d failed his brothers.
“I do, Cho,” he answers, the first certain thing he’s managed to say since they’d arrived home. “Promise.”
Choso’s grip tightens as his face collides with Sukuna’s side so hard he thinks the poor kid’s gonna bruise his nose.
“I love you, Kuna.” Choso’s voice is so quiet that Sukuna hardly makes out what he said over his little brother’s sobs.
Yuji parrots the middle brother, though his words come out a choppy mess behind his tears. “I- love-” sniffle, “- y- you, Kunaaa.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he gruffs, grimacing. He stares at the couch, his eyes flickering between the three indentations that have formed over the last three years. The material is significantly more worn on his side of the couch, the least worn in the center where Yuji likes to sit. In the back of his mind, something akin to guilt rears its ugly head and he continues his thought before he says something he regrets.
Or, more specifically, before he doesn’t say something and regrets it.
“Love ya both too.”
–
It takes a long time, but Sukuna manages to quiet both brothers down. As a treat, he buys them chicken from Strip Joint, which they were about as thrilled as two devastated young kids could be.
He’s not sure exactly how soundly they’ll manage to sleep, but he’s thankful when Yuji passes out fairly easily after a long afternoon of relentless tears.
Shutting his door behind him, Sukuna sighs as he’s finally able to catch his breath for what feels like the first time today.
He collapses onto his bed against the headboard, running his hands over his face.
Pulling his hands back, he stares at his palms, warm and wet.
Tears.
Is he so worn thin that he can’t even feel his own tears?
Shit.
He wipes his tears on the sleeve of his poor hoodie, which is covered in Yuji’s tears, snot, and spit, Choso’s tears, and now Sukuna’s too.
He pulls it up over his head, pushing his hair back out of his face. It’s getting long again, but Sukuna doesn’t have the time to deal with it.
He hopes to god that his previous transgressions from all those years ago don’t repeat themselves simply because Sukuna’s at wit’s end.
He scratches uncomfortably at his chest, desperate for a shower, anything to take his mind off of the shitty day he’s had. Undressing, he wraps a towel around his waist and walks down the hall to climb into the shower, splaying his hands on the tiles as hot water runs over his body, cleaning him of the dirt and grime that plagues his body, alongside some of the tension in his muscles.
He blinks his eyes open as water trails down his hair, falling in a steady stream down his chin.
The day feels like a blur.
His chest tightens as his muscles relax, a familiar feeling that he fears will leave him laying on the bathroom floor again.
It hasn’t been that bad in years. He didn’t think it would ever be that bad again.
Pushing himself up, he runs his hands through his hair, pushing it back and wiping water from his eyes as he finishes showering. Wrapping a towel around his waist, he slips back into his room, inhaling sharply as his chest seems to compress against his lungs.
Too tired to bother with the outside world, he slips under the covers without a second thought. He doesn’t bother to check if you made it home safe. He doesn’t bother to set out his clothing for tomorrow. He doesn’t even bother to set an alarm. He simply shuts his eyes and hopes to god that he can get a full night’s rest.
Unfortunately, that’s not in the books for Sukuna.
–
Much to your dismay, you don’t see Sukuna again until Friday, four days later. It took him nearly twenty four hours to get back to your message about being home, or the subsequent one the following day upon realizing he wasn’t at lunch, nor in class.
[email protected] - Tuesday, 5:29 PM im fine. cho didnt sleep. been a long day
You had grimaced and offered condolences, but at the end of the day, you suppose there isn’t much more you can do when he’s not looking for help.
That doesn’t mean Shoko didn’t have to drag you out to the mall and convince you not to show up at his door regardless. Thankful for her distraction, you indulged in getting yourself a new sweater and celebrated the fact that oh my god, your history prof from last semester was suspended for his (terrible) teaching methods?? If only the school had done that one semester earlier.
Then again, maybe you wouldn’t be nearly as close with Sukuna if that were the case.
Maybe that would have been for the best.
But the tightness in your heart tells you otherwise as you sit alone in your Literature History class.
It’s funny, that without Sukuna’s distraction beside you, you’re somehow finding it harder to focus without him in the chair beside you. Absently typing at your keyboard, you stare at the screen, your eyes trailing the notes you’ve been taking. They mostly make sense, but your brain must be working on autopilot, because you haven’t processed a single word the professor said.
Rubbing the crease between your brows, you do your best to tune in, chewing on your lower lip and narrowing your eyes as if it’ll do you any good.
The door at the front of the class loudly swings open and Sukuna barges in without a word, trudging straight up to your seat with his hoodie up.
“Class started twenty minutes ago, Ryomen.”
From your angle, you see the snarl on his face, you see the way he practically whips towards her with a world of stress in his eyes and the anger to match. But whether he chooses to take the high road, or simply decides it isn’t worth it, he manages only a measly “yeah. Whatever.”
He should consider himself lucky he isn’t sent away for that, but with only a disappointed grimace, the professor chooses to carry on.
“You’re here,” you whisper, as quietly as you can manage so as not to get him in further trouble.
He sighs. “Finally managed to get them to class today.”
“They haven’t been going to school?”
“Couldn’t get ‘em to,” he mutters, keeping his head low behind his laptop screen as he slumps back in his seat.
You glance at him, a sympathetic frown adorning your lips, but you keep quiet to avoid getting called out by the professor again. Sukuna keeps unusually quiet and withdrawn throughout the entirety of class, packing up as quickly as he came.
He’s on his feet and charging down the stairs before you have so much as a moment to with him.
“Ryomen! A word.”
You watch with dismay as Sukuna whips around angrily to the professor, grumbling out a less-than-thrilled “what?” as he reaches the last step near the door. “Make it quick. I got somewhere to be.”
You grit your teeth, watching with horror as the professor’s brow raises in disbelief at Sukuna’s attitude.
“Mr. Sukuna, if you don’t want to be here, you’re more than welcome to drop my class. You’ve made it very clear that this is not your priority, and-”
Sukuna drops his bag to the ground with a thud, as the students who haven’t already slipped out, including yourself, all watch the interaction in trepidation. “Yeah, you could say it’s not,” he growls. “I got other shit going on.”
“I can sympathize with that,” the professor replies. You have to applaud her patience with the man. “However, I have a class to teach. Whether you choose to show up or not is on you, however I’ll ask that you please don’t distract other students by arriving late.”
Sukuna’s jaw clenches, visibly biting his tongue to keep himself from saying something he’ll regret. “Yeah. Sure,” he dismisses, turning to grab his bag. He slings it over his shoulder and slams the door ajar with his shoulder, barging out without another word.
You traverse down the stairs and chase after him, jogging to catch up to his long strides.
“Sukuna!” You call just before falling into step with him. “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine,” he hisses, shooting you a glare. He falters when your expression recoils appropriately to his prickly reply. Sighing, he runs a hand down his face. “I’m fine,” he repeats, less edge to his tone this time.
“Oh. Okay. Um, are you still good to meet with Kento and his friend?”
“Yeah,” he mutters, clipped.
“That’s good,” you agree, nodding as you search for common ground, something Sukuna might be a bit more receptive to. “Did you want company while you pick up Choso and Yuji?”
He casts you a glance, his expression unreadable. “Up to you.”
He’s not making this easy.
“I wouldn’t mind seeing how they’re doing.”
He doesn’t even bother with a reply this time, he simply shrugs.
“Okay, um, I’ll come with you then,” you mumble hesitantly, gauging his reaction, but he remains silent, pulling ahead to walk in front of you as he heads for the doors and turns in the direction of his brothers’ school.
The silence no longer carries a familiar warmth, or even the relative discomfort from earlier in the week. It hangs over you like a fog now, uncertainty tucked within its blanket. Sukuna hardly seems to notice you’re there, never turning to acknowledge you nor straying off his path. Each time you contemplate talking, the words die in your throat at the sight of his tense jaw.
At least it’s warmer today than it was on Monday.
Standing at Sukuna’s side as you arrive at the school, you quietly examine his face. His eyes are sunken and heavy and his shoulders hunched as though the weight of his burdens are hardly being held up anymore. His eyes are glazed in a way that tells you his dismissive attitude towards you is because he isn’t all there, not present even within his own body.
Clearly the talk with his brothers has had adverse effects not only on them, but him as well.
Hesitantly, you reach out in hopes to ground him, setting a hand near his wrist, where the tips of your fingers graze his skin as they breach the edge of his sleeve. His eyes sharpen as he stares down at the contact of your hand.
Sukuna is accustomed to the way that your skin always seems to sear him. He’s chalked it up all this time to lust, but as the contact of your skin, so soft and gentle, just barely brushes his, he second-guesses himself for a split-second. As if on auto-pilot, he can only watch as he pulls his hand from his coat pocket, flipping it to brush the tips of his fingers against yours. Offering a comfort he isn’t familiar with, one that keeps him present, he fiddles with your fingers as you simply observe his face.
“Are you okay, Kuna?” You keep your voice low, your tone gentle as you take a step towards him, letting him run his thumb over your knuckles as he pleases.
It takes a moment, but he meets your gaze, really meets your gaze, for the first time today. His eyes fall again to your hand as he avoids your question. “They didn’t take it well.”
You nod slowly. “I didn’t think they would,” you admit with a tight-lipped smile. “The nightmares…?”
“None of us have slept.”
“I…” You grimace. “Can tell.” You gently squeeze the tips of his fingers that continue to fiddle with yours.
His chest rumbles in something akin to a laugh, though it lacks humor. “I figured goin’ back to school would do ‘em good, maybe help with sleeping. Cho wasn’t thrilled.”
“He’ll be alright,” you assure Sukuna, the school bell sounding from behind you. His fingers pause for a moment, before he drops his hand back to his side.
Yuji is one of the first kids out the door. He seems to be managing, although his usual energy is certainly dulled. He runs at full force straight into Sukuna, who picks him up with ease as the child clings to him.
“Missed you, Kuna.”
Sukuna hums, gently nudging the boy with his shoulder. “Look who’s here.”
Yuji lifts his head, flipping it around until his gaze finds you. He calls your name happily, though it’s still dulled from the usual excitement that surrounds him. His arms reach for you and Sukuna plops him down on the snow to let him run straight for you.
“Hey sweetheart,” you greet, kneeling before him to let him hug you. Reeling back, you gently brush his hair from his eyes. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m okay.” He pouts, shaking his head. His hair falls back over his forehead again, so you brush the stray pink strands from his eyes once more. “I miss my brother.”
“Hey,” you coo softly. “He’s not letting you go, honey. We’re going to meet one of my friends for some advice, okay?”
Yuji’s head tilts. “Huh? Advice for Cho?”
You mirror him, brow furrowed. “What’s going on with Cho?”
“He doesn’t wanna play anymore,” Yuji pouts, staring down at the snow under his little feet as he rocks side to side. His little cheeks are red, whether from the cold or unshed tears, you aren’t sure.
With a grunt of effort, you pull the little boy into your arms. He clings to you, burying his head into the crook of your neck as you turn to his older brother. “Is Choso okay?” You query, concerned.
“I’ll let you judge for yourself.”
You turn to the door where Choso emerges, his appearance ghostly. His movements are mechanical as he makes his way up to you and Sukuna. He shoots a glance up to you, but doesn’t acknowledge you otherwise, staring blankly off to the side as he waits for Sukuna to lead the way.
“Hey, Choso.”
Silence.
You frown, precariously balancing Yuji in one arm to reach down and gently run a hand over Choso’s hair. He blinks a few times, meeting your gaze. Although the boy traditionally looks tired, his eyes are devoid of warmth. He’s running on empty, completely gassed, and you can understand suddenly why all three of them had no desire to show up to classes.
“You know what I think this day calls for?” You shouldn’t be shocked to find that none of the three brothers reply, but Sukuna at the very least gives you his attention. “How do you three like cinnamon buns?”
“I like them,” Yuji mumbles into your shoulder, gripping your coat.
Well, at least one of them will give you an answer. If that’s the best you can get, you’ll take it.
“Great! You can get whatever treats you’d like, alright?”
Your enthusiasm is met with silence. This is one of those moments where it becomes glaringly obvious who raised the two boys.
Simply to fill the silence, you inquire with Yuji how his day went, plopping him onto the ground when he becomes too heavy to carry. He gingerly reaches for your hand, squeezing it as he talks about his day and a book his class has begun to read.
Yuji begins to drag your hand, falling further and further behind as he grows tired, practically trying to clamber onto your back as you stop to wait for a crosswalk.
Taking notice, Sukuna reaches down to pick up his little brother. “C’mere,” he mumbles as he lifts the child over his head until he’s sitting soundly on the man’s shoulders. You smile softly at the sight. They may not share a mother, but you’d hardly believe it. They’re like twins, only born several years apart.
Yuji idly tugs at Sukuna’s hair as he sits atop the man’s shoulders, a good six feet taller than where he usually stands. His older brother swats at his hands with a grimace, staring ahead as the boy settles and leans his torso on the back of Sukuna’s head.
You keep an eye on Choso, who begins to trail behind the closer you get to the cafe. You’re a good thirty minutes early, but you don’t think it’s a particularly good idea to have the kids listening into the legal discussion either way, so this will give you a chance to grab a table just for them.
Sukuna ducks as he walks into the cafe, ensuring he doesn’t smack his brother’s head on the doorframe, while you trail behind to wait for Choso. When his eyes meet your feet in front of him, they slowly trail up until he finds your gaze. It twists your heart, to see how blankly he stares at you.
“Hey honey. If you don’t want to talk, that’s totally fine, but I just want you to know I’m here.”
His eyes flicker between yours.
Kneeling down to his height, you smile softly. “Do you remember when you found that paperwork and I told you that your brother would talk to me if he needed help?”
Choso blinks a couple of times, and for a moment, you think that’s the most you’ll get from him, but he finds it in himself to nod.
“Well, he did come to me for help. We’re gonna meet my friends at the cafe in a bit and they’re gonna help your brother. He’s fighting for you. We’ll figure things out, okay?”
He nods again, taking a meager step forward before finding his way into your arms. You hug him back tightly and rub his back.
“Thank you.” It’s quiet and hoarse, you can tell he hasn’t spoken in a while. But it’s a step forward, and you’ll take it.
A knock on the glass grabs your attention and you pull back a bit to look up at the cafe window above you. The picture of stoicism, Sukuna stares down at you from within, pointing behind him with his thumb.
‘Got us a table,’ he mouths through the glass, before turning back towards the interior. You don’t catch a word he says, narrowing your eyes as you try to make out what he’s trying to tell you.
“He got a table.” Choso mumbles, the tiniest hint of a smile on his face as you turn back to him.
“Is he, like- really bad at that?” You ask, smirking as you point a thumb in the direction where Sukuna was moments ago.
Choso nods, his smile turning up sliiiiightly more.
“And here I thought it was just me,” you grin, standing back up and leading the way to the back of the cafe where Sukuna’s got two tables reserved, one with four seats, and a smaller one with two. He must be on the same wavelength as you, having deliberately chosen a table with enough distance to keep the conversation private, while still having the kids nearby.
He pulls a stack of very ripped and wrinkled papers from his bag, setting them face down on the table as Choso crawls into a tall chair beside his brother. With an arched brow, you set your hand on the paperwork as you take a seat beside him, asking a silent question.
“You can read ‘em if you want.”
Flipping them, your eyes first skim the tape that holds each page together, then the contents themselves.
“What happened to them?”
“I was pissed.”
Clearly. But you keep that thought to yourself. You skim the contents of the legal documents, nails tapping against the faux wood grain table rhythmically.
Case No. 2493
Social File No. 34785-98
Next Court Date: March 23rd.
In The Matter of Choso Itadori and Yuji Itadori.
Turns out, it only takes four sentences before you’re frowning at the page, the legal jargon a little bit beyond you. Of course, it’s not entirely illegible and you’re thankful you’re an English literature major, but the jurisdiction codes and notes are a bit beyond any English diploma.
“This is… a lot.”
“You’re tellin’ me,” Sukuna mumbles, glancing at his watch. “We got some time, you want anything?”
“I’m okay, thanks Kuna.” Keeping your head buried in the paperwork as you try to dissect an ounce of what the documents say, you chew on your lip as Sukuna drags his brothers to the counter before stepping off to the side to await his order.
With your head down and brow furrowed in documents, you don’t notice Kento standing opposite you with a decently sized box from your parents.
“Good afternoon,” Kento greets you, punctuating the sentence with your name. Your head whips up with a smile as you greet the two men. Standing beside Kento is another tall man with tousled short brown hair, sunken eyes, and a prominent nose. He’s wearing a t-shirt and jeans, with a blazer over top, which is about what you would imagine a law student wears. “This is Higuruma,” he introduces the man.
“Hiromi is fine,” he chuckles, surprisingly informal for someone leaning in to extend his hand to you.
Shaking his hand, you flash him a grin. “Nice to meet you,” you greet him, imparting your name. “I can’t even begin to tell you how much I appreciate this.”
“It’s not a problem,” Hiromi chuckles kindly, taking a seat kitty cornered from you while Kento sits across from you. Hiromi has an air of tiredness about him that’s not entirely dissimilar to that of Sukuna.
Sukuna returns just in time, a tray of cups held high above the ground to prevent a certain young boy from dangling off his arm and spilling them.
That same young boy happens to be dangling off his other arm, though it hardly seems to weigh the man down as he easily holds both the boy and the bag of treats up. He mumbles something to Choso as he sets the tray down, making a motion for the boy to look in his backpack.
Kento and Hiromi watch in barely-masked shock as Sukuna gently directs the kids to a smaller table in the corner, handing them the bag of sweets and a cup of hot chocolate each. Choso tucks a couple of coloring books and markers beneath his elbow as well as they leisurely make their way to the little table in the corner.
With a heavy, tired, sigh, Sukuna takes a seat beside you, pulling the last two cups out and setting one in front of himself and one in front of you.
“Oh, I don’t-”
Ignoring you outright, Sukuna speaks up. “Woulda gotten you both somethin’ but I don’t know your orders,” he gruffs to the two men opposite him, his jaw tightening at the painfully obvious shock and hint of guilt that gleams in Kento’s eyes.
“That’s… Quite alright,” Kento clears his throat, introducing Hiromi and Sukuna to one another before passing you the box of belongings your parents had sent with him. Hiromi extends his hand again, though Sukuna’s not so eager to take it. It’s all a bit formal for him.
“So, I assume this has to do with legal questions,” Hiromi chuckles wryly as you take a sip of your drink.
Your exact order.
Sukuna remembered.
Sukuna hums, sliding the papers across the table without a word. Hiromi coughs once at the sight of the ripped papers, stifling a laugh at the unsightly state of them. It fades almost immediately as his eyes trace the Times New Roman that litters the page.
With a sigh, he runs a hand through his hair, leaning over the table.
“Right. Before we start, I need to make something clear. What I’m doing right now is illegal as a student, so you can’t breathe a word that I was here,” he states firmly, hollowed eyes flickering between the both of you.
“I’m good at keeping secrets,” Sukuna mumbles, amusement pricking the edge of his tone.
Hiromi glances back at the kids, catching his meaning. “They’re yours, then? Legally, I mean?”
“Yeah.”
Hiromi sighs again, nodding. “I see. Give me a moment to read these.”
“In the meantime, can I get you both something to drink?” You ask politely.
“Coffee, black, please,” Hiromi replies, leaning over the table on his elbow as he tilts the first page read over a rip, casting the glare on the tape elsewhere.
“That will be fine for myself as well, thank you,” Kento smiles kindly. He waits until you’re out of earshot to speak to Sukuna while Hiromi reads. “She cares about you a great deal, you know.”
A muscle in Sukuna’s jaw ticks. He had a feeling this was coming, though he’d hoped you simply wouldn’t leave his side. He can only avoid his mistakes so long, it seems.
“She’s a good friend.”
Kento’s reaction gives nothing away, his observant expression looking for a break in Sukuna’s aloof features, any sign that he’s the shallow asshole Kento had taken him for. When he doesn’t find it, he nods slowly.
“She is. She deserves that same treatment back.”
Sukuna’s lip twitches, bordering on a snarl that he only holds back out of courtesy of the blonde doing him a favor. “I’m aware.”
Kento sighs, his posture relaxing in his seat as Sukuna bites his tongue, matching Kento’s sigh with a striking glare. “Listen, I believe that we may have gotten off on the wrong foot, and given how close she is to both of us, I’d prefer to be on friendly terms.”
“Mm.”
Gathering that Sukuna isn’t one for words, Kento continues. “I see now that there are…” he pauses, his eyes sliding to the right where the two kids are quietly coloring. “Extenuating circumstances behind what happened and I may have misdirected my anger. So, I apologize.”
Sukuna quietly observes Kento’s surprisingly sincere apology, nodding slowly. “I appreciate you lookin’ out for her.”
Sukuna doesn’t exactly verbally accept the apology, but that’s not uncharacteristic of him. Besides, he can’t exactly hold a grudge against the man who’s helping him in a legal battle.
“Of course. Let it be known, however, that if you hurt her again, I will not take it so lightly.” Kento adds grimly.
Sukuna huffs. “‘Course.”
“Great.” Kento extends a hand as an act of good will.
“Can we cut the formalities? They aren’t really my deal.”
Kento cracks a smile, nodding. “Sure, Sukuna.”
The sounds of the cafe make for a relatively comfortable silence in spite of Hiromi’s obvious discomfort of the conversation happening over his head. The sounds of the coffee machines, clinking of glasses, and slamming of fridges help to make the environment a little easier on the three men.
“Alright,” you plop down in your chair once more, “two black coffees.”
Both men thank you as you settle beside Sukuna.
“How are the kids?” You quietly ask, leaning back to glance at them.
Sukuna shrugs. “Coloring Spider-Man probably. They seem fine.”
“Alright,” Hiromi taps the stack of unkempt papers against the table, grabbing a pen from the pocket of his blazer and a stack of sticky notes from his pocket. Somehow that’s just so law student that you find yourself with a lopsided smile as you watch. “I’ll need a bit of extra info, can I ask some questions?”
Sukuna slides back in his chair, grimacing to hide his disdain for needing to share his personal life. “Shoot.”
“Right. So, I’ll need the relationships of everyone involved in their lives. Parents, grandparents, and siblings.” He positions his pen to take notes.
Sukuna, begrudgingly as ever, sighs. “Kaori and Jin Itadori are their parents, Jin passed away three or so years ago,” he begins, his leg tapping beneath the table. You’ve noticed he seems to do that whenever the subject of his father comes up around people he isn’t comfortable with. “I’m their half-brother. Father’s side.”
Hiromi nods, writing away with his pen.
“No family remaining on the father’s side apart from myself. They got an uncle and aunt on the mother’s side, as well as a grandfather, I got no contact or names for any of ‘em.”
Hiromi glances up, his eyes sliding towards you. “And your girlfri-”
“We’re friends. She looks after ‘em sometimes,” Sukuna interrupts, keeping his gaze straight ahead. You’re grateful he does, your cheeks absolutely alight with heat. Pulling your hands politely into your lap, you fiddle with your fingers.
Sensing he may have hit a sore subject, Hiromi scratches the back of his neck. He tugs at the collar of his shirt, returning to his notes. “Right. How’d you end up with custody to begin with?”
“Their mother moved for a job before Yuji turned one. When I reached out when our father passed away, she didn’t respond.” Sukuna keeps his replies short and simple, only divulging what he needs to.
Hiromi pauses for a brief moment to stare at Sukuna, as if in disbelief. Kento’s expression matches, but he quickly clears his throat to keep the conversation going. “And the contact with their uncle and aunt? Grandfather?”
“They ain’t my family. I don’t have contact. Lawyers tried, no answer.” He shrugs.
Hiromi jots down more notes, pointing the back of his pen towards Sukuna. “That’s good for you, by the way.”
Sukuna nods slowly, though he’s unable to let his guard down regardless.
“What methods of contact did you use?”
Hiromi clicks his pen a number of times and Sukuna crosses his arms over his chest. “Email, mail, and phone.”
“Was she in communication before Jin passed?” Hiromi queries, leaning over his notes.
Sukuna pauses, narrowing his eyes in thought. “I think so. I don’t have Jin’s phone anymore.”
Hiromi hums, scratching his jaw as he takes down notes. “I see. Are the kids…” he pauses, swinging the end of his pen in the direction of their table, “aware of this?”
Sukuna visibly tenses. “Yeah.”
Gingerly, you slide your leg closer until it’s sidled next to him. Although he doesn’t react, his bouncing leg slows to a halt, as does the subtle shaking of the table. You smile to yourself that you’re able to bring him the comfort he stubbornly refuses to ask for.
“Did she come to you first before sending these over?” Hiromi asks, making a motion towards the legal documents.
Sukuna shakes his head.
“Right. That should do it for the petitioner’s side,” Hiromi hums, tapping the back of his pen against his notes. “Let’s talk about you and your brothers.”
“My favorite subject,” Sukuna grumbles.
Hiromi offers a sympathetic smile. “I get it, believe me. I’m a pretty private person, too. Now, what’s your major?”
“History.”
Hiromi’s brow raises. He seems somewhat surprised, though he doesn’t voice it. “Got anything lined up for when you graduate?”
“No.”
“I assume you’re working as well.”
Sukuna grits his teeth, fed up with the overly personal questions. “Yeah. I’m a mechanic and I stock shelves.”
Hiromi leans on his arm as he jots that down. “You’re a busy guy,” he mumbles, met with Sukuna’s glare at the unhelpful commentary. Hiromi seems unphased, chuckling. “Sorry, my bad. Do you own or rent?”
“I rent an apartment.”
“Three bedroom?”
“Two.”
“Got it. Alright,” he sighs, running both hands through his hair and leaning back in his chair until it’s precariously balancing on the back two legs. With a thud, the chair slams down onto the floor. “Sounds like a fairly standard case. There’s a number of things here that’ll work in your favor, but-” he pauses, wording his statement carefully. “Trying to win a guardianship case against their biological mother isn’t something I would call easy.”
Sukuna nods.
“Let’s go over the basics. She’s trying to claim them as her right as their mother, but she’s also claiming you’re unfit for guardianship on two counts, lack of funds and irresponsibility. That means you’ll need to prove otherwise on both counts, while also convincing them that the right place for the kids is with you,” Hiromi states, shuffling the opening page aside to briskly scan the second page. “At the end of the day, the judge will choose what’s right for the kids. The mother will have a bit of a leg up on you since she won’t have to fight any claims of ill-doing.”
Sukuna frowns. That doesn’t exactly bode well for him.
“You’ve got some good things going for you, though. You should have a record or be able to pull a record of your contact with her. Having two jobs, although not ideal, has its merits as well. Your brothers are clearly both healthy and I assume you’ve kept them in school as well and you’ve had them for three years now, that’s a strong argument.”
“There’s a ‘but’ somewhere here,” Sukuna frowns.
“There… is,” Hiromi agrees, running another hand through his tousled hair and disheveling it further. He leans forward, picking up the stack of legal papers. “I’m assuming the reason she took a job overseas in the first place is for money. She’s paying for a good lawyer,” he points out, setting the paper back down on the table and sliding towards Sukuna. “They’re expensive for a reason, and they’re not just the best in the city. They have national renown.”
Your heart sinks at the sound of that. “So, pro-bono…?”
“It’s certainly an option,” Hiromi avoids your gaze as he replies, something that doesn’t sit well with you. “Legal clinics and pro-bono are meant more for standard cases-”
“You said this was standard,” Sukuna contains his growl, his voice strained. His leg presses hard against yours, his anger contained with all the strength of a bottle cap.
“It is, on paper. The problem here that I’m concerned about is her choice of lawyers.” He taps his pen on his notes as Sukuna drags his hands over his face in exasperation. “They aren’t… exactly known for losing.”
“Fucking... Just fucking great,” Sukuna gripes, leaning over the table on heavy shoulders. He downs what’s left of his coffee, pressing a thumb into the crease between his brows.
“I would be willing to bet that she purposely chose to spring this on you before the kids are old enough to testify.”
“Choso isn’t old enough…?” You query with a frown.
Hiromi slides the legal papers back towards himself, looking over the listed birth date. “No, he’s one year off, and even if he was, you would still need to convince them he’s mature enough.”
“Fuck,” Sukuna sighs, his chest tight. “So my odds aren’t good then, are they?”
Hiromi watches his words as he scratches the back of his neck. “Uh, they’re not ideal. I’d say two to one, but not impossible. You do have a lot going for you.”
“What do you think he should do?” You ask softly.
Hiromi sighs. “Your best bet will be to really lean in on the fact that you’ve had them for three years because she never replied. Call your cell carrier and get phone logs if they’ve kept them, grab any copies of letters sent, pull up emails, anything you can to prove you reached out.” Hiromi pauses, setting his pen on the table as he takes a sip of coffee. “Pull up every record you have that proves the kids are in good health. Things like vaccination records will go a long way. If you can get your employers to write letters detailing your work ethic, that’s worthwhile too. Anything to prove you’re fit.”
Great. His employers get to know about his brothers. Everyone gets to see into Sukuna’s personal life.
Just fucking great.
Sukuna leans hard against his hand, roughly rubbing his eyes. “Sure,” he huffs, swinging a hand through the air. “Why the fuck would she be doing this in the first place?” He leans back suddenly, whipping his hand through the air in exasperation. “Three years ago it wasn’t her fuckin’ problem, so what changed?”
Hiromi flips to the third page of the documents. “If I were to guess, she wants the government grants for childcare.” His eyes skim the second paragraph on the page, pausing as he thinks over what legal code the paperwork is recalling. “I assume you get that right now with two dependents.”
“Yeah, it pays my fuckin’ rent. She’s got money, though, what the fuck changed?”
Sukuna’s clearly running out of patience, to no fault of Hiromi’s, but he’s completely unphased by him. Whatever type of law he’s going into, he must be accustomed to this kind of behavior.
With a tight-lipped smile, Hiromi shrugs. “All I can do is guess. I don’t know.”
Sukuna rakes a hand through his hair. “So, what the hell do I do about the pro-bono thing?”
“I have some contacts that I can recommend that might give you a break on the cash side, but yeah. I’d recommend against going the free route. I really don’t think you’ll have a foot to stand on if you do that.”
Sukuna stands abruptly, his chair scraping against the tile flooring. It echoes loudly around the little cafe, pulling all attention towards him, but he pays it no mind. His brow twitches, crimson eyes filled with distress. “How expensive are we talkin’?”
Hiromi frowns sympathetically. “Two months’ rent I’d guess, though they may cut you a break but it’ll depend on how long you spend with them.”
Looking between the kids and Sukuna, you can see the questions rising from them as their brother holds the cafe’s attention. In an effort to keep everyone calm, you brush your fingers gently against Sukuna’s wrist, your nails dragging softly over his wrist tattoo. “Take a seat,” you urge him, pointedly tilting your head towards his little brothers, who are both staring at him with wide eyes.
Sukuna inhales sharply, taking his seat again. “Is that the high or low end of your guess?”
“High,” Hiromi tries to assure him.
“Great,” Sukuna growls, his anger directed at no one in particular.
“Is there anything else we should know?” You query quietly in an effort to keep the conversation from Choso and Yuji.
Hiromi taps his fingers on the table in thought. “I get it, Sukuna, I really do, but you need to have the patience of a god in court.” Sukuna’s teeth grit on instinct. “A judge won’t take kindly to a mouthy defense. Only speak when spoken to. Got that?”
Sukuna scoffs with all the dramatism of a man falling apart at the seams. “Yeah. Whatever.”
“Thank you, Hiromi. This is a huge help, really.”
He offers a kind smile. “It’s no problem, really. But remember, you got this info online or something,” he chuckles, taking a sip of his coffee. “I’ll have Kento send you some of my contacts.”
“Thank you. And no problem, this was nothing more than a helpful websearch,” you giggle, checking on Sukuna in your peripherals. He’s staring at his little brothers, the sound of clinking metal muffled by his pocket as he opens and shuts his lighter.
You give him a nudge, pulling him back to the present, if only for a moment. “Mm. Thanks, Hiromi.”
Hiromi, clearly sympathetic to what Sukuna’s going through, smiles. “Happy to help. Thanks for the coffee.”
You say your goodbyes and gather the kids’ belongings and the box from your parents, offering Sukuna a ride home. It’s chilly and getting dark, and the last thing you need is for a man not in his right mind to try to walk two scared kids home.
Fuck, what a situation he’s in.
He accepts your offer with a nod, letting you lead the way and chat with the kids as he trails behind.
The ride is quiet. Even by Yuji’s standards, it’s painfully quiet. He points out some street art of a monster with a crown that he likes, but it seems to be the most even the five-year-old can manage. Their whole family is emotionally drained.
Even by your standards, you’re running on empty at this point. There’s only so much emotional strain you can handle and between the concern that had distracted you all week and a long day of walking on eggshells around Sukuna, your social battery is running low too. There’s only so much you can handle when the man in your passenger seat has nestled his way into your heart and left an irreparable hole in which only he could fit.
Your heart can only handle so much distant love.
It became increasingly clear over the past week that his absence was making your heart grow fonder. Although you were apart for a while after Christmas, his continual emails sated the part of you that craved him so desperately. Without that, a chasm opened and swallowed you whole, unable to fight it for even a moment.
Still, even in the bone-weary silence of your car, being surrounded by Sukuna and his sweet little family holds a temporary bandage around the pieces of your heart. It’s flimsy at best, fleeting as it begins to unravel with each disheartening snap and gripe that comes from Sukuna, but you can’t blame him when his entire world is caving in around him.
Hell, you can’t even begin to worry about the pain the squeezes your heart when he’s barely holding it together beside you. Usually the face of stoicism, yet his well-put-together seams are cracking, revealing his facade not just to you, but to everyone.
Sukuna’s door swings open the moment you park as he stumbles on his feet as though your vehicle had been claustrophobic. He sets a large palm on the hood of your car to steady himself, dazed.
Pushing down the uneasy feeling building in your chest, you keep calm as you lift Yuji out of the back seat and watch him run over to Choso, getting on the tips of his toes to whisper something into Choso’s ear.
Rounding the car, you try to grab Sukuna’s attention, the look of helplessness on his face catching you off guard as he makes a point of hiding from his brothers. His grip on your car is unyielding, his knuckles white from the effort of holding himself upright.
“Keys?” You whisper quietly. He blinks a couple of times, his chest rising and falling startlingly quickly as he fumbles in his jacket pocket with his spare hand. “I got it.” Gingerly reaching out, you slip your hand into his pocket, careful to pull out only his keys and not his lighter.
Jogging up to Choso, you smile reassuringly. “I just need to talk to your brother. You two go upstairs for me, okay? Lock the door behind you.”
Choso nods, pausing to peek past you at his older brother. There’s a silent question in his eyes that he won’t voice. Whether that’s a trauma response or that he knows you understand, you can’t say for sure.
“He’s okay, don’t worry sweetheart,” you reassure him, ruffling his hair.
He puts his trust in you with a half-hearted attempt at a smile and grabs Yuji’s hand to lead the way into the building.
The sun has mostly set over the horizon at this point, casting dark purple hues over Sukuna’s tattooed cheeks. He hunches over the hood of your car, leaning his body so heavily over the vehicle that it dips under his weight. He exhales shakily, dragging his hands down his face.
In your best effort to comfort him, you gently rub his back. His muscles are taut beneath the down of his winter coat, his back rising and falling just a bit too quickly for your comfort.
“Sukuna?”
He forces himself upright, raking his fingers through his hair.
“Fuck!” He barks, taking a step away from you to pace along the side of your car. His mind is a jumbled mess and he doesn’t know how to make sense of the thoughts that seem to relentlessly batter him, leaving him with a heaving, tight chest, searing anger, and something he can’t put a name to.
Anxiety.
“Sukuna?” You try again as his pacing grows erratic.
“Fuck, I don’t fucking-” he stammers, fists balling at his sides as he struggles not to launch the closest thing to his hand into the wall. Again. He doesn’t need to break his lighter twice in only a couple of months.
You take a step towards him in an attempt to disrupt his pacing course, but he simply turns on his heel in the other direction.
“That fucking-”
“Sukuna!” You jog around to face him, gripping the open front of his black coat and stopping him abruptly.
“What?” He snarls breathlessly, pulling back against your grip.
You don’t relent, keeping him in place although you know he has the strength to tear himself from you if he wanted.
“Can you breathe, Kuna?”
He tugs against you once more, gripping the top of your vehicle. It’s cold on the pads of his fingers, a sharp contrast to the blazing heat his body is overproducing. He doesn’t, can’t, reply to you, but you don’t need him to, the answer is written plain as day for all to see.
He’s panicking.
He’s spiraling downwards harshly and his anxiety is taking along with it the strong front that Sukuna has worked relentlessly to maintain. His own body is forcibly breaking down the walls he built not only to keep himself safe, but also his brothers.
His body is begging you for the help he’d never ask for, lest he suffer alone.
“It’s okay if you can’t,” you soothe, your voice low and gentle as he leans against your car. “Sit down in the back of my car,” you urge sternly, attempting to tug him towards the back door.
He forcefully pulls back out of your grip. “I’m not my fuckin’ kid brothers, don’t fucking treat me like them,” he hisses, fire swirling beneath the surface of his eyes. It’s a meager attempt to mask his distress.
You frown, unmoving as you contemplate how to help someone who doesn’t want your help. Someone who doesn’t want pity or sympathy, who wants only respect and nothing less.
It doesn’t matter how much respect for him you have when looking back at him he sees only sympathy in your eyes.
“Please, can we talk? It’s cold out here, just sit in the back of my-”
“For fuck’s sake, what the fuck is there to talk about?” He yells, whipping his hand through the air. He reels back, rubbing the heels of his palms against his eyes. “I can fucking handle things, stop sticking your nose in my damn business,” he hisses in a strained tone, rubbing at his chest in discomfort.
Your eyes trail down to watch the way he clutches at his shirt and pulls the collar from his neck as though it’s choking him, his lips slightly parted as he struggles to breathe. “Sukuna, I know you can handle things. Just listen to me, okay?” His eyes snap to you. “Have you had a panic attack before?”
“I’m not havin’ a fucking panic attack, christ, just- gimme some fuckin’ space,” he backs away from you, walking over to his apartment building’s exterior and rummaging through his jacket pockets in search of cigarettes. He pulls out a small cardboard box, flipping it open with shaky hands and muttering a curse under his breath as he comes up empty. He tosses it at full force into the building, leaning his head against the wall a moment later as his vision grows white at the edges.
“Sukuna,” your tone is firm as you come up behind him. “Please sit.”
By some miracle, he flips until his back can slide down the wall and he’s finally sitting, his gaze fixed nowhere in particular behind you.
Letting out a sigh of relief, you lower yourself down to your knees to sit in front of him. Thank god. Even as the cold snow melts beneath you and seeps into the warmth of your pants, chilling the skin of your knees, you push through. Setting your hands on his forearms, you rub soothing circles into them.
“Here, are your hands cold?” Sliding the tips of your fingers along his arm and raising goosebumps with your touch even through the barrier of his jacket, you gauge the temperature of his hands, nodding to yourself. “They are cold… here-” you lift his hand up to cool the back of his neck, which is overheating even in the below freezing weather. “I think that should feel good.”
It shouldn’t piss him off as much as it does that you’re right. It does help, leaving him completely at your mercy, as Sukuna himself doesn’t understand how to quell this feeling.
“Breathe with me, okay?”
He doesn’t react, but his crimson gaze falls to your chest, studying the rise and fall. You direct him by repeating a gentle “in… and out,” moving your thumb along his arm in time with your own breaths and instructions. He closes his eyes as the pain in his chest eases and he’s able to catch his breath.
Continuing to soothingly run your thumb along his arm, you carefully reach up to brush his sweat-slicked hair from his forehead. He stiffens briefly, but quickly relaxes without bothering to open his eyes.
Your heart twists at the intimacy of the situation, but it’s neither the time nor place to concern yourself with your own emotions.
You can handle the way your own chest tightens as Sukuna’s finger twitches and brushes your wrist, settling against the warmth of your skin.
You don’t dare interrupt the peace, giving him the time he needs to find his grounding. It takes him a few moments, but he moves his hand from the back of his neck, settling it on his knee. His gaze fixes on something in the distance as he takes a long, exhausted breath.
To your surprise, his arm that you’re still rubbing circles into flips and his thumb and fingers wrap around the circumference of your forearm. With a lopsided smile, you squeeze his arm back.
“Talk to me.”
With the sun completely set over the horizon, the only light that illuminates Sukuna’s face is that of the light over his apartment building. It glows faintly, flickering every so often with a golden hue that paints the broken expression on his face in such a way that even in this dire situation, he looks ethereal.
His gaze travels upwards as the light flickers again, the golden hue glimmering against the packed snow beneath your (very cold) knees. “I can’t afford a lawyer,” he mutters shamefully, his brow furrowed.
You contemplate your next words very carefully given Sukuna’s nature. “What can I do?” To help?
“Nothing,” he scoffs, his eyes not leaving the point where his hand connects with your arm. Even with a jacket between you, your presence brings him comfort. “I’ll figure shit out like I always do.”
“You don’t need to do this alone, Kuna.”
The glare he shoots you is sharp. “I can manage.”
“Manage until- until what? You have another panic attack?” Although your tone is still gentle, there’s a prickle to your words.
“I didn’t have a fuckin’-”
“Bullshit!”
Sukuna blinks. He can’t remember if he’s ever heard a curse leave your lips. There’s a fiery determination lit beneath you that he won’t quench with his distilled anger.
“You’re allowed to need help, Sukuna. It doesn’t make you weak.”
His grip on your arm tightens, almost uncomfortably. He doesn’t know how to take your words and his vexation is only growing. “I’ll need to take more shifts,” he mumbles.
“I’m here. If you need someone to watch the kids,” you offer.
His chest rises and falls heavily as he exhales slowly. As if coming to some sort of conclusion, he frowns. “You’re too kind, princess.” His tone is uncharacteristically weak and painfully distant. He squeezes your arm once, before dropping it to pull himself up off the ground. He brushes snow from his pants and coat and picks up the empty cigarette box crumpled on the ground. “I’m gonna head inside.” His gaze turns down to your knees as you follow suit and stand before him. “Go warm up and dry off.”
“Are you sure you don’t need-”
“I’m fine.” He assures you, turning towards the door without so much as a goodbye, but he thinks twice on this and pauses before he can enter his building. He examines your frown as he fights an internal debate. His sharp gaze traces your movements as you swipe your tongue over your lower lip and bite down on it.
He’s caught up on a strange inkling in his mind that doesn’t really make sense to him, but he gives pause to it.
Your lips look like a goddamn invitation. He’s not thinking about your body, or the way your skin sears him when you brush his hand. It’s something entirely else that he wants to act on, and all you’re doing is standing there, the picture of uncertainty as you fiddle with your fingers and chew on your lips.
Your god forsaken lips.
“Sukuna?” You meekly question, tilting your head.
He swears you could have the world if you truly wanted with just a tilt of your head.
It’s a shame Sukuna knows he doesn’t belong in your world. You’re too kind, you always have been. You’re like the syrup they drizzle over cheesecake, or the decorative sprinkles that top that shitty whipped cream that bakeries love to use. The sugar-free kind that doesn’t quite taste right and you’re not sure why they even bother with it, so they add the sweetest sprinkles to compensate.
Once again, Sukuna thinks about how you’re the sun, and he’s nothing more than a distant star sputtering out on the horizon. He doesn’t consider that every star is a sun to someone else.
“Sorry,” he mumbles. “Was just thinkin’. Thanks for organizing today, gave me a lot to work with.”
And with that, he’s pushing through the door before you can even tell him that he’s welcome.
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❦ a/n ; OOPS ALMOST 18K CHAPTER. honestly it just didn't feel right to end it before the discussion with higuruma and sukuna's reaction to it, so here we are. forgive me for the angst :((( i love these babies sm and it physically hurt to put them through this 😭 the support for this series has been so overwhelmingly lovely and heartwarming, i really can't thank you all enough. seriously, y'all are the sweetest and the comments and asks i've received about this series brighten my day every single time 🫶 anyway, ily all and i'm sorry 😭
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writing & format © starmapz. art © 3-aem. dividers © adornedwithlight & cafekitsune
#jjk x reader#jjk x y/n#ryomen sukuna#sukuna#ryomen sukuna series#ryomen sukuna x y/n#sukuna ryoumen smut#ryomen sukuna x reader#sukuna x you#jujutsu kaisen#sukuna x reader#sukuna x y/n#jjk smut#jjk#sukuna smut#ryomen sukuna smut#jujutsu kaisen smut#jjk x reader smut#sukuna ryomen#sukuna ryomen x reader#ryomen sukuna x you#sukuna fluff#jjk fluff#jjk x you#jjk series#jujutsu kaisen series#sukuna series#dividers by @/adornedwithlight and @/cafekitsune and art by @/3-aem#starmapz works#starmapz
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hello! i was wondering if you could either write about mainly soap (or the whole TF-141) finding out you’re pregnant and what they would be like all throughout the 9 months. It could either be head cannons or a fic, whatever you prefer 🤗
i tried to find fics about it but i can find barely any 😞
i tried to fight the poly!141 x reader demons, but i couldn't
cw: poly!141 x reader, pregnancy stuff, implied fem/afab!reader, (use of mom), no, it doesn't matter who's kid it is.
finding out....
johnny is the first to react when you tell them the news. he's stunned silent for a split second before breaking into a wide grin and laughing. “we’re havin’ a bairn?” he pulls you into his arms, twirling you around despite your protests. “this is amazin’! we're gonna be parents!”
he's immediately excited, though slightly panicked. “wait…what do we need tae do? do we start buyin’ things? are we ready for this?” he's practically already nesting.
simon doesn’t say much at first. his gaze shifts between you and the others before he lets out a quiet, “well, that’s somethin' new."
in truth, he didn't know how to handle this information. his trauma left him scarred and terrified of the idea of parenting, but after some thought, he’ll find you alone and murmur, “y'gonna be great at this, lovie. we all will.” It’s one of the rare times he lets his emotions show.
kyle reacts with a mix of shock and excitement. “wait, wait—are we serious? this is real?” when you nod, he breaks into a wide smile, pulling you into a hug and pressing a kiss to your forehead.
“this is amazing. you're gonna be a great mom, doll. we'll figure it out together.”
john's reaction is steady but warm. he gives you a soft smile and kisses the top of your head. “looks like our family’s getting a little bigger.”
he's calm and reassuring, already thinking about what this means for the team and how they’ll support you in the months ahead.
first trimester...
johnny's bouncing off the walls, thrilled about the news but hilariously overprotective. he refuses to let you lift anything heavier than a water bottle and constantly asks how you’re feeling.
“ye need anythin’? a pillow? water? more snacks?” you'll have to reassure him a hundred times a day that you’re fine.
he's also immediately obsessed with baby gear, sending you links to cribs, strollers, and onesies with ridiculous captions like, “look at this wee one—it’s got ducks on it!”
simon is less overtly excited but becomes quietly attentive. he starts keeping track of your cravings and your mood swings, making sure the others don’t overwhelm you too much.
if you’re feeling nauseous, he’ll silently sit with you, rubbing small circles on your back. he's not one for grand gestures, but his steady presence is comforting.
he's also the one who subtly puts his foot down when johnny starts suggesting that the kid'll be named “soap junior.”
kyle is practical but sweet, always checking in with you and making sure you’re eating enough. “don't forget to take your vitamins. and let me know if you need me to grab anything.”
he's fascinated by the changes in your body, always asking questions. “is it weird? like, do you feel different already?” he's genuinely curious and wants to understand every part of the process. not to mention the fact this his eyes refuse to leave your stomach once you start showing.
john keeps the everyone grounded. when the others (cough—johnny—cough) start fussing too much, he steps in. “give her some space. she's not made of glass.”
second trimester...
by now, johnny's even more excited, especially when the baby starts moving. he insists on feeling every kick and might even get a little competitive with the others. “aye, th' bairn kicked fur me first, didn’t it?”
he starts talking to your belly in gaelic. no one knows that he's saying but kyle has a hunch that he's praying.
simon is more engaged now, though still subtle. he'll casually start doing the more practical things like baby-proofing or arranging for a larger living space.
he secretly reads up on pregnancy and parenthood, though he’ll never admit it. you catch him once, and he grumbles, “just making sure we’re prepared.” but you know it's for his own sake.
kyle takes the role of “baby planner” seriously, organizing everything from nursery ideas to potential schedules for when the baby arrives. he's also the one to encourage you to take care of yourself.
“you're doing amazing, love. just let us handle the rest, yeah?” he's always ready with a shoulder rub or a cup of tea when you need it.
john really begins to hone his 'dad energy'. he ensures you’re not overexerting yourself and keeps everyone focused. he starts sharing stories about his own experiences with kids, whether it’s nieces, nephews, or friends’ children, to reassure you. he holds your hand on the days when you're feeling a bit off, offering a warm embrace for you to melt in.
third trimester...
johnny is on defcon 1. he's counting down the seconds and trying to distract himself with building the crib (badly) and then taking it down, just to reassemble it. or assembling strollers. “don't worry, love, i've got this… where’s the instruction manual?”
he's constantly doting on you, rubbing your calves and back or carrying things for you. “you're a goddess, y’know that? absolutely goddess.”
simon becomes even more protective. the parenthood book he'd been reading mentioned having a mhospital bag' for when the time comes. when your third trimester comes, he's prepping, making sure a bag is packed and everything’s ready to go when the time comes. “better t'be prepared than scramblin' last minute.”
kyle is the calmest of the bunch, which makes him your go-to when you’re feeling overwhelmed. he's always ready to lend an ear or a helping hand.
"you're not doing this alone.” he'd mumble to you while drawing soft circles on your skin. his steady reassurance keeps everyone else from spiraling into chaos, as well.
d-day...
it starts with you waking up in the middle of the night, a sharp cramp making you wince. you sit up, trying to brush it off, but another contraction hits, and it’s unmistakable: the baby is coming.
johnny is the first one you wake up. he's immediately wide-eyed and panicking. “wait, this is it? this is actually it?” he's scrambling to find his boots, yelling down the hall for the others, and tripping over his own feet in his rush.
simon appears a moment later, calm but laser-focused. “time the contractions,” he says, already grabbing the hospital bag he prepared weeks ago. he gently helps you to your feet, his hand steady on your lower back to support you.
kyle's ushering you to sit down (as simon tries to shove him off) and asking practical questions. “how far apart are they? are you feeling okay? deep breaths, love.” he's already calling ahead to the hospital to let them know you’re on your way.
john takes charge of the logistics. he's already in the car and heating it up. “let's move, lads. we're trained for chaos; this is no different.” his voice is firm, but his eyes are filled with concern as he checks on you.
the ride is chaotic, to say the least. johnny insists on sitting in the backseat with you, holding your hand and offering completely and entirely unhelpful but enthusiastic encouragement.
"you’re doin’ amazing, lass. just breathe! In and out, aye? we're almost there!”
"i'm going into labor, i didn't forget how to fucking breathe, johnny!" this is starting to feel like the worst period cramps of your life.
kyle is the one actually timing your contractions and giving johnny side-eyes every time he gets too loud. “you're not the one in labor, soap. chill.”
under any other circumstance, simon would not be allowed to drive. not even around the block. tonight though? he drives like a man on a mission. he's cutting through traffic like a getaway driver with 50k in the trunk. he barely says a word nd his jaw is clenched tight, his knuckles are white on the wheel. when you let out a particularly loud groan, he mutters, “we're almost there. hang on.”
john rides shotgun, barking out directions to simon and giving you steady updates. “you're doing great, dove. just focus on breathing. we'll be there in five.”
the team storms the hospital like it's a raid. john carries you inside while johnny frantically explains to the nurses, barely coherent in his excitement. “she's havin’ th' bairn! right now!”
when they wheel you into the delivery room, johnny is by your side, holding your hand like his life depends on it. he's grinning and panicking simultaneously. “yer incredible, love. just a bit more. ye've got this!”
simon stands beside you and smooths your hair out of your face, placing a hand on your shoulder during every contraction. he can tell you're a little scared. “one at a time. you're stronger than this.” his presence feels like a rock in the storm.
kyle makes sure you’re comfortable and liaising with the medical team. “she likes ice chips, not water,” he tells a nurse, even as he offers you his hand. “you're amazing. we're so proud of you, hun."
john is the unshakable anchor, standing at the foot of the bed, his voice steady and calm. “that's it. just like that. one more push.” he doesn’t waver for a second, even when you're literally howling in pain.
when the baby’s first cries fill the room, everything changes.
johnny lets out an actual cheer, tears streaming down his face. “we did it! we've got a bairn!” he's laughing, crying, and probably squeezing your hand too hard.
simon doesn’t say a word, all shock and awe, but when the nurse places the baby in your arms, his eyes soften in a way you’ve never seen before. He murmurs, “it's perfect,” his voice breaking slightly.
kyle cuts the cord with a shaky laugh, grinning ear-to-ear. “welcome to the world, little one.” he presses a kiss to your temple, his joy radiant.
john is last to hold the baby, cradling it in his large, steady hands. “you've done so well, love... I'm so proud of you.” his voice is thick with unshed tears and pride as he hands the baby back to you.
the night ends with a baby nestled in your arms and your family surrounding you. a chaotic, loving, perfectly imperfect family.
mlist
#♱ angel’s writing#𓄧 angel’s asks#simon ghost riley#call of duty#cod men#cod#ghost cod#kyle gaz garrick#simon riley imagine#soap cod#kyle gaz x reader#captain john price x reader#simon ghost riley smut#john soap mactavish x reader#johnny soap mactavish#john price#task force 141#poly!141#poly 141#polyamourous#poly141 x reader
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would you pretty please do "you can't fool me" with sirius? maybe he had a nightmare? please?
only because you asked so nicely<33
✶・•・✦・•・✶・✶・•・✦・•・✶
i will ARGUE for prompt 1 "you can't fool me" with sirius black
carina's 2k celebration
✶・•・✦・•・✶・✶・•・✦・•・✶
cw: implied past trauma, post-nightmare, established relationship
wc: 809
Sirius' breathing was always different after a nightmare.
He didn't hyperventilate like one might expect he would, he didn't gasp for breath like his lungs were too small. Instead, he breathed in shortly, acutely, through his teeth and not enough, as if he was rationing air. Small breaths that rattled him more than they should as he did his best to remain entirely still.
You, James and Remus gave him grief as often as possible about how unruly he would be in his sleep now, arms and legs everywhere, but you knew that was a good thing. A learnt thing. A matter of safety.
It was when Sirius reverted back to his old ways and became still as a statue that you knew he was aching. It pained you to see – and now that you've gotten used to him taking up space, it was his stillness that woke you above all else.
"Siri? Baby?"
His back was to you, on the very edge of the bed despite there being a large amount of space for him to bask in. You could see his ribs moving rhythmically, shaking but quick and with too long in between.
He didn't respond, but his shoulders tensed, informing you he had heard you. It was as if you could hear his thoughts in your own head, begging you, willing you to go back to sleep.
I’m alright, doll. Please fall asleep again.
You were not one for carrying out disservices to the man you love.
Gently as to not startle him, but loudly enough to not sneak up on him, you sat up in the bed, letting the duvet pool around your stomach. You shimmied over to him so you sat with your thigh pressed to his back and a hand resting on his stomach, looking down onto the side of his face.
Sirius’ eyes were pressed shut, skin wrinkling from the force of it. The ragged, controlled breathing continued.
“My lovely boy,” you whispered, barely a sound. Your hand dragged up and down his side in the way you knew usually helps. Just enough force to ground him.
Sirius made a sound you think was supposed to be a dismissive huff, but his vocal chords were too tense and lungs too empty for it to become more than a quiet grunt. You sunk further down beside him, propped up on your elbow as you carefully carded your fingers through his dark curls, wild and matted with sleep.
“I’m alright,” he eventually forced out, voice hoarse. His eyes were still squeezed shut, body still turned away from you – but he was leaning into the touch of your hands, the first step.
“You can’t fool me, love.”
No judgements, no harshness. You just tried to be a soft figure for him to fall into when ready.
Sirius’ lips tugged up into a small sad smile. They were still twitching somewhat, as if protesting him asserting control over his body again after fear’s coup d'État, but the smile remained.
“I know.” He leaned back into your chest, turning his head ever so slightly so he could open his eyes into tiny slits and look at your sleep-riddled face. “I still try.”
You welcomed his gaze with a much more assured, wide smile. You dared drop your chin the few centimetres to press a kiss to his forehead as you hummed in confirmation. “You can keep trying if you’d like, but I won’t go away.”
Your last words seemed to strike a chord as Sirius hand shot from being tucked beneath his body to find your own. “Please don’t,” he said, hurried while quiet. “Never. That’s not what I actually want.”
Maintaining your calm energy, you kept pressing kisses around his face. “I won’t, I promise. I won’t. I know what you want and need. I can see it on you, sweetheart. Even if you were to ask me, I wouldn’t leave.���
Sirius’ eyes were wide open now, round as ever. He blinked one more time before finally heaving a huge sigh, his lungs seemingly crying from relief. Your fingers dutifully stayed in his hair as he turned around to face you, body naturally curling up against your own.
“You’re too good to me.” He whispered in greeting, burying his face into your bare neck. “Too good.” His words were slurred by the twitching of his lips and now the closeness to his skin, but you felt them in their entirety.
It was odd how Sirius seemed to always mould perfectly against you, a harmonious presence even in his troubledness.
“Not too good,” you murmured into his hair. “Just trying to be good enough.”
Sirius pulled back a little to gaze fondly up at you. “Now who’s fooling who?”
When you kissed him with your smile, you could feel him breathing a bit more normally against you.
#carina's 2k celebration#carina celebrates: 2k followers#argue#sirius black#sirius orion black#sirius black x reader#sirius black x you#sirius black x y/n#marauders#marauders era#marauders era au#marauders era reader insert#sirius black fanfiction#sirius black fanfic#sirius black fic#sirius black drabble#sirius black fluff#sirius black hurt/comfort#sirius black reader insert#sirius black self insert#sirius black imagine#sirius black scenario#marauders x reader#marauders x you#marauders x y/n
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GOING TO SLEEP WITH A MARAUDER AND YOU'RE IN BED, HES SHIRTLESS AND READER AND HIM JUST TALK AND KISS AND ALL THAT FLUFFY STUFF THANKS LOVELY
this went a little angsty! thanks for requesting :)
cw: mentions of chronic pain, painkiller use, mentions of car crash, brief mention of post-car-crash-trauma, scars
remus lupin x f!reader, 1.5k
Remus is propped against your pillows, the room glowing with the light of the television, when you exit the bathroom. He turns the volume down when he hears the door click shut, turns his head until he’s looking at you with a tired smile. He looks so soft, buried in your nice, clean bed sheets; hair a mop of curls that’s starting to rest on his forehead the longer he avoids going to the hairdresser’s. His eyes bleed with exhaustion from a busy day.
You’d spent the morning in a cafe with Sirius, the afternoon at the park with Harry, and the evening having dinner with Hope and Lyall. It’d been nice, both in company and in weather, but the excessive walking and being on the go has taken it out of Remus. That much is obvious by the way he has a throw cushion tucked under his knee, poking out from under the blanket. He tries to throw the blanket over his leg, tries to hide the obvious admittance of pain.
You slide into bed next to him, a frown on your lips. “You’re in pain?” You ask, pulling the shoddy attempt at a cover up job back until his elevated leg is on full display.
Remus jolts with the blast of cold air, his stomach muscles flexing. The skin of his torso is on full display, the moonlight coming from the window showcasing his skin in a silvery light. There hasn’t been a day since you met Remus where you haven’t found his beauty astonishing. He is truly the most stunning person you’ve ever come across, even if he refuses to believe you when you tell him. The scar on his hip bone juts out from the band of his boxers, followed all the way up by a collection of raised scars that litter his skin like constellations.
Your fingers brush the particularly jagged scar across his rib cage as you lean in to look at Remus’ swollen knee. He huffs, clearly irritated that his plan of hiding the pain has been foiled. His knee is warm to the touch, the skin around it swollen. “I’m always in pain, dove.” Remus replies, flatly.
You hate that it’s true. Your boyfriend has good days and he most certainly has bad days, but he never has days where he’s not in some sort of pain. Remus’ illness has taken a lot from him; his childhood, at times, his social life, his freedom. You think maybe Remus thinks if he lets you know how bad it can truly be, it’ll cost him you, as well. It doesn’t seem to matter how many times you remind your boyfriend that it won’t scare you away, it never seems to stick.
“Okay, tough guy,” You scoff, finding that Remus often responds better to sarcasm and tough love than being babied or fussed over, especially when it gets bad, “fancy getting up to get me a glass of water?”
“Get it yourself, lazy girl.”
You can’t help the startled laugh that falls from your lips, eyes wide as you catch the sly grin on your boyfriend’s face. Remus laughs soon after, leans forward to press a loving kiss to the crown of your head. His own way of saying you know I’m kidding. You do know he’s kidding, so you kiss the underside of his jaw in return.
“Take some pain killers, baby. You know they’ll help, even if only enough to help you fall asleep.”
“Already have.” Remus chirps, pulls you by the shoulders until you’re resting across his chest.
Your boyfriend runs like a furnace at all times, the familiar feeling of warmth mixed with the signature scent of his shower gel has your muscles uncoiling as you relax into him. You’re cautious of putting all of your weight onto him until he shifts, further into the pillow mountain he’s created and pulls you along with him. He breathes deep at the relief he must feel from the new angle, reaches onto his bedside table for the television remote.
“Any requests?” He asks, words mumbled into your hair.
His arms are tight around you, thumbs brushing where they meet in the middle of their waist. You settle in, hook your leg over his good leg. One of his hands slips to the curve of your bum at the opportunity you’ve presented him, a gentle, nonsexual touch, but intimate nonetheless. “Not really. Just whatever you like.” You hum quietly.
He turns the volume back up a smidge on the sitcom you both like. His touch is soft and feather like, a comfort that pulls you fast stead towards sleep. The slow rise and fall of your boyfriend’s chest has your own breaths syncing up, lips turning every now and then to press kisses over his heart.
“Do you ever think about the crash?” You ask, eyes focussed on his raised knee.
Remus doesn’t startle. He might have, at the beginning of your relationship. He’d only told you in bits in pieces, back then, that he’d been in a terrible crash as a boy; the reason for his terrible joint and muscle pain.
You feel him shake his head, lips still firm against your hair. He presses a kiss there, then dips his head until he’s closer to your ear. His voice is quiet, tired, perhaps a little sad when he speaks; “Not as often, now. When I was a teenager, when I was in constant pain because I was growing all the time - yes. I thought about it every day and I thought about how unfair the world was, how unfair my life was.”
“What changed?” You ask, quietly.
He’s silent for a moment, only the sounds of his breathing and the quiet drone of the television can be heard. You can tell he’s thinking it over, a sense of unpleasant nostalgia somewhere in the way he audibly swallows and the slight twitch of his fingers against your skin. Eventually, he sighs, “A lot of things, really.”
"I changed doctors, for a start. They're much more understanding of my condition at the one down the road, much more patient and less skeptical of whether I'm faking it for the free codeine."
You laugh a little at the idea. Half the time, Remus refuses to take pain killers at all. "I like Doctor Frank, he's nice." You tell your boyfriend, who hums in agreement.
"He is," Remus agrees, "And then there was becoming an adult. Hard enough without carrying around so much anger. I was sort of forced to just let it go. Accept that this was my life and I was still capable of so much despite my illness."
You can't help but smile at that. Remus is the gentlest person you know. He's rough around the edges, a sarcastic, smart ass and a mean flirt, but he's gentle, all soft beige cardigans and old library books, gentle touches and even gentler kisses. Your boyfriend has never once dared to raise his voice at you, even in his moments of utter agony. He's kind and has a big heart and you can't imagine fifteen year old Remus, angry and hateful and mad at the world. It wouldn't have suited him.
So, you're proud of how far he's come. Even if he still deals with the trauma of the crash, the hatred he has for the scars it left him with and the pain he lives in. It's less. It's dialled down to one, maybe a two on his bad days. Your Remus looks at the world like a challenge, now. A challenge to overcome, to be the best he can be, to keep fighting. You love him so, so much, and you place a kiss to his heart as the feeling washes over you. Bright and light and floaty.
"And you, dove."
Your lips curl upward at his words, spoken so soft you're not really sure if you were supposed to hear them. Remus pulls you impossibly closer, holds you tighter as he ducks down to your ear, breath fanning across the skin and leaving goosebumps in its wake.
"If there was ever something to live for, something to not be angry about. It's you. The way you love me, your patience, your laugh, your smile. I think you were the universe's apology for that crash." Remus presses a kiss to the side of your neck when he's done and it sends a shiver through you.
There's tears in your eyes. Blinding you until your boyfriend becomes a blurred cheeky grin amidst the blue light of the television. But you're happy. So happy and so in love.
But you can't fight the urge to tell Remus, "Your consolation prize."
His startled laugh is music to your ears, a softness breaking through the storm clouds of your heavy conversation. He tuts a moment later, kisses you for the millionth time, "I prefer God given solace."
You roll your eyes. The man doesn't believe in God, but you'll take the compliment, you decide, as you curl back into him.
"Thanks for opening up. I know it's hard."
You feel his shrug, "Anything for you, dovey."
#marauders#marauders fic#remus lupin#remus lupin fic#remus lupin imagine#remus lupin x reader#remus lupin fluff#remus lupin angst#remus lupin oneshot#remus lupin request#remus lupin smut#james potter#james potter imagine#sirius black#sirius black imagine#marauders era#marauders era fic#marauders era oneshot#moony#fourmoonysasks
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id love to request a blurb with eddie and reader who has some family trauma. like parental issues 🥲 and just eddie being a sweetheart
prompt: “what’s wrong with me? why didn’t they love me? why wasn’t i good enough for them?”
ty for requesting!! — eddie comforts you after a fight with your dad (established relationship, hurt/comfort cw for mentions of childhood trauma | 1.5k)
“I think I’m broken.”
From where you’re laid on Eddie’s chest, you can feel the rumbling of his laughter against your cheek. The bubbly sound of his boyish chuckling almost makes you smile. Almost.
“I don’t know…” he lilts, smoothing his hand over your back, as though to check for any cracks or scrapes. “You seem pretty perfect to me.”
“Shut up,” you murmur and tuck your burning face into his chest — a desperate and feeble attempt to hide. Your nose smushes against his neck, and you take a deep breath in. The familiar scent of weed and woody cologne fills your lungs.
“You don’t feel broken either—” Eddie teases, just before jabbing your side with two fingers.
The fleeting tickling sensation makes you squeal as your hand jerks out to swat at him. The flailing limb finds purchase on his stomach, which trembles now with laughter.
Your body, moving on its own accord in reaction to his prodding, rises from the pillow you’d made upon his body. You move to the very edge of his mattress, knees pulled up to your chest, and sit with your back facing the lazing boy.
You wince and rub at your side, though it hadn’t hurt at all.
“I’m being serious, Eds,” you whine in protest, sparing the boy a glance over your shoulder.
“Oh, right. Serious,” he responds, still joking as he clears his throat and lowers his voice a few octaves. “Very serious.”
You manage a small smile before turning away again. You focus your gaze on your lap and fidget with a loose thread hanging from the hem of your sock. It’s easier than looking back at him — at the boy who’s made a superpower out of making you laugh. Even though he’s in bed with you now, you don’t feel nearly as happy as you know you should be.
It’s not fair. Not to either of you.
“I’m just… I’m just thinking about the fight. You know. With my dad,” you confess, voice featherlight and faraway. The sock tightens around your ankle when you pull the string taut. You wrap it around the tip of your finger until it turns a shade darker. “I’m starting to feel like maybe it’s my fault…”
Eddie grows suddenly solemn.
“Hey… That’s… No,” he stammers and rises on his elbows, trying to find the right words to comfort you. “I mean, no offense, babe, but your dad’s an asshole. You can’t blame yourself for that.”
“No, I know, it’s just… He’s a good guy to everyone but me, you know? Like, the whole town loves him— and he loves ‘em back, but just not… Just not me,” you say, laughing softly to yourself, still refusing to meeting Eddie’s chocolate gaze that swims now with concern. The tip of your finger starts to tingle with numbness. “And I’m just like… what’s wrong with me, you know? Why doesn’t he love me? What did I do that was so wrong?”
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Eddie answers for you, gentle but still stern in his way. He reaches out for you and curls his ringed fingers around the crook of your elbow — if nothing but to feel you and to keep you tethered.
You turn to look at him then, a feeble glance from the corner of your eye. His hair is wild with sex and sleep. His cheeks are flushed and rosy. His mouth is pink and softly swollen. He’s glowing and pretty and perfect. You want to keep him forever this way, like a picture in a locket or a love letter in your wallet.
“He puts up a front with the rest of the town, so no one can see what a jerk he really is, right?” Eddie tells you. “But you know the real him. And he hates that you know the real him, so he takes it out on you.”
It’s a lot more profound than anything you could’ve expected to spill from his mouth. And it hurts even more because you know he’s right.
You were raised with your father’s urge to people-please. It didn’t matter how crazy your life got, just as long as no one else had to see it. None of the bullshit mattered if people didn’t know it was there. That was your father’s philosophy, at least.
You become half daughter, half apology — blundering with the uncertainty of yourself and the wrong kind of love.
Eddie was the first person you ever let in.
You showed him all your chaos, and he loved you just the same. The catastrophe of your personality was suddenly beautiful again — interesting and lovely and warm. You were perfect because you weren’t.
It’s why you run away to Eddie’s trailer so often, and why you’re here even now. Because he lets you be human — clumsy and naive and starry-eyed — and doesn’t snatch any of it away from you. He just holds you.
His warm hand squeezes your arm in reassurance. His eyes glint with sincerity. “He’s not your dad, okay? He’s just… some guy with a kid. And why should some guy get to make the best girl in the world feel so sad?”
A smile quirks at the corner of your mouth, and trembles softly as you confess: “I’m just scared that I’m unloveable.”
The heaviness of the moment and of your admission is swept aside with the stubborn shake of Eddie’s head. He dispels the thought from his own mind with enough vigor to take it from yours, too.
He rises fully and slides towards the edge of the bed so he’s behind you. One leg curls behind your back while the other sits straight out beside your own. His warmth envelops you wholly, like warm honey or a soft blanket. The hand on your arm doesn’t move. This boy and his touch are the steadiest things you’ve ever known.
“Well, that’s just not true,” he argues, lips warm on your shoulder as he presses a kiss over your t-shirt. He rests his chin there a second later.
Your face scrunches softly in discontent. You don’t like how sure he sounds, batting off your concerns with the finesse of someone who knows more than you do.
“How would you know?”
“‘Cause I love you,” he answers like it’s obvious, chin bobbing with every word. “And so does a ton of other people. But I matter the most, so… It just can’t be true, you know? Process of elimination or whatever.”
It’s hard to see him from this angle, with his face so close to yours. You want so badly to kiss him, but you can’t look away from his chocolate button eyes and the sparkle they look at you with.
You don’t want to smile, but you can’t help it — like some kind of pouting child. The expression tugs slowly at your mouth before bursting into glittering rays of sunshine. It’s like blue skies after pouring rain, how swiftly you recover.
“There she is,” Eddie singsongs with a beaming grin of his own. He presses a kiss to your cheek, so full of intent that it smacks when he parts from you. You laugh when the edges of his curls tickle your jaw.
“You okay now?” he asks — just measuring the temperature, not boxing you into a corner.
It’s not the ‘you have to be okay’ that you’re used to.
Instead, it’s a — ‘it’s okay if you’re not okay, I’ll just kiss you a million times until you forget why you were sad.’
You nod. “Yeah, I’m okay… Thanks, Eds”
Eddie watches you go suddenly sheepish, peering at him from beneath your lashes like you’re embarrassed to have been human in front of him.
“Don’t thank me,” he scoffs. “I just love you— You shouldn’t thank me for that.”
“Right,” you answer with a soft laugh. ‘Cause you’re still getting used to that — being loved without having to give anything in return other than your own affection. Sometimes, your heart is enough.
You settle finally in his arms, full of warmth and contentment. You wrap your arms around the ones he holds you with. Eddie lets you fall heavy on his chest — warm honey, soft blanket.
“I love you, too, by the way,” you hum after a moment of velvet silence.
Eddie presses his lips to the crown of your head and smiles. “I know.”
“Kinda makes me feel like a little carton of strawberries.”
He laughs into your hair. “What does that even mean?”
“I don’t know,” you lilt, giggling right along with him. “That’s just what it feels like… I love you so much, it’s like… Like I’m holding the sun on both sides or something.”
“Whoa. That’s a lot,” he muses, only partially playful. “Still not as much as I love you, though.”
And, for now, you don’t argue.
There isn’t a reason to, really.
You love each other, and that’s enough.
Nothing can beat the feeling of finally being understood, of being held in the right hands. Nor is anything as liberating as the pursuit of wholeness instead of perfection.
And in Eddie’s arms, you’re whole.
#published by bug#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x y/n#eddie munson x you#stranger things x reader#eddie munson imagine#stranger things#stranger things imagine#stranger things fic#stranger things fanfiction#stranger things#eddie munson fanfiction#eddie munson fics#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson fic#st drabbles#eddie spaghetti drabble
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You left me behind, and now I see you everywhere | [A.H]
Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x BAU!fem!Reader | WC: 11.6k | CW: MDNI, 18+, emotional distress, heartbreak, angst, unresolved feelings, grief, heated argument, anger, smut, piv, wrap it before you tap it, it's office sex, heated kiss, dirty talk, kind of rough sex, general case talk, mention of mr. Scratch (if that's even a warning, maybe some of y'all have trauma ;))
Summary: After years apart, following Hotch’s departure into witness protection and his decision to run for Congress, you're forced to confront unresolved feelings when you meet again. Tension builds as you navigate your emotional fallout, leading to a passionate confrontation and a second chance at love.
A/N: Worldwide by Big time rush started playing from my playlist as I reached the last scene to edit…. I had to stop myself from crying cause that song fits so well for some reason.
Peter Lewis was dead. Mr. Scratch was finally gone. With him out of the picture, Aaron could come back. That had been your one glimmer of hope through all the sleepless nights and endless waiting — knowing that once Lewis was no longer a threat, the man you loved would return. No more running, no more hiding. Hotch and Jack would finally be safe.
You clung to that thought like a lifeline, repeating it to yourself over and over again: He can come back now. He’ll come back to me. He'll come home.
The rumors had reached your ears days before Rossi called the meeting. Hotch was out of witness protection. Finally free to do what he wanted, to reach out again. Your heart soared at the news, desperate for it to be true. You had tried to keep your emotions in check, to remind yourself that things weren’t that simple, that there were procedures he had to go through before he could come home. But still, the idea of him walking through those doors — or knocking on your door — returning to his place at the BAU, and — most importantly — returning to you, was the only thing that kept you from breaking completely during his absence. It was the only reason why you had been able to keep your composure.
Now, as you stood in the conference room, your arms wrapped tightly around your torso, you tried to calm the rapid beating of your heart. The relief of knowing Peter Lewis was gone should have been enough. It should have been enough.
They'll be safe.
Rossi took his place at the front, his demeanor was serious, a subtle weight to his usually warm expression that you'd come to love over the years. You could see the effort it took for him to meet your eyes, his gaze softening as though he knew the words that would follow would shatter you. Rossi had become a rock to you over the past year, always there to have a heartfelt chat about your feelings, how you were doing, and the progress you'd made trying to move on. But in reality, you hadn't.
“I’ve spoken to Aaron,” Rossi said, his voice calm but laced with gravity. “He and Jack are safe. They’ve left witness protection.”
You exhaled sharply, a mix of relief and joy rushing through you. He’s safe. After everything, he was safe. That meant he would come back. He had to.
But then Rossi continued, his eyes flicking over the team, hesitant in a way that made your stomach twist. “Hotch won't be returning to the BAU.”
The world around you froze. His words echoed in your ears, but your mind rejected them, refusing to accept the truth they carried. He’s not coming back? It didn’t make sense. You couldn’t make sense of it.
"What do you mean he’s not coming back?"
The tears welled up before you could stop them. Your throat tightened, and you felt your heart shatter inside your chest. He wasn’t coming back. The man you loved — the man you had held onto, even when he left you behind — was choosing not to return, was choosing to stay away. The hope you had so carefully nurtured and held onto was ripped away in an instant, replaced by a cold, gnawing sense of abandonment. You felt the pit in your stomach, and you couldn't tell if you were going to throw up at the revelation.
It felt like someone had stabbed you with a knife.
Tears blurred your vision as you stared blankly ahead, your body betraying you as the sobs threatened to spill out. You blinked rapidly, trying to push them back, trying to ground yourself, but it was no use. How could he?
You had waited. You had been patient. You had loved him through all of it — through the secrecy in the beginning, through the ups and the downs, and now through the distance. You had held onto the belief that once the threat was over, he would come back to you. That you two could be whole again. That your soul finally would be reunited with its missing piece. But now, it seemed like everything you had hoped for, everything you had believed in, was gone.
Your hands shook as you tried to wipe the tears from your face, but they just kept coming. He’s not coming back. The realization pierced through your chest, sharp and unforgiving. It was like reliving the moment he left, only this time, there was no promise of a future. No promise of us.
You felt like a fool. You had been his, entirely, even when he hadn’t been yours. You had given him everything — your love, your trust, your loyalty. And now? Now he had left you with nothing but the weight of that betrayal.
Your legs felt unsteady beneath you, but you couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. The room around you faded into the background as your world crumbled at Rossi’s words.
Aaron Hotchner wasn’t coming back. Not to the team. Not to you.
The silence in the room after Rossi’s announcement was deafening. You stood there, tears streaming down your face, completely oblivious to the concerned glances being exchanged around you. The tension in your chest was unbearable, and it felt like the air had been sucked out of the room.
Emily was the first to notice, her brow furrowing as she took a step toward you. “Hey,” she said softly, her voice full of concern as she tilted her head with compassion. “Are you okay?”
You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. The words were stuck in your throat, buried under the crushing weight of your emotions. You shook your head, your lips trembling as you tried — and failed — to stop the tears. Truth be told, they weren't surprised by your reaction.
“Hey, come here,” JJ said gently, moving closer, her hand hovering just above your shoulder, wanting to pull you in for a hug. Her touch was warm and comforting, but it felt like too much. The kindness, the sympathy — it overwhelmed you, only reminded you of how deeply you’d been hurt.
You pulled away, a sudden, jerky movement that made JJ’s hand drop back to her side. The rejection was unintentional, but you couldn’t help it. Your skin felt like it was on fire, and all you wanted was to be left alone, to scream and cry.
“I’m fine,” you managed to choke out, though the crack in your voice betrayed you. You turned away from them, wiping furiously at your face, even though the tears wouldn’t stop.
I can’t break down here. Not in front of them.
Morgan stepped forward, his expression softening as he watched you struggle. “You don’t have to pretend, you know. We know how much he meant to you. We’re here for you,” he said, his voice low, it was sincere, but you weren't ready for that, weren't ready to admit that this was your new reality.
But that was the problem. They were all there, and you were unraveling in front of them, exposed and vulnerable. You didn’t want their comfort. You didn’t want their pity. What you wanted was Aaron. You wanted answers. You wanted an explanation for why he had chosen to leave you behind, why he wasn’t coming back. For why he never called.
Your heart twisted painfully at the thought. You clenched your fists at your sides, feeling the weight of their eyes on you, all of them waiting, ready to offer support. But it wasn’t enough. It will never be enough.
They weren't him.
You shook your head again, more forcefully this time. “I just—” Your voice cracked, the rest of the sentence dying on your tongue. “I need to go.”
Rossi, who had been quietly watching the exchange from across the room, stepped forward. His eyes were filled with understanding, but there was nothing he could say that would make this easier, there was nothing he could do that wouldn't make you hate him. “Take the day if you need to,” he said softly, his voice carrying a warmth that usually offered comfort, though it barely registered through the numbness settling into your bones.
You didn’t say anything. You couldn’t. You nodded stiffly, walking into the bullpen to grab your things. Your hands shook, desperate to escape before you completely fell apart in front of everyone.
“Hey,” Emily called out, stepping out of the conference room, but you didn’t turn around. You couldn’t face them — not now, maybe not ever. You pushed through the door, your footsteps echoing loudly in the hallway as you fled the room, the concerned voices of your teammates fading behind you.
Your heart raced as you moved down the familiar corridors, each step feeling heavier than the last. The walls closed in, the pressure mounting in your chest until it became unbearable. By the time you reached the front doors, you could barely see through the tears, your vision blurred, your breath coming in short, shallow bursts.
Outside, the cool air hit your face, but it did little to soothe the ache in your chest. Grey clouds loomed over your head, threatening to spill the same tears that you so desperately tried to hold back.
You stopped as you reached the end of the parking lot, finally letting the sobs you had been holding back tear through you, the grief, the betrayal, all of it crashing over you in waves.
He’s not coming back.
The words repeated in your mind, over and over again, each time cutting deeper than the last.
You had never felt so abandoned, so completely lost. And the worst part was, you had no idea what to do next, no idea who to turn to. Because the only person you truly wanted to turn to was gone from your life.
The walk back to your apartment felt like a blur, the city passing by in a haze of noise and light. You barely registered the world around you — your mind was somewhere else entirely, trapped in the ache of Rossi’s words and the sharp sting of Hotch’s decision. He wasn’t coming back. The words haunted you.
That thought pulsed through your veins, making each step feel heavier than the last. By the time you reached your door, your hands were still trembling as you fumbled with the lock, desperate to get inside and just breathe.
But the second you stepped into your apartment, something felt off.
You paused just inside the doorway, your body instinctively tensing as a strange feeling washed over you. The air felt… different. Still. You took a cautious step forward, your eyes scanning the familiar space, searching for something — anything — that looked out of the ordinary, that might explain the knot forming in your stomach.
Then you saw it.
Sitting neatly on the dining table, in plain view, were your spare keys. Next to them was an envelope with your name on it, scrawled in a handwriting only a left-handed person could've written. You recognized it immediately.
Aaron’s.
Your breath hitched, and for a moment, you just stood there, frozen in time. Fear and confusion mixed with a sick sense of dread as you stared at the letter, the weight of it pressing down on your chest. How did he get in?
And how had he gotten out? The door had after all been locked.
Your heart pounded from your heart to your ears as you walked toward the table, the floor feeling unsteady beneath your feet. You hesitated for a long moment before picking up the envelope, the paper felt cold and rough between your fingers. The sight of his handwriting was almost too much to bear.
He had been here.
With shaking hands, you slid your finger through the envelope, carefully opening it and removing the letter as if it was the most delicate thing you had ever seen. Your eyes scanned the words, every stroke of the pen, every curve and twist was a painful reminder of the man who had once been yours.
The letter read:
𝙸’𝚖 𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚢.
𝙸 𝚍𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎𝚐𝚒𝚗. 𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚜𝚗’𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜. 𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚜𝚗'𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚊𝚢 𝚐𝚘𝚘𝚍𝚋𝚢𝚎. 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚎 𝚜𝚘 𝚖𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝚊 𝚕𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙸 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚐𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍. 𝙱𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝙸 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚝𝚘 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝙸 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍𝚗’𝚝 𝚋𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝙸 𝚝𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚜𝚗’𝚝 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔.
𝙸 𝚘𝚠𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚙𝚘𝚕𝚘𝚐𝚢. 𝙵𝚘𝚛 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊𝚋𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚘𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚊 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍. 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚒𝚝. 𝙴𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝙸’𝚖 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙱𝙰𝚄. 𝙽𝚘𝚝 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝙸 𝚍𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚖. 𝙱𝚞𝚝 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚘 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝’𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝙹𝚊𝚌𝚔. 𝙷𝚎’𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎 — 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔 — 𝚒𝚝’𝚜 𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚍𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚑𝚒𝚖. 𝙸 𝚌𝚊𝚗’𝚝 𝚙𝚞𝚝 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚒𝚝 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗. 𝙸 𝚌𝚊𝚗’𝚝 𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚔 𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝙸 𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝙷𝚊𝚕𝚎𝚢. 𝙴𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚒𝚏 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚒𝚜𝚗'𝚝 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚊𝚜 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚏𝚞𝚕.
𝙸 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚑𝚞𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙸 𝚠𝚒𝚜𝚑 𝙸 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚢. 𝙱𝚞𝚝 𝙸 𝚌𝚊𝚗’𝚝. 𝚆𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝙸 𝚍𝚒𝚍 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏𝚒𝚜𝚑. 𝙸 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚘𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚛, 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚑𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚢𝚘𝚞. 𝙱𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚝𝚑 𝚒𝚜, 𝙸 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍𝚗’𝚝 𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞. 𝙸 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍𝚗’𝚝 𝚏𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚒𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚎𝚢𝚎𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚌𝚑𝚘𝚘𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝙹𝚊𝚌𝚔’𝚜 𝚜𝚊𝚏𝚎𝚝𝚢 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐. 𝙾𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞. 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝙸'𝚖 𝚊 𝚌𝚘𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚍, 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝙸 𝚊𝚖.
𝚈𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚐𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚘𝚔𝚊𝚢. 𝙸 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚒𝚝 𝚍𝚘𝚎𝚜𝚗’𝚝 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚒𝚝 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚗𝚘𝚠, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚗𝚐. 𝚂𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝙸 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚊𝚜. 𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝙸 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚕𝚕 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚘𝚗𝚎 — 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚑𝚢 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎, 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝙸 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚊𝚜. 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝙸 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚐𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞. 𝙼𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝙸 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚎.
𝙸’𝚕𝚕 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞. 𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚜𝚗’𝚝 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚍. 𝙱𝚞𝚝 𝚢𝚘���� 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚕𝚎𝚝 𝚖𝚎 𝚐𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚠. 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚘𝚗. 𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝙸 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕, 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚜𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚋𝚎𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚒𝚏𝚞𝚕 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚢 𝚊𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚎. 𝙿𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚕𝚎𝚝 𝚙𝚎𝚘𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝚒𝚗.
𝙸 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊𝚜 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚜 𝚖𝚢 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐.
— 𝙰𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚗
The letter slipped from your hands, fluttering to the floor as your legs gave out beneath you. The sobs came violently, tearing through you as you collapsed onto the floor of your living room.
This was it. This was the moment where everything you had been holding inside — every ounce of grief, every bit of hope that had clung to your heart over the past year — finally broke free. The pain you had shoved down for so long, the hurt you had tried so hard to hide, came rushing out all at once, too powerful to contain.
You pressed your hands to your face, the tears spilling uncontrollably as your chest heaved with sobs. He had been here. He had come back to your space, to your life, only to leave you with words that felt like daggers in your heart.
He could've waited for you to come home.
He had made his choice. He was leaving you behind. And he had done it with the same precision he used for everything — careful, calculated and always thinking ahead. You couldn’t fault him for wanting to protect Jack. You would've done the same if you had been in his shoes. But you could hate the way he had left you, hate him for making you feel discarded, like something in his life that could be put away, neatly, and forgotten about without a second thought.
You curled into yourself on the floor, hugging your legs, your body trembling as wave after wave of sorrow washed over you. This wasn’t just about him leaving the BAU. This was about him leaving you. About him cutting you out of his life completely, like you had never mattered at all.
The sobs racked through you, they were raw and unrelenting, as you lay there on the cold floor of your apartment, clutching at the emptiness inside you. You had been holding onto him for so long, for too long, and now he was gone — really gone. And you were left with nothing more than the bitter taste in your mouth and the sound of your own shattered heart echoing in the silence.
Six years had passed since Hotch had walked out of your life.
In that time, you had grown, changed — hardened, perhaps. You’d thrown yourself into your work, climbing the ranks within the BAU. The weight of your experience now rested comfortably on your shoulders. You were no longer the agent who had cried in Rossi’s office all those late nights, the agent who had stood frozen in the conference room all those years ago, devastated by the news of Hotch’s permanent departure.
Now, you were Emily's right hand, trusted to run the team when needed, especially when bureaucracy. Rossi had decided to stop back a bit, taking on fewer cases and focusing more on his writing as he attempted weaning himself away from the team, hoping that this time he truly would be able to retire.
Leading the team had come naturally to you, though some days, when the office was quiet and your mind wandered, you still felt the ache of his absence.
You sighed softly, rubbing the back of your neck as you closed your office door behind you. It was time for the next briefing, and you’d promised Emily you’d call everyone in. The case was urgent — a missing child, time was not on your side — but as you walked toward the conference room, your attention was pulled to the large TV mounted on the wall in the bullpen.
A voice you hadn’t heard in years rang out through the room, smooth and familiar, the same low timbre that had once soothed your heart. The voice that still echoed in your dreams on nights when sleep was particularly elusive.
Aaron.
You stopped in your tracks, eyes snapping to the television screen, your heart thudding loudly in your chest as his face filled the screen. You couldn't tell if it was anxiety or love perhaps, that raced through your veins, the only thing you knew was that you were feeling something. Something you hadn't felt in years.
There he was, standing at a podium, flanked by the American flag, a calm and authoritative presence as he spoke to a crowd. The caption running along the bottom read: Former FBI unit chief Aaron Hotchner Announces Candidacy for a spot in Congress.
Your breath hitched. He looked older. The lines on his face were more defined, his hair tinged with a little more gray, his face was shaven, somethings never change you thought — though you could sense the salt and pepper streaks that had started appearing within it. The years had marked him, but there was still an undeniable strength in his presence. A steady, unshakable resolve that had always been a part of who he was.
And yet, even now, after all this time, he still looked as good as the day you last saw him. Perhaps even more so, with that air of confidence that seemed to come so naturally to him. The sharpness in his gaze, the way he commanded a room — it was all still there, just as you remembered — even through a TV screen.
You couldn’t tear your eyes away.
“…It is with great honor that I announce my candidacy for Congress,” Hotch’s voice continued, steady and firm. “My years of service in the FBI have prepared me to take on the challenges we face as a nation, and I believe it’s time to bring the values of justice and integrity to the forefront of our government. I believe it's time for a change.”
The camera zoomed in on his face, his expression was stoic yet passionate, every word calculated and purposeful. The sight of him brought back a rush of memories — late nights in the office, quiet moments where you’d lean on each other after a case, the warmth of his smile when it was just the two of you, away from the chaos, the comfort of his hugs, the soft and tender feeling of his lips — everything came back.
But those memories were ghosts now. Echoes of a time you had buried deep, right along with the pain of losing him.
A lump formed in your throat as you stood there, rooted in place, watching a man who had once been everything to you stand on that stage, now completely out of reach — yet so close by. He wasn’t the same man you knew all those years ago, you were sure of that. He wasn’t your Hotch anymore. He was something else entirely — a public figure, a leader stepping into the political arena, ready to take on a whole new world — perhaps he never really was yours to begin with.
Your fingers tightened around the folder in your hands, your knuckles turning white with sheer force, the weight of it grounding you as you forced yourself to breathe. You didn’t know what to feel. Shock, maybe. Sadness. Perhaps even a bit of pride, seeing him like this, doing something for the greater good. But mostly, there was a gnawing ache deep in your chest, a familiar one, reminding you of what could have been.
You blinked rapidly, tearing your gaze away from the screen as the room started to blur around you. Your heart was racing, but you couldn’t let yourself fall apart. Not here. Not now.
“Everything okay?” Luke asked, walking past you, his eyes flicking to the TV screen before landing back on you, concern etched on his face. He didn't know much about your relationship with Hotch, only the rumors that had flown between the desks in the bullpen as you'd drowned yourself in work trying to suffocate the pain.
You nodded quickly, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Yeah,” you lied, your voice tight. “I’ll be right there. Just… finishing something up.”
Luke gave you a nod, but his eyes lingered on you for a moment longer before he headed toward the conference room, leaving you standing there, feeling like the air had been sucked out of the space around you.
You turned back to the screen, just in time to catch the last shot of Hotch stepping down from the podium, the applause from the crowd ringing out as the camera panned away.
For a brief moment, you wondered if he had ever thought about you during these last six years. If he had thought of calling you. If, somewhere in that busy mind of his, you had crossed his thoughts as he prepared to step into this new chapter of his life.
But it didn’t matter now. He had made his choice, and so had you.
Taking a deep breath, you straightened your shoulders and turned away from the screen, pushing down the flood of emotions threatening to overwhelm you. There was a case to solve. There always was. And that was the only thing that mattered now.
“Alright, team,” you called out, walking towards the conference room, your voice steady once again. “Let’s get to work.”
You walked into the conference room, trying to shake off the lingering effects of seeing Hotch on the TV. The rest of the team was already seated as you made it inside, files in hand, waiting for you to start the briefing. Emily glanced at you, her eyes narrowing slightly, sensing something was off, but she didn’t press. She trusted you to compartmentalize when it mattered.
You inhaled deeply and projected the case details on the large screen at the front of the room. The image of a young boy's smiling face filled the space, the innocence in his eyes starkly contrasted by the grim reality of his disappearance and the details listed in the case files of similar incidents in the area.
“Alright, everyone,” you began, keeping your voice steady. “Our missing person is Ethan Marshall, age 7. He was last seen outside of his school two days ago in a quiet suburb of Portland, Oregon. His parents reported him missing when he didn’t come home after his play date that same day with his best friend from class. There’s been no contact from a potential abductor. No ransom demands. The local authorities are stuck, and they’ve requested our help.”
JJ immediately sat forward, flipping through the case file. “Two days with no leads and no communication? We’re looking at someone who doesn’t need the attention. This could be personal, or we’re dealing with someone who’s done this before and knows what they're doing.”
Tara nodded thoughtfully, her gaze still fixed on Ethan’s photo. “The fact that there’s been no contact suggests they’re not after money. This might be about control, power, or even something darker, like revenge or even fantasy or sexually-driven motives.” You closed your eyes for a brief moment at the thought of what the unsub might put the young boy through. You had to find him, quickly.
You clicked through to the next slide — images of Ethan’s parents, Tim and Julia Marshall. “Ethan’s parents are a stable middle-class family with no criminal records. His mother works as a nurse, and his father is a local contractor. No major incidents or enemies we or they know of. However, Tim Marshall's company was sued about a year ago over a construction job that went south. It’s possible there could be a grudge tied to that.”
Luke leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “But to target a child? It’s a big escalation. If this is about the father’s job, we’d need to look into that lawsuit, but we also need to consider the possibility that the kid was the primary target from the start.”
Emily chimed in, her eyes sharp with focus. “Agreed. We should explore all angles — someone with a grudge against the family, a potential predator, or maybe even someone close to the family. It’s often someone they know.”
Spencer, who had been quietly flipping through his notes, spoke up. “The average age for a child abductor is in their mid-thirties to mid-forties, typically male, though that’s not always the case. Most of them have a history of deviant behavior or crimes against minors. If this is someone who’s taken Ethan to satisfy a fantasy, we might be looking at someone who has done this several times before and is getting better at hiding their tracks.”
Your gaze swept over the team, the weight of the case settling in the room. “We’ve got a few potential leads we need to investigate. JJ, I want you to work on the media angle — see if you can coordinate with local news to get a controlled message out, prepare the Marshalls for a conference. Luke, you and Tara will dig deeper into Tim Marshall’s lawsuit. See if there’s anything there we can work with. Spencer, I want you to start profiling any possible suspects within a fifty-mile radius who fit the age and behavioral profile of past offenders.”
The team nodded, already mentally gearing up for the work ahead. You could see the gears turning in their minds as they absorbed the information and pieced together possible profiles of the unsub.
Finally, you cleared your throat, pushing away the personal turmoil still brewing inside you. “Alright, everyone, we’ve got a missing boy out there, and time is against us. We’ll get more information as we land.”
You snapped the case file shut and looked up at your team, your voice firm. “Wheels up in 30.”
The team dispersed quickly, heading off to gather their gear and finalize last-minute preparations. You lingered behind for a moment, watching the case photos flicker on the screen. Your heart was still heavy from earlier, but you had a job to do. No distractions. No room for the past.
Focus, keep moving, you told yourself, even though the image of Hotch’s face still lingered in the back of your mind, you couldn't afford to spare him another thought.
The case had been wrapped up with surprising speed, and the flight back to Quantico was a welcome relief. You settled into your seat, the hum of the plane a calming reminder of the good you and the team had done today. You felt the exhaustion seep into your bones as the plane roared into the sky. The hum of the engines and the rhythmic sound of the wings provided a backdrop, but you couldn't shake the tumult of emotions swirling within you.
As you glanced around the cabin, you noticed that everyone else was fast asleep, the exhaustion from the long days evident on their faces. Emily’s head rested against JJ’s shoulder, and Spencer was curled up in his seat with a book laid open in his lap, the pages fluttering slightly with the plane’s movement. Luke, too, was snoring softly on the couch, a slight smile on his lips as he pulled the blanket tighter around him. They all looked so peaceful.
But your mind was far from peaceful.
You leaned back in your seat, your thoughts racing back to Hotch’s announcement. You had tried to compartmentalize your feelings during the case, focusing solely on finding Ethan. But now, with the rush of adrenaline faded and the quiet of the plane surrounding you, the weight of it all crashed back in.
“Hey,” came a familiar voice, pulling you from your thoughts. Rossi had moved to sit across from you, concern etched into his features. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. What’s going on?”
Before you could filter your thoughts, the words slipped out. “Did you know?”
His eyebrows shot up in surprise, but he knew exactly what you were referring to. “Yes, he called me last week to let me know.”
Your heart raced at the revelation. “He called you? Why didn’t you tell me?” Your words came out as a hushed hiss. Rossi knew you hadn't meant it like that, but your frustration of how everything had panned out had never really gone away. He understood why you were feeling like you did.
Rossi leaned back in his seat, a gentle smile playing on his lips as he took in your features. “I didn’t want to upset you more than you already were. I thought you’d hear about it when he officially announced it. I thought maybe he'd even reach out himself” Rossi knew Hotch wouldn't reach out to you, even if his life depended on it. He was a proud man, and even if he had been willing to admit his wrongs, he was too scared to face you and realize just how big of a mistake this truly had been.
You ran a hand through your hair, frustration bubbling to the surface. “But why, Rossi? Why would he do this? He had a life with us — his life in the BAU, with Jack, with me. And now he’s just… gone.”
“I know it’s hard to understand,” he replied softly. “But running for Congress might be a way for him to contribute on a larger scale. He wants to help people, to make a difference, just like he did with us. This was a chance for him to step into a role where he could have an even bigger impact than what he had in the bureau. Who knows, maybe we'll see him around someday.”
You shook your head, the tears threatening to spill again. “But he didn’t even talk to me about it. It’s like he just vanished. I thought we had something, and then he just left. I felt so abandoned.”
Rossi’s expression turned serious. “You know how Hotch is. He’s always been someone who puts others before himself, even at the cost of his own happiness. I think he truly believes this is what’s best for Jack and for himself. It doesn’t mean he didn’t care about you. In fact, I know he cared deeply about you. It just means he’s trying to figure things out in his own way.”
“But what about me?” You whispered, your voice trembling. “I was left behind, and now I’m still here, trying to navigate everything without him.”
Rossi said your name, leaning forward, his eyes softening. It wasn't as much a reprimand, as it was him trying to stop your spiraling thoughts. You both knew it did you no good. Especially not if the rumors were true and Emily was in line for the open position of Section Chief. Both of you knew what that would mean for you. “He made a choice, yes, but it doesn’t erase what you two had. If anything, it highlights how much he valued that relationship. He wouldn’t have just walked away without thinking it through, even if it seems that way.”
You took a deep breath, trying to find your footing amidst the emotional turmoil. “I just don’t know how to deal with all of this. It feels so final, so absolute. I thought I was ready to move on, but seeing him on TV...”
Rossi reached across the table, his hand resting gently on yours. “You don’t have to have it all figured out right now. It’s okay to feel hurt. It’s okay to be confused. But remember, you’re still part of this team, and we’re here for you, no matter what. You’re not alone in this. You never will be.”
You nodded slowly, his words providing a small sense of comfort amidst the chaos in your heart. “Thanks, Rossi. I appreciate it. I just wish things were different.”
He gave you an understanding smile. “So do I. But whatever happens next, we’ll face it together. And if you need to talk about Hotch, I’m here to listen. Just know that he still cares, even if it doesn’t seem like it right now.” You knew he was right.
As you both fell into a comfortable silence, you felt a little weight lift from your chest. Maybe you didn’t have all the answers yet, but you had the support of your team. And that was a start.
Weeks drifted by like the clouds hanging in the sky, each day seemingly blending into the next. Hotch’s face became a fixture on the television, the cadence of his voice echoing in your mind like a haunting refrain. News reports came almost daily, showcasing him speaking passionately about his vision for change, the values he held dear, and the policies he aimed to implement if elected. The topics ranged from community safety to education reform, and while many praised his ideals, you found yourself seething each time his image flickered across the screen.
He still hadn't contacted you yet.
At first, you tried to engage with the reports, focusing on the substance of his speeches, realizing that despite everything he's policies aligned with your values too, but as each new broadcast emerged, anger simmered beneath the surface. It was infuriating to watch the man you loved stand there, poised and confident — visiting schools, nursery homes, community centers, and everything in between — while you were left with nothing but fragments of the life you had once envisioned together. He seemed so distant, a stranger now, embodying everything you once admired but now felt betrayed by.
Each time you heard his voice, the way he articulated his beliefs with the conviction that had once made your heart race, you locked yourself in your office for the remainder of the day, drowning out the world with your frustration and sorrow. Your colleagues exchanged worried glances as you retreated, but you couldn’t bring yourself to explain. They didn’t know the depth of your pain, the feeling of abandonment that clawed at your insides. And you weren't ready for them to know.
On one particularly long evening, the office was silent, the usual buzz of activity having died down as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting shadows across your workspace. You sat alone at your desk, the glow of your computer screen the only light illuminating the room. Your heart felt heavy, the emotional burden weighing on you like a thick blanket.
As the clock ticked away, you absentmindedly pulled out your phone and scrolled through your photos. You found it — the last picture you had taken with Hotch and Jack. You hadn't meant to look for it, but something within you had drawn your mind to that particular folder with pictures you never quite had the strength to transfer out of your phone. In the picture, the three of you stood in the park, sunlight filtering through the trees, laughter frozen in time. Hotch’s arm was around you, a protective and loving gesture, while Jack beamed in front of you, holding his soccer ball in his hands, all youthful energy and innocence.
You stared at the image, the way Hotch’s eyes crinkled at the edges with genuine joy, contrasting sharply with the turmoil roiling in your chest. A single tear slid down your cheek, carving a path through the haze of anger and hurt.
“Jack,” you whispered to yourself, your voice barely audible in the stillness of the office. He must be close to 18 now. The thought struck you like a lightning bolt. Time had slipped by so swiftly, and you couldn’t help but wonder what kind of young man he had become. Had Hotch been there for him? Had he taken the time to show his son what love was? Did they share the same laughter you once did, or had the weight of their decisions overshadowed those moments?
You closed your eyes, allowing your mind to drift back to memories of Jack — the way his laughter filled the room, his playful spirit that lit up the darkest days. The action figures scattered all over your apartment. You remembered the way he would come running into your arms when you stayed over for the weekend, his small frame clinging to you like you were the safest place in the world. You had cherished those moments, and now they felt like distant echoes, fading into the background of your life.
The thought of him growing up without you, of Hotch and Jack creating a new life that you weren’t a part of, twisted in your gut. The anger that had bubbled beneath the surface surged forth again, but this time, it mingled with an overwhelming sense of grief and longing. You felt like a ghost haunting the edges of their lives, watching from afar as they moved on, while you were trapped in a limbo of unresolved feelings.
Taking a deep breath, you swiped the tear from your cheek and opened your eyes. You couldn’t stay like this. You couldn’t let him keep affecting you from a distance, even if it meant facing the truth of your feelings. You needed to regain control, to reclaim your narrative, whatever that might look like.
As you set the phone down, determination coursed through you. You would find a way to confront the anger and pain, to redefine your path without him. But the journey would be a challenge — one you weren’t entirely ready to take, yet knew you had to face.
With a heavy sigh, you stood, ready to leave the remnants of that day behind. You took one last look at the photo on your phone, whispering softly, “I hope you’re happy, Hotch. I really do.”
And with that, you stepped out of the office, leaving for the night, leaving the memories behind, but carrying them with you as you prepared for whatever came next.
A couple of days passed since that late night in your office, the echo of memories lingering like a haunting refrain. You had spent the time focusing on work, throwing yourself into cases, and helping your team. It was a temporary distraction, but every time you caught sight of a news segment featuring Hotch, you felt that familiar ache in your chest. Each broadcast, showcasing his polished demeanor and political aspirations, only stoked the embers of frustration and longing buried deep within you.
Then, one afternoon, as you sat at your desk, your phone buzzed with an incoming message from an unknown number. Your heart raced with curiosity and a hint of apprehension as you opened the text:
“Hey! It’s Jack..... I don't know if you remember me. I know this is a bit out of the blue, but I’d love to see you. We're back in Virginia again. I miss you and wanted to ask if you’d meet with me. Sorry if this is weird, but I hope you’re okay.”
Your breath caught in your throat. It was Jack. After all these years, he was reaching out. The memories of his laughter and bright smile flooded back, bringing with them a rush of warmth and bittersweet nostalgia. Without a second thought, you quickly typed out your response.
“Hi, Jack! It’s great to hear from you. I’d love to meet. How about we catch up at the café near the Academy?”
You hit send and felt a wave of nervous excitement wash over you, followed closely by a rush of trepidation. What would he look like? Would he be the same boy you remembered, or had he transformed into someone else entirely different? The thought churned in your stomach as you anxiously awaited his reply.
The day of the meeting arrived, and as you approached the café, your heart raced with anticipation. The small establishment was bustling with life, the aroma of fresh coffee wafting through the air, mingling with the sweet scent of pastries. You stepped inside, scanning the room until your eyes landed on him.
Jack sat at a table in the corner, his back to you, and you felt a jolt of recognition. He had grown into a young man, tall and confident, with his hair still matching Haley's, his eyes brighter than ever. But it was the way he carried himself that struck you most — he exuded a maturity that seemed to echo Hotch’s stoic demeanor, yet there was a warmth about him that was uniquely his own. Jack was much more like his mother than he would ever realize.
As he turned to look at you, a broad smile broke across his face, and your heart swelled at the sight. He stood, and for a moment, it felt like time had collapsed, erasing the years that had separated you. You rushed forward, wrapping your arms around him, and he embraced you tightly, a mix of nostalgia and warmth flooding over you both.
“Jack,” you whispered, stepping back to get a better look at him. “You’ve grown up so much.”
“Yeah, well, I guess that’s what happens when you turn eighteen,” he replied, a hint of playful sarcasm in his voice, but the joy in his eyes was unmistakable. You were surprised by how deep his voice had gotten, still recalling the sweet sounds of the 11-year-old boy who had gone into witness protection.
You both settled into your seats, and the initial rush of excitement settled into a comfortable rhythm as you sipped your coffees. “How have you been?” you asked, genuine curiosity etched in your voice.
Jack hesitated, his expression growing serious. “It’s been tough since… since everything that happened. After we left witness protection, it was just Dad and me. We moved a lot at first but eventually settled down in Chicago. Dad tried his best, but it wasn’t easy.”
You nodded, your heart aching for him. “I can only imagine. How is he doing?”
Jack shrugged, glancing down at his cup. “He’s okay, I guess." He mumbled. "He doesn’t talk about you much, I don't think he can bring himself to let the memories resurface. But I can tell he misses you a lot. He still has all the pictures of us together. Sometimes, I catch him looking at them when he thinks I’m not paying attention.” His voice was thick with emotion, and you felt your heartache further.
Had Hotch been as miserable as you?
“I missed you both too,” you admitted, your voice softening. “But I don't know if I can bring myself to keep holding on to the past. Not as long as Hotch hasn’t reached out to me, I’m probably not going to contact him. At least not for my own well-being.” You sighed, knowing it was the right decision, but still beating yourself up for listening to your sensibility.
Jack’s gaze met yours, a flicker of understanding in his eyes. “I get it. I just wanted to see you after all this time. You were like a mother to me after Mom…” His voice trailed off, and the pain in his eyes mirrored your own. You wondered if Hotch had ever talked about Haley, talked about what had happened to his mother, if Jack had ever gotten any answers?
You reached out, placing your hand over his. “I’m so sorry, Jack. I wish I could have been there for you both. I loved you both so much.”
“I know,” he said, squeezing your hand. “And that’s why I wanted to meet. I just—” he paused, searching for the right words. “I needed to know if you were okay. It’s been a long time, and you were always there for me.”
Tears pricked at your eyes, a mixture of sorrow and relief washing over you. “I’ve missed you more than I can say. You were such a bright light in my life, Jack. It’s been hard without you both.”
The conversation flowed naturally, filled with shared memories and the weight of unspoken emotions. You listened as Jack talked about his life since Hotch had stepped into the world of politics — his own struggles, school, feeling like his friends didn't know the real him, the challenges of growing up without a mother, and the bond he still cherished with his father. It felt like they never left.
“I think Dad thought he was protecting me by not talking about you. But I needed to know about you, how you were doing. I needed to know you were okay.” He confessed, his eyes earnest. “He was always so focused on keeping me safe that he didn’t realize how much I missed you. How much he missed you.”
The warmth of Jack’s words wrapped around you, reassuring you that your bond hadn’t faded, even in the years apart. You shared stories, laughing softly at the memories of days long gone. The sun filtered through the café windows, casting a golden glow over the two of you, illuminating the path of healing you both needed.
As the café buzzed around you, it felt like a sanctuary, a safe space where the past and present intertwined, reminding you of the love that had once filled your life. This was a step forward, a chance to heal the wounds that had lingered for too long.
In that moment, sitting across from Jack, you realized that while the scars of the past might never fully fade, the possibility of rebuilding a future was within reach. Maybe not with Hotch, but potentially regain contact and a relationship with Jack.
“Let’s not let this much time pass before we see each other again,” you suggested, your heart lifting at the idea of keeping this connection alive.
“Definitely. You can count on it,” Jack promised, and as you both exchanged a smile, the weight of your shared history felt a little lighter, the hope for what was to come a little brighter.
The sun streamed through the windows of your office, casting a gentle glow on the stacks of case files and the photographs of the BAU team adorning your walls. You leaned back in your chair, still buzzing from your meeting with Jack, your heart lighter after the emotional reunion. The warmth of yesterday's trip to the café lingered in your mind, a comfort amidst the chaotic world of profiling and criminal behavior.
Just as you began to focus on the case at hand, there was a soft knock on your door. You looked up to see Emily stepping in, a slight frown creasing her forehead. She crossed the room and sat down in one of the chairs in front of your desk.
“Hey,” she said, her tone catching your attention. “I just got off the phone with the Director. He wants the BAU to assist with a case involving a politician in Congress.”
Your heart skipped a beat at the mention of Congress, knowing potentially what that could mean, and you held your breath, bracing for the inevitable connection. “Do they have any details yet?”
Emily nodded, her eyes searching yours. “Not much. It seems there’s been some suspicious activity surrounding him, but the Director wanted us to prioritize this. I thought I should let you know, especially given the possibility of running into Hotch.”
You felt a pang in your chest at the mention of his name, but you pushed it aside, focusing on the task at hand. “So, we’re not profiling Hotch, then?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady with a joke, masking the swirl of emotions rising within you.
“No, he’s not involved at all with this case actually,” Emily clarified, crossing her arms. “But with him being in the spotlight, there’s a chance we might see him around, especially if the investigation takes us to other parts of D.C. or if he’s involved in any press events while we're at Congress.”
You nodded, absorbing the information. “Right. I guess I should prepare myself for that possibility.” Your heart raced at the thought, the image of him on the television still fresh in your mind. The last few weeks of seeing him on the news had stirred up a mix of longing and unresolved feelings, and now the idea of encountering him face-to-face was both thrilling and terrifying.
“Are you okay with this?” Emily asked, her gaze softening with concern. “I know seeing him might bring up some stuff.”
You took a deep breath, weighing your emotions. “I’ll be fine. I have to be. We have a job to do, and I can’t let my feelings get in the way of that.” You tried to sound confident, but uncertainty crept in.
Emily smiled, a mix of support and understanding shining in her eyes. “I know you’re strong. Just remember, we’re in this together. And if it gets overwhelming, I’m right here.”
“Thanks, Em. I appreciate that.” You felt a swell of gratitude for her unwavering support. “Let’s get the team together and see what we can dig up on this case.”
Emily nodded, pushing herself up from the chair. “I’ll gather everyone for a briefing. Let’s see what we’re dealing with.”
As she left your office, you couldn’t shake the feeling of impending change in the air. The thought of the case intertwined with the possibility of seeing Hotch again sent your mind racing. There was a part of you that yearned to see him, to hear his voice again, but another part was afraid of what it might mean for the rehabilitation of your heart shattered.
After a few moments, you collected yourself and headed to the conference room, determined to focus on the task ahead. You were a profiler, after all, and you wouldn’t let personal feelings cloud your judgment. But as you stepped into the room and looked at your team, the looming presence of Hotch hung over you like a shadow.
The bustling atmosphere of Congress was overwhelming, the echo of voices mingling with the rustle of papers and the faint sounds of distant conversations, as crowds of people moved past you every single second. Somehow you hadn't thought the building would be this busy.
You moved through the maze of hallways, the weight of the case hanging over you like a heavy cloud. After an intense briefing with the team and several hours of sifting through documents, you decided a quick coffee break was necessary. It was a small reprieve, a moment to gather your thoughts before diving back into the investigation.
As you stepped into the crowded café, the rich aroma of coffee filled your senses, providing a brief comfort. As you waited for your order you glanced around, noting the throngs of aides and politicians, some deep in conversation, others lost in their phones. After what felt like an eternity, you finally received your drink, you ordered a cappuccino, absently stirring the foam as you made your way back toward the senator’s office.
Navigating the marble corridors was not easy, you focused, trying to remember the way you had come from. The noise of the café faded behind you as you moved further away, and the hum of energy around you began to fade as you thought about the case details you had just discussed with your team. But as you rounded a corner, lost in thought, everything changed in an instant.
There, just a few feet away, stood Aaron Hotchner. Your Aaron.
Time seemed to freeze. The world around you faded into a blur, and all you could see was him. He looked older nothing like he had looked on the TV, more refined, better even, yet he still carried that familiar intensity in his dark eyes. It was as if the years had melted away, and you were right back to those last moments before he disappeared from your life. Your heart raced, the mix of emotions overwhelming as you locked eyes with him.
For a brief moment, neither of you moved, caught in an electric silence that stretched between you. The familiar ache of longing hit you hard in the chest, twisting your stomach into knots. Memories rushed back — laughter, warmth, the comfort of his presence — but so did the pain of his absence and the betrayal you felt when he left.
In your shock, you didn’t realize your hand had loosened its grip on the coffee cup until it slipped from your fingers. The porcelain collided with the polished floor, shattering into a million tiny pieces, the sound echoing loudly in the otherwise quiet hallway. The hot liquid spilled out, soaking into the pristine marble and staining the floor with brown patches.
“Oh God,” you murmured, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart. You stepped back, embarrassment flooding your cheeks, but you couldn’t tear your gaze away from him.
Hotch said your name, his voice low and steady, yet laced with an emotion that mirrored your own shock. He took a cautious step toward you, as if afraid you might disappear again. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Neither did I,” you managed, your voice trembling as you fought to regain your composure. But the words felt inadequate, too mundane for the weight of the moment. A wave of emotion crashed over you, and the dam holding back your feelings began to crumble. “Do you even realize what you put me through, Aaron? Do you know how many nights I spent wondering if you were dead or alive? How many times I replayed those last moments in my mind, wishing I could have changed things?”
Hotch’s expression shifted, pain flashing across his face. “I never wanted to hurt you. I thought I was doing what was best for Jack!”
“Best for Jack?” you repeated incredulously, your voice rising with each word. “What about me? What about my feelings? You just left! You abandoned me without so much as a goodbye! I had to rebuild my life without you, and all you can say is you were trying to protect him. It doesn’t make any sense!”
He took a step forward, frustration mingling with sadness in his eyes. “I had no choice! I had to keep you both safe! Do you really think I wanted to leave you behind? You think it was easy for me? It wasn’t! I’ve thought about you every single day!”
The sincerity in his voice pierced through your anger, but you couldn’t let it go. “It’s too little, too late, Aaron! You can’t just show up out of nowhere after six years and expect everything to be okay. You made your choice!”
“I never stopped loving you!” he shouted, his voice filled with raw emotion. The admission hung between you, heavy and charged, and you felt your heart skip a beat.
You stepped closer, eyes locked onto his, fueled by a mix of anger and disbelief. “How can you say that? You left me! You made a choice, and you chose to protect your son over me. I had to learn to live with that — learn to live without you!”
“And it killed me! I had to protect my family, and in doing so, I destroyed my own happiness. But you have to know, you were always in my heart. I never wanted to hurt you!” His voice softened slightly, the intensity shifting to desperation. “I thought you’d move on, that you’d find someone better who could give you what you deserve.”
“Better?” you scoffed, your anger giving way to an ache in your chest. “You think I wanted anyone else? No one could ever compare to you, Aaron. I spent years waiting for you, hoping you’d come back, that we could fix this.”
He took a step closer, closing the distance between you. “Then why didn’t you reach out? Why didn’t you try to find me?”
“Because you made it clear you wanted nothing to do with me!” You shot back, tears of frustration burning your eyes. “I had to respect your choice, but I thought you’d at least have the decency to contact me after everything we went through together!”
“I didn’t want to put you in danger! I thought it was for the best!” His voice rose again, echoing through the hallway, but there was a desperate plea beneath his anger.
“Best for who, Aaron?” you demanded, your emotions spilling over. “You think running for Congress is going to fix everything? You think I want to see you on TV every day, talking about policies and values when all I want is to talk to you about us?”
Before you could finish your thought, he closed the gap between you in an instant, grasping your arms gently but firmly. The intensity in his eyes held you captive, and then he kissed you. It was a collision of pent-up emotions, a heated, desperate kiss that spoke of everything unsaid. Your lips pressed against his, teeth grazing against teeth, and for a moment, the world around you faded into the background.
You lost yourself in the kiss, a whirlwind of anger, longing, and the familiar warmth that had always existed between you. It felt like no time had passed at all, yet every moment you had spent apart surged back, filling the space with an urgency you hadn’t felt in years.
Without breaking the kiss, you found yourselves moving, bodies instinctively drawn toward his office down the hall, Hotch leading the way. The door stood ajar, but you barely registered it as you stumbled inside, Hotch pulling you in after him. He nudged the door shut with his foot, the soft click of the latch echoing in the silence as he pressed you against it.
You barely noticed the cluttered desk or the framed photographs lining the walls. All that mattered was the heat radiating from him, the way his hands cupped your face, thumb brushing over your cheek. He kissed you again, deeper this time, a fierce claim that made your heart race.
With each touch, the tension from earlier seemed to dissolve, leaving only the intoxicating rush of being so close again. You could feel the weight of his desperation, the years of longing that had built up between you, igniting a fire within you that had never truly gone out.
Finally, as you both breathed heavily against each other, he stepped back slightly, just enough to turn the lock behind him. The finality of the action made your heart pound even harder, the implications of this moment crashing down around you.
Before you knew it, Hotch crashed his lips into yours once again.
“Goddamn it, you’re so fucking wet,” he muttered into your neck, as he moved his hand under your skirt, you could feel his smirk against your skin. He was kissing you again, his fingers sliding up your body until they reached your breasts. You arched back into him with a soft sigh of pleasure, your hips rolling against his growing erection. You could feel how much he wanted you and it made you even more desperate for him.
You broke away from the kiss, staring up at him through half-lidded eyes. “Fuck me,” you said your voice sounded rough, still thick with lust from the kiss. You could see the flicker of pleasure that danced across his face, the fire burning in his eyes when he heard your words.
He didn’t speak though, he just pushed you back against his desk and as your ass met the wooden edge he lifted you up onto it by your things. The movement made your skirt ride up further, you tried to pull it back down out of instinct, but Hotch stopped you with a firm grip on your wrist. You gasped when his hands moved to grab the edge of your panties as he ripped them off. That had always been his favorite thing to do. Nothing had changed.
You barely had a chance to catch your breath before he had two fingers buried deep inside your cunt. “Fuck,” you hissed against his lips. He added a third finger and you gasped, your nails clawing into his back as you braced yourself, pleasure radiating through your body. You were already close to coming, desperate from the lack of a man's touch, he’d only been fingering you for a few seconds, but it was a much-needed release that you hadn't realized you had needed. He was determined to make you cum, was going to make you cum in his office, on his desk. You truly hoped that his door was locked.
Hotch leaned in and kissed you again, sucking at your bottom lip and then moving down to your neck. He bit into the juncture of your neck and shoulder, you moaned in response. Your legs spread around him and he groaned as you rocked your hips against his hand, trying so desperately to chase your release.
“Fuck, I need to get inside you,” he muttered against your skin. "I need to feel that pussy again. My pussy." He growled.
You felt a shiver run through your body at his words. “Please,” you begged, “now.”
You didn’t know if you unbuttoned his pants or he did, but somehow they were already around his ankles and he was pushing into you. His cock pulsed as he bottomed out, clouding your vision with the pure bliss from finally feeling him again. You let out a breathless moan as he stretched you out. It had been way too long since you'd felt the touch of a man you thought. His touch. Your hands slid down his back trying to pull him closer in an attempt to push him deeper inside of you. He groaned as he started to thrust into you. You felt every ridge of his cock as he moved.
The rhythm was hard and fast, your skin slapping together in loud claps. Your pussy was dripping, slick with wetness, your muscles clenching around him with every thrust as if you were trying to lock him in place inside your heat. You cried out when he pushed you down flat on his desk, his arms wrapped around your body as he started fucking you with the raw essence of an animal. The pleasure ran through your head and you nearly came right there.
Hotch grabbed your hair and yanked your head back. “You’re going to cum on my cock, aren’t you?” He hissed through gritted teeth.
“Yes,” you hissed, trying to move your hips under him. Your teeth gritted, eyes rolling back into your head as your breathing sped up, almost hyperventilating from the immense pleasure.
“You like being fucked on my desk, don’t you?”
“Fuck,” you moaned.
He slammed into you and then stilled. You whined in frustration as he held still inside of you. “Tell me. Use your words!”
“Yes sir,” you agreed, hoping it would get him to start moving again. It worked like a charm and he quickly slammed into you once more before fucking you into oblivion again. Hotch hit your G-spot with every thrust, you could feel your orgasm building up inside, the knot tightening, dangerously close to snapping in half. You felt him swell inside of you, his cock pushing into you harder and faster than before, as his thighs started vibration, you knew he was close too.
He leaned down over you and kissed you as you came. He swallowed down your cries as his hips stuttered. His cock felt like it was going to split you in half, but it felt so good as it sent you into a new level of pleasure. He came hard, hot liquid filling you up, you clung to his shoulders and cried out again as he groaned into your mouth.
Hotch pulled away slowly, his breath ragged as he held you close for a moment longer. The heat of the moment lingered in the air, but as he took a step back, you felt the loss of his warmth immediately. He gently helped you shift into a sitting position on the edge of his desk, his hands steadying you as you settled.
He moved to stand between your legs, the space filled with unspoken words and the weight of years apart. His eyes searched yours, an intensity in his gaze that made your heart flutter. Hotch cupped your face, his thumbs brushing lightly over your cheekbones.
“God, I missed you,” he murmured, resting his forehead against yours. The intimacy of the gesture, so simple yet so profound, stirred something deep within you. It felt as though he had never left, as if no time had passed at all since that fateful day in his office so many years ago where he had just been... gone.
He pressed tender kisses to your lips, each one a promise, a reassurance that this moment was real. You leaned into him, surrendering to the familiar comfort of his presence as you wrapped your arms around his torso, resting your head against his chest. You let the tears that had been building up finally spill over. They rolled down your cheeks, mingling with the remnants of the heat that still pulsed between you.
“I… I met up with Jack,” you admitted your voice barely above a whisper, laden with emotion. The moment hung heavy in the air. You could see the flicker of surprise in Hotch’s eyes, but it was quickly replaced by understanding. “He’s grown up so much. He’s… he's an adult now.”
Hotch’s expression softened, a mix of pride and sadness flickering across his features. “He’s always been a remarkable kid,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I’m glad you two were able to reconnect.”
“I missed you both so much,” you confessed, the weight of your words crashing over you like a wave. The years of longing, the nights spent wondering about him and Jack, came rushing back. “It’s been so hard, Aaron. Watching you on TV, hearing you talk about your values and the future... all I wanted was to be a part of that future again.”
He nodded slowly, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I know. I wanted to reach out so many times, but I didn’t know if I was worth it to you. I thought you’d moved on. Didn't want to disrupt your life.”
You shook your head, a mix of determination and vulnerability surging within you. “I never moved on. I just learned to live without you. But I don’t want to do that anymore.”
Hotch stepped closer again, his hands still cradling your face as if he were afraid you might disappear. “Then let’s try again,” he said softly, the sincerity in his voice melting the last remnants of doubt lingering in your heart. “Let’s see if we can make this work, for us and for Jack.”
You swallowed hard, hope igniting within you like a flame. “I want that,” you whispered, a smile breaking through your tears. “I really want that.”
He leaned in, brushing his lips against yours once more, the kiss gentle but filled with an undercurrent of promise. It was a reaffirmation of everything you both had lost and everything you hoped to regain. In that moment, surrounded by the chaos of the world outside, you felt a sense of peace and belonging you hadn’t experienced in years.
“Let’s take it one step at a time,” he said, pulling back slightly to meet your gaze, his eyes bright with determination. “We’ll figure this out together.”
With your heart full and tears still glistening in your eyes, you nodded. For the first time in years, you felt a weight lift from your shoulders. The future ahead felt uncertain, but for the first time, it was a future you were excited to face — together.
@vikingstoner69
#aaron hotchner x reader#aaron hotchner x female reader#aaron hotchner x you#aaron hotchner x reader insert#aaron hotchner x fem reader#aaron hotchner fanfiction#aaron hotchner fanfic#aaron hotchner fic#aaron hotchner#hotch x reader#hotch x you#aaron hotchner x y/n#female reader#criminal minds#criminal minds fanfiction#hotch#politician!hotch#criminal minds x reader#hotchner#x reader#aaron hotchner smut#criminal minds smut
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Billy Still Doesn't Know
virgin!eddie x experienced!reader
summary: you and Eddie make up after that disasterous night and very quickly become friends with benefits. But problems arise when you starts to have feelings for the metal head. Billy quickly gets winds of your arrangement and decides to call the both of you out at Nancy's party.
cw: MDNI (18+) smut (p in v) oral (m receiving) sub!eddie, dom!reader, exhibitionism, anal, public sex, Billy just generally being a dick and abusive, but that's not new, use of nicknames (baby, good boy, honeybee) hurt/comfort, mild violence, mention of an abortion, mention of reader's rough home life (verbal abuse)
100% inspired by the song “Scotty Doesn’t Know” by Lustra!
part one
You stare at the ceiling as you try to fall asleep, the events of the night running through your head on a continuous loop. Guilt is causing a pit in your stomach to form, bile rising in your throat as the look on Eddie’s face stays in your mind, making you feel even worse. It wasn’t his fault. He was trying to do what he had thought you had liked and you freaked out. You panicked.
No one had ever bothered to care about things like that when it came to you so when someone finally did, it felt weird. Foreign. Eddie wasn't the problem, that much you were sure of. It was all you. Letting Billy into your life had created so many problems for you, especially mentally so it made hanging out with anyone normal difficult.
You hadn't actually wanted to leave, but it was a trauma response, something you always did with Billy so it was just second nature when anything went wrong. And unlike Billy, Eddie just let you go. Why, though? Why didn't he chase after you? Why didn't he demand you to stay like Billy would have?
Because Eddie wasn't Billy. Not in the slightest. He let you go because he felt like he was the right thing to do and didn't want to cross your boundaries. You thought a part of you knew that but you still wished he had asked you to stay.
You wanted him to get on his knees, holding your hands in his as he pleaded, begging for you to stay the night. And he would have invited you into his room where the two of you would have cuddled in his bed for the rest of the night.
Now you were starting to feel like a bitch for how things had ended. Because what had Eddie done except be an absolute gentleman? And now you had hurt him so badly that he hadn't even called you before bed like he always did.
Your seat in the pre-calculus class that you share with Eddie is empty when he walks into first period. He’s internally panicking, but he plays it off as he sits in his assigned seat behind yours, pulling out the things he needs for the class, feeling his heart sink as he realizes that the events of the night before were so bad that he had made you not want to come to school.
And he feels horrible, that feeling in his gut gnawing, eating at him, the clenching feeling getting even tighter, almost as if a boa constrictor had been wrapping around his midsection. He swears he’s going to throw up, putting his hand over his mouth to try to hold it back, but then you walk into the room, looking a little worse for wear with your head down as you hurry to your seat before Ms. O'donnell started the class.
Eddie wasn’t paying attention to her, though, and neither were you. And you were clearly out of it because you hadn’t even noticed that he was staring at you, leaning over ever so slightly to the right so he could see your face.
“I’m sorry Mr. Munson,” he hears Ms. O’Donnell’s voice, and immediately turns in her direction, completely oblivious to the fact that he’s about to fall out of his chair. “Is my lesson boring you? Because clearly you seem to be very interested in Miss l/n.”
“No ma’am,” he shakes his head vigorously and doesn’t miss the way you slide down in your chair, pulling the hood of your hoodie up over your head in embarrassment. “Please, continue.”
Miss O’Donnell continues the lesson and neither you nor Eddie are paying her any attention. You both are in your own little worlds, still thinking about the night before. And if you’re being honest, you kind of hate how he’s acting like his usual self this morning.
You were half expecting him to apologize even though you know you don’t deserve it. What does he have to apologize for anyway? Being a total sweetheart? If anyone should be apologizing, it’s you. And there’s no way you’re going to do that because vulnerability terrifies you.
And you absolutely hate confrontation, hating having to put your feelings out there when you have a problem. You can still see your father yelling at you when you politely asked him to turn the TV volume down so you could sleep. You know that’s the reason why you are the way that you are. And hanging around Billy only made it worse, the similarities between the two men not lost on you.
And you know Eddie well enough to know that all he wants to do is put it all in the past. That’s what he’s done with the few spats that you’ve had and know that this isn’t any different. But he’s waiting for you to make the first move like he always does, because that’s just who he is. Eddie respects your boundaries and never wants to push, so that’s why this is getting to you.
Well, that and you’re so used to Billy being the one to blame that you want to pass it off to Eddie to make yourself feel better. Because if you don’t accept the blame then it’s not your fault and then you don’t have to carry your guilt around because let’s be honest, you have more than enough of that already.
But what you don’t know is that Eddie fully believes that he’s to blame, that he had pushed you too far. That you have every right to be mad at him for what he’s done. He just wants to apologize and for the two of you to be friends again, but he’s afraid that this isn’t something he can make up for with a song.
So he spends the entirety of first period trying to wrack his brain for some way to make it up to you even though he doesn’t think any of it will be good enough. And just when he thinks he has something, the bell rings and you rush out of class, moving too fast for him to even catch up.
He gets out the door and you’re already halfway down the hallway, hurrying to your next class that’s on the other side of the school. He won’t have time to catch up with you and go to his own class, so he decides he’ll just talk to you at lunch.
But you don’t sit with him. In fact, you’re not even in the cafeteria. He knows because he’s checking every five minutes, his eyes darting between all the doors and the lunch line, just to make sure he hasn’t missed you. He knows how crazy he looks, but everyone already thinks he is so that doesn’t bother him. All he cares about is finding you and telling you how sorry he is about last night.
You’re not in the cafeteria because you’re in the newsroom with Robin and Nancy. You owe it to yourself to have a little girl time and forget about all the boy drama that’s been surrounding you for quite some time. You’ve only recently gotten close to them and appreciated that they let you into their group no question.
They had been nothing but nice to you despite your reputation as a “mean girl” as that hadn’t been who you really were. It was just a facade that you had put on to push people out, and clearly it hadn’t worked as well as you had hoped.
They’d been for you when you complained about Billy and now they were trying to help you out with your situation with Eddie. They know how important he is to you and the both of you have become such important parts of the friend group and they hate to see either of you so upset, especially when it comes to being upset in regards to each other.
You didn’t give them all the details of what happened because you felt like it was giving too much information, but you definitely alluded to what had happened and how you had left and how horrible you felt about hurting Eddie and that you were afraid that he was mad at you.
“You know that Eddie is way too easy going to be mad at you,” Nancy told you as she rested her hand on top of yours. “And neither of you did anything wrong anyway. It’s all just a big misunderstanding. I’m sure if you talk to him about it and explain where you’re coming from, this whole mess will be fixed.”
You can always count on Nancy to give you good advice. You know she’s right, but that doesn’t mean you’re going to listen. You’re just going to thank her and then continue to avoid Eddie like the plague for the rest of the school year until the both of you graduate. It’s what’s for the best, you think, deciding that it just wasn’t meant to be.
“I don’t know why you bother, Nanc,” Robin rolls her eyes. “We all know she’s not going to listen to you and continue to ignore Eddie, running back to Billy as if last night never happened.”
You’ve always hated how well Robin can read you. Because she’s exactly right. Well, except for going back to Billy. You’ve been done with him for a while and now you’re finally going to rip off the band aid after school.
“No,” you deny. “I’m going to break things off with him after school.”
“What about Eddie?” God, you’re tired of talking about him. You were only doing so because they had brought him up. You just wanted to forget about him even though it was impossible for you to do so. The metal head had taken up your thoughts every single second of every day since you had started hanging out. So much so that you had even started imagining his face when Billy was fucking you, always so close to moaning his name. And now you’ve pushed him away.
“What about Eddie, Nancy? He doesn’t want to talk to me.” You’re shrinking into yourself and you know that you sound like a broken record, but you can’t help it.
“Alright,” Robin sighs, scooting her chair close to yours, looking you dead in the eyes, her own forming into a glare. “Since no one’s going to be honest with you, I will.”
“Go ahead,” you tell her, trying to show that you can handle it, but deep down, you’re terrified that she’s going to say something way out of pocket. That you’re going to have to excuse yourself to go to the bathroom and cry afterwards.
“You left last night because people always leave you so you wanted a head start. You know Eddie won’t do that and that’s why you’re scared. Because he’s seen all your flaws and still wants to hang out with you. You’re not used to that.”
She’s right and your eyes widen as she speaks, realizing how well she had hit the nail on the head. You scoot out of your seat and storm out of the room, slamming the door behind you just as the bell rings, signaling the end of class.
Anger courses through you as you stomp to your locker at the end of the day. You’re supposed to catch a ride home with Nancy and Robin since Eddie’s usually your ride, but you decide to just take the bus since you don’t have your other options.
Well, you could if you stopped being so stubborn and actually talked about your feelings, but you can’t so you won’t. You want to be alone anyway, to drown your sorrows in a gallon of ice cream while you finally let yourself cry about everything.
You get to your locker as the doors at the end of the school burst open. You turn to see who it is and immediately bury your face into your locker, the door hiding your face as you do so. Go, could this day get any worse?
You hear Billy before you see him, his boots stomping down the hallway, getting closer and closer to you and you want nothing more than for the floor to swallow you whole. You know why he’s there and you really want to put off speaking to him. You’ve had far too much drama for the day and just want to go home.
“Baby,” he says with a smile and the nickname makes your skin crawl. You continue to grab your things from your locker and stuff them into your backpack as if he’s not there. And that pisses Billy off. He hates when you act like he doesn’t matter, especially when he’s been so generous as to give you his cock almost every night. You looking at him is the least he deserves.
“You didn’t call me after last night.” He moves around the door to stand behind you, his cock rubbing against your ass. That would normally work on you, but not today, not anymore. You’re done with him and need to finally tell him the truth. You can’t keep going back to him. He’s not good for you, but you’ve gotten addicted to the way he makes you feel. And once the high wears off, you’re left feeling gross and used and you don’t want to feel like that anymore.
“I don’t want to talk to you, Billy,” you respond and his hand slams against the locker, causing it to close, the rate at which it slams closed causing a breeze to move across your face. You pull your hand away in the knick of time and before you can get away, Billy grabs onto your face, squeezing your cheeks in his hand.
“You look at me when I’m talking to you, bitch,” he commands and you wince at the pain that he’s causing. You really wish that more people were around to witness what was happening, but the halls are empty since it’s the end of the day.
“Billy,” you say firmly, trying to get out of his grasp, but he just squeezes harder, that fire from yesterday filling his eyes again. “Let go.”
“No,” he spits. “You’re going to listen.” He steps closer so his face is only inches from yours and you’re more annoyed with him than anything. He doesn’t scare you anymore and you’re going to stand up to him for once and for all.
“No,” you finally push him off you.-
Eddie hurries down the hallway to the room where he hosts Hellfire, knowing that he’s last, but he’s relieved when no one’s waiting outside the door. Miss O’Donnell had found him after the bell had rung and reminded him that he was to report to her class after school the next day for tutoring. He’s so close to getting a passing grade, all he needs is to pass the test on Friday and he’s golden.
He’s smiling to himself about the whole thing when he turns to see that you’re talking to Billy. The knife twists and now he’s sick to his stomach as he watches the whole thing. It looks like you’re arguing. And he’s invested as soon as he sees you throw a key onto the floor and it lands right at Billy’s feet. Billy picks it up and if looks could kill, you’d be dead.
He can’t hear your conversation, but he just knows it’s ugly by the body language. He wants to help, take a punch for you to show you how much he cares for you, but he won’t. He doesn’t have the chance to because Dustin, Mike, and Lucas are standing behind him, waiting to be let inside.
“What is this?” Billy asks He knows what it is, but he wants you to say it. He wants to hear the words come from your mouth, because as soon as you say them, he’s not going to hook up with you anymore. The door will be closed and he’s gonna move another girl up to the list to take your coveted spot as his number three.
“You know what it is,” you say as you cross your arms over your chest. His blood is boiling now as he realizes what it means. This is so embarrassing to him. He’s always the one who cuts ties, not the other way around. He thought that you loved. That’s why he kept you around. You were just someone to boost his ego and do whatever he asked because you worshiped the ground he walked on.
He’s never loved you, he’s never loved anyone and he’s always made sure to remind you of that when you’ve done something nice for him, like doing the dishes when you knew it was his night to do so and he had forgotten, so focused on taking you to bed.
He owes you nothing and supposes that you owe him nothing in return, because deep down, this whole thing is strictly transactional. He knows that you can go fuck any guy he wants, but he’s nothing but a jealous man to his core so he’ll make sure he’s the only one who’s gotten inside you then turn right around and fuck some other girl within the same hour of having fucked you.
Billy pockets the key then steps forward again, his eyes narrowing into slits as he looks you up and down one last time. He doesn’t like the look on your face. He would have thought you’d be crying, begging him to take you back, but you just look unbothered, almost relieved.
“This is your last chance, bitch,” he says, pointing his finger in your face and you just stare at him with a nod. He then pushes past you, storming towards the door in a fit of rage, the door slamming behind him as he flees the school, heading to his car to figure who he’s going to replace you.
You’re crying now and Eddie’s watching, completely distracted by what’s going on, everything he was thinking about entirely abandoned in his brain to make space for you just like always. You stand there as sobs rake through you and he wants nothing more than to take you into his arms while he strokes your hair and tells you that everything is going to be okay.
“Eddie?” Dustin waves his hand in front of Eddie’s face, but he’s still dazed. He’s so focused on you that nothing else matters. Not even Hellfire, and the boys know just how important that is to him.
To the boys’ surprise, he just utters the words “Hellfire’s canceled today,” and before they can even process what he’s said, he’s taking off down the hallway to catch up with you as you’re heading to the doors. But he’s able to stop you before you get there, skidding to a stop in front of you.
Your sniffling stops as you look up at him, wiping away your tears as you take him in, his wide brown eyes and his mouth that’s slightly agape as he wracks his brain for something to say. He was so focused on preventing you from leaving that he wasn’t thinking about what he had to say.
You both stare at each other, waiting to see who makes the first move, both of you nervous as shit to be the first one to speak, so you say nothing, the halls eerily quiet without all the chatter of students or lockers and doors closing. It’s just the two of you and the rising tension sitting there between you, begging to be acknowledged.
You wouldn’t even know what to say. Your tongue is tied and the only thing you want to say you just can’t get yourself to. And to your surprise, Eddie is just as quiet. Just great, you’ve somehow managed to render the boy who never shuts the fuck up speechless.
He can tell that you’re thinking as he can practically see the gears turning. You’re always so in your head and he hates that for you. That you always overthink everything to the point where it all takes over your thoughts. He knows you’ve been thinking about what happened last night since it happened and he wants to get you out of your head. To make you understand that it’s not your fault. You had every right to act the way you did. He couldn’t be mad at you if he tried and he knows you know that so he has no idea why you’ve been avoiding like the goddamn plague.
The words are on the tip of his tongue and you can see it. His mouth opens to speak, but for some reason, you don’t want to hear it. You don’t want to talk about it, you just want to tell him that the whole thing is in the past and you can move on like it didn’t happen.
But when Eddie bites the bullet to speak, you just shake your head and hurry past him, but he catches your wrist before you can leave, pulling you to him as his hand rests on the small of your back. His hand reaches up to push some hair away from your face and then it cups your cheek, forcing you to look into his warm bambi eyes.
“Stay,” he whispers and all you can do is nod as your lips part. He licks his own and an “I’m sorry” tumbles from his lips. They’re said with purpose, emphasis on each word to show you how much he means them.
“No,” you shake your head. “I’m sorry Eddie. I fucked up and I-”
“Shh, honeybee,” he murmurs as his lips press to your forehead. “Just let me hold you, okay?”
All you can do is bury your face into his neck, tears streaming down your cheek once again. His hands move up and down your back in a comforting manner as he whispers nothing but soothing words in your ear, wanting to make sure that you know that happened last night is all in the past. He just wants to be there for you right now.
You pull back to look at him and his features are nothing but soft, a small smile kicking up at the corner of his mouth as he wipes away your tears before pulling you in for another hug, squeezing you tight, deciding that he’d hold you in his arms for the rest of his life it was possible so you’d never get hurt again.
“He’s such a fucking dick,” he mutters, his hands still rubbing lazy circles along your back. “God, I should have punched him when I had the chance.”
“Why would you do that?” You ask, your voice small. No one has ever done anything like that for you so you’re wondering why it’s Eddie who wants to be the one to defend your honor.
“Because I care about you,” he replies as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, his hand moving to cup your cheek, his thumb moving back and forth along it gently.
“You do?”
“Of course I do, honey.” He’s laughing now, but not at you. It’s in disbelief because he can’t truly can’t believe that you don’t know that he’d take a bullet for you. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him and just the mere thought of possibly losing you last night made him sick to his stomach. He needs you to know how he feels right now so that you’ll stay. That you’ll know that he values what the two of you have, his friendship with you meaning more to him than you’d ever know.
The nickname warms your heart and you’re so overwhelmed with feelings that you don’t fully realize what you’re doing until your lips are on his. Eddie gasps into your mouth but eventually melts into, his lips capturing yours and he’s somehow become a natural overnight, kissing you like he had been doing it all his life.
“I’m sorry,” you mumble over and over against his lips and he just shushes you, his lips slotting between yours again, his arms tightening around your waist to pull you even closer as yours wrap around his neck. He’s smiling against your lips because he really can’t believe he’s kissing you, let alone in the empty school hallway because most of the girls would laugh or even want to throw up at the mere thought of kissing him. But you’re not most girls, he supposes.
The kiss progressively gets more heated as his tongue flicks into your mouth as your fingers find their way into his hair and then suddenly, you’re in the boys bathroom, backing yourselves into a stall. As soon as you lock the door, Eddie presses you against it and you love the way he’s taking charge, this newfound confidence he has. But you don’t want him to feel like he has to do this just to make up for last night.
You push him away and quickly speak to quiet all of the fears you can see swirling around in his head just by the look on his face. Your hands are on his face so he has no choice but to look at you and for a second, you swear he’s going to cry.
“Let’s slow down, baby. Nice and slow, okay?” You ask and he nods. “Nope, none of that,” you shake your head. I’m not mad at you. I never was. It was all just some miscommunication.”
“Miscommunication?” He supposes that is the right word for the situation
���You think I’m mad at you and I think you’re mad at me, but that’s not the case. Let’s get something clear right now, alright?” You ask and he nods again. “I had a great time last night. Genuinely, and I’m not saying this just to make you feel better, alright? You’re the best I’ve ever had.”
His eyes widen at your confession as he wasn’t expecting it in the slightest. No fucking way. You have to be pulling his leg. But you wouldn’t lie to him, right? Especially not about that kind of thing. Holy shit, he’s really better than Billy? That man has slept with pretty much every woman in Hawkins and somehow Eddie has been the best you’ve ever had? If he was anything like Billy, he’d be rubbing it in his face.
“Wow,” Eddie nods, that dopey grin making its way upon his face and you want more than to pinch his cheeks because of how adorable he looks.
“It’s feeding your ego, isn’t it, baby?” You ask and his cheeks flush. In response, he just kisses you again, his tongue sliding into your mouth again as his hands slide up your shirt. You test the waters by wrapping your lips around it and giving it a rough suck and you feel your panties getting soaked as a whine escapes the back of his throat. God, what you would give to suck him off.
You can feel his cock getting hard against your crotch and quickly pull away, bringing your bottom lip between your lips as your gaze slowly moves down to where his dick is tenting in his pants.
“I can take care of that if you’d like,” you smile, putting on a flirtatious tone and Eddie nods enthusiastically.
“God, please,” he whines. You unzip his pants and pull them along with his underwear down to his ankles before getting on your knees. You look him in the eyes to make sure he’s okay and he nods enthusiastically.
You then take him into your mouth and swirl your tongue around the head, hollowing your cheeks as you give him a rough suck. Eddie’s hands press against the side of the stall as he lets out a loud moan.
Your hand wraps around the base as your other one grabs onto this thigh, holding him in place. His head leans back as his eyes shut tight, feeling pleasure that not even how penchant can give him.
“Fuck fuck fuck,” he hisses as you take more of him into your mouth, letting your tongue moved up and down the shaft as you try to as much of him as you can.
He’s already close, you can feel it.
“Jesus Christ,” he whines as his knees start to buckle. You’re holding onto both of his legs now as you try to keep him steady. He hasn’t got that far to go as he needs his release.
He’s practically screaming as he reaches his orgasm, cum leaking into your mouth as someone bursts through the bathroom door. You can hear chatter coming from outside the stall, but you continue as Eddie freezes, putting his hand over his mouth to muffle yet another moan.
It’s Jason and his buddies, you can tell by their voices as you’ve hung out with them more times than you can count because they all seem to want to get into Billy’s weird little club.
“Well, look what we’ve got here, boys,” Jason laughs. “Looks like we’ve got ourselves a blowie in action.” And in response to that, the rest of them start a commotion, banging on the door and jiggling the lock back and forth as they taunt you.
“C’mon out,” Andy laughs as he rattles the door and as the rest of them are taunting, Jason stands on the toilet in the stall next to yours to get a look at who’s behaving badly and he lets out a gasp as he takes in Eddie’s flushed cheeks.
You turn to Jason and glare and he lets out a laugh as the jokes just seem to write themselves. Eddie “the freak” Munson and Billy’s girl? Oh, it all was just too good.
You swallow and stand to your knees, still making eye contact with Jason as you get off your knees, pushing yourself against Eddie as he gets himself dressed, his cheeks fully bright red.
“Why don’t you take a picture, Carver?” You ask as you exit the stall and Eddie follows behind you once he’s dressed. “It’ll last longer.”
He just glares and goes to get off the toilet, but his foot slips and lands in the bowl, a string of curse words falling from his lips. You, Eddie, and the others hurry to see what’s happened and you can’t help but laugh at the sight before you.
“Well, isn’t karma just a bitch?” You shake your head. “I bet the rest of the team would love to hear about how you and your buddies are into voyeurism,” you wink as Jason pulls his foot out of the toilet, his shoe squelching as he hurries to grab some paper towels.
You follow and stand right next to him, not afraid to get in his face. Eddie is right up against you, using your as a shield and you don’t mind one bit. You love to protect him and love that he feels safe with you.
“And you’ll think of this when you want to tell Billy. And besides,” you shrug before moving over to the mirror, pulling a tube of lipstick from your backpack before applying the color to your lips then blot it out with your finger. “We wouldn’t want Chrissy to know about the Polaroids in your locker, would we?”
You can see that he’s violently angry and he raises his hand, but your grab hold of his wrist before it can touch you. You whip around, your lips twisting into a smirk as you bend his arm backwards.
“You can’t do shit and you want to know why? Because I have shit on not only you, but all of your boys here and the rest of the basketball team. So I would think about your actions very carefully. Because you walk around here like you’ve got the biggest dick but honestly, I think that’s just wishful thinking as I’ve unfortunately seen it and let’s just say it leaves a lot to be desired.”
You hold up your pinky and the rest of the boys all make a commotion at your size reference. They’re all cackling and you just smile as Jason seethes with anger, his cheeks burning red.
With that, you let his arm go and Jason and the rest of the guys file out of the bathroom, making sure to push past Eddie as they do so, calling him a freak as well as other names before they’re all out in the hallway, leaving the two of you alone.
You look at him and think he’s gonna shrink in on himself, but he’s just smiling at you like an idiot as he steps closer to you, his hands moving to rest on your hips.
“Eddie, I’m so-“ you go to apologize but his lips are on yours before you can.
“That’s the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen,” he mumbles against yours lips. “God, I love when you take charge like that. It makes me-“ he pauses, suddenly feeling embarrassed.
“Makes you what?” You ask and in response, he pulls you close and presses his bulge against your crotch, showing you exactly what he means. “Oh-“ you gasp and look into his eyes that are getting darker by the second.
“Why don’t we go back to your place and finish what we started last night, hm?”
“God, please,” he whines and you take him by the hand, leading him out to the parking lot where his van sits.
Eddie honestly can’t believe his luck as he hurries to open the passenger door for you. Shit, the prettiest girl in Hawkins wants to go back to his place and fuck him? He wants to know what he’s done in his past life in order to have deserved that.
You get into the van before he closes the door and you can’t help but notice the tension and how different it is. The van is filled with nothing but sexual tension when Eddie gets inside and you want nothing more than for him to take you right there, but you know he won’t, not in public.
You throw your backpack in the floorboard while Eddie’s ends up somewhere in the back before he starts the engine, pulling out of his space, speeding out of the parking lot and down the road.
He really wants to speed like always, but he’s got precious cargo, so he’s going to slow down just to be sure you’re safe. He reaches over and turns the dials of the radio up as a metal song you somewhat recognize comes on.
You must admit that it feels very weird to go back to being good friends as if last night hadn’t happened at all, but you’re grateful for it, hoping that now it can all be in the past so you can focus on the present. That seems to be what Eddie wants to do anyway. And you’re more than happy to oblige.
You still can’t believe that out of all of the women in Hawkins that you’re the one he wants to be his first. But then again, maybe you can. He’s told you on more than one occasion that he trusts you more than anyone and that he considers you to be his best friend.
To you, sex is sex, a meaningless transaction between two people that’s nothing but for the sole purpose of using each other for their bodies. But to Eddie, you know it’s much more than that. He wants his first time to mean something. You wanted the same thing for yourself, but all you got was a quick fuck in the backseat of Billy’s car and it was over before you could even process what was happening.
It was something you felt like you had to do in order to make Billy like you, so he’d keep you around. And he was always so selfish in bed, taking and taking from you, not even caring if you were enjoying yourself. It eventually got to the point where you started faking it and he was none the wiser since he was so caught up in his own pleasure.
Just from last night, though, you know what sex with Eddie will be different. He actually seems to care about what you like and had even been beating himself up because of how he had done too much too fast. You wanted to enjoy yourself, but ultimately, you wanted to make sure that this was a perfect first time for him.
The van pulls up the familiar trailer and Eddie grabs his backpack before hurrying to your side and helping you out of your seat. Hand in hand, you head into the trailer where Wayne is sitting at the table, eating what looks like an early dinner before he has to go to work.
Wayne has easily become a father figure to you since your parents aren’t really around and he treats you like you’re part of the family. Even though he doesn’t have a lot to give you since he’s always tight on money, he still reminds you that what’s his is yours. Because in his mind, this is your safe place, the spot you go to when you need to get away from your house. And he’s always there with a mug of his famous hot chocolate and a warm hug. If it’s especially bad, he’ll have Eddie run down to Family Video to rent your favorite movie so it’s ready when you show up.
He beams when you walk through the door before grabbing his jacket to head out the door. As he’s putting it on, you approach him, waiting until he’s done to pull him into a tight hug. His arms immediately wrap around you and he gives you a tight squeeze as you bury your face into his chest. It’s moments like these where you feel the most safe. Because being in Wayne’s arms takes away the nightmares. And you suppose like uncle like nephew because the same always happens with Eddie too.
“Well, you two kids have fun,” he says once you pull away, moving to ruffle Eddie’s hair. “I left some money for pizza on the counter. And don’t stay up too late, you hear me? You two still have school tomorrow.” That’s right. It’s only Monday.
With that, Wayne flees the trailer, leaving you and Eddie alone once again. Eddie heads into the kitchen to pick up the phone to call the pizza place and you stand next to him as he speaks, ordering the usual that you always share.
You look up at him as he wraps the cord around his hand, something he always does to stimulate his brain. And you love all of his cute little quirks like that. If it’s not the phone cord, he’s fiddling with his fingers, sometimes yours when you let him hold your hand when he’s particularly overwhelmed.
He’s not the guy everyone says he is, that much is true. People just don’t like that’s so unapologetically himself. He’s nothing but sweet and kind and you hate that everyone just jumps to conclusions because he plays a game with his friends.
You wish they could all see what you do, but you know they won’t. They’re all so stuck in their ways that they won’t even stop for a second to consider that maybe they’re in the wrong. But it doesn’t matter anyway because you kind of want him all to yourself.
Eddie hangs up the phone then looks at you, his mind wandering to all the things you could show him. And he wants you to. He wants so badly to finish off where you started off last night. After all, wasn’t that why you were there in the first place?
And before he can think too much about it, his lips are on yours as his hands grab onto whatever he can get to first and that happens to be your cheeks. It starts off soft and sweet but then he gets more rough with it, his hands sliding into your hair as they press into your scalp. He’s kissing you like he’s been doing it his whole life and you can’t help but get lost in him, the feeling of his lips on yours absolutely addicting.
You grab hold of his hands and he’s concerned about how much he likes feeling yours in his. They’re always soft and warm compared to his cool, rough ones. You’re giving him a look and he knows you have something important to say because you’ve got that look. The one that always means that you have something important to say.
But he doesn’t mind. In fact he likes it. He likes seeing this side of you, the side that’s not afraid to take charge, stealing exactly what it is that you want from him. You’re needy and hungry and goddamn are your lips addicting.
“You’re so pretty,” you murmur as your hands slide up his shirt. “And you’re such a good boy. Gonna be a good one for me tonight?” You ask as Eddie’s hands white knuckle the edge of the counter since he doesn’t know what to do with his hands.
“Mhm,” he nods, too caught up in the way your tongue slides into his mouth. He remembers what you had done last night and wraps his tongue around it, giving it a rough suck that elicits a whine to fall from your lips.
He likes the way it sounds and you can tell because you can feel him harden slightly against you. You think he’s going to ask to take it to the next step, but he doesn’t, his lips finding yours again as your hands stay against his bare back, not roaming around like he wants them to.
And now you’re pulling him close to you, wrapping your arms around his neck as you’re backing out of the kitchen and towards his bedroom, closing the door behind you. Your hands are moving higher and higher as Eddie pulls away, lifting his arms so you can remove his shirt and you do, pulling it over his head and tossing it aside before you pull him to you again, taking his hands in yours and looking him in the eyes.
“If I do something you don’t like or you just want to stop, let me know. And on the opposite of that, if I do something you do like, don’t be afraid to make noise. In fact, the louder the better.”
“I understand,” he nods, threading your fingers together. “Thank you for making me feel good. That means a lot to me. And I’ll do whatever you want. This is just as much about you as it is about me.”
Your cheeks heat at his words, feeling your heart warm. You had only ever slept with one person and he never did what you wanted. So while Eddie’s words make you feel special, you can’t help but think about how foreign they sounded.
“You’re so sweet,” you smile, fighting back your tears as you pull him in for another kiss, this one more needy, more hungry than your others. He licks into your mouth and lets it roam around, wanting to taste every single inch of it, wanting to familiarize himself with it.
“Undress me,” you mumble against his lips and he pauses, pulling away from you as his eyes widen. The words have come out so naturally as if it was something you had asked him to do all the time. He saw you naked last night, but this is different. He hadn’t really been thinking about it, thinking more about how he was inside you and what he was supposed to do. He was really going to appreciate you now.
He feels nervous but excited as he raises his hands to the hem of your shirt, pulling up on it and you lift your arms so he can pull it over your head, revealing a black bra that he can’t stop staring at. He then pulls himself out of his trance and moves on to your jeans. You can see his hands shaking and you want nothing more than to pull him into a hug.
“Oh, you poor thing,” you say, bringing your hands up to rest on top of his. “C’mere,” you hold your arms out and he’s quick to pull you against him, his head resting on your chest while his arms wrap around your waist.
“There’s no need to be nervous, baby,” you tell him as you bring your hand up to stroke his hair the way you know he likes. “It’s just me.”
But that’s the thing, Eddie thinks. It’s just you. You’re the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen and you can sleep with any guy you want, so why him? Why’s he so special? He’s got a lot of insecurity surrounded by not being wanted, so you wanting him…in this way, is making him feel out of place.
“Yeah, exactly,” he replies, pulling back to look at you. “It's you. You’re beautiful and could have any guy you want. So why me, y/n?” He’s pouting as he lowers his head and you want to kiss him stupid, to take him right there on his bed to show him just how much this means to you and that he’s not just someone you want to cross off a list.
You know he’s asking a genuine question, but you can’t help but laugh. You thought it was obvious. He’s your best friend and all you want to do is make him feel good. You want to tell him about how often you’ve thought about him in that way. That you’ve thought about him almost every time you’ve slept with Billy, just wishing that Eddie had taken his place
“You wanna know why I chose you?” You ask, wrapping your arms around his neck and he just nods. “Because you’re sweet,” you press a kiss to his cheek. “And kind.” His other cheek. “And adorable.” This one is pressed to his nose and he feels his cheeks flush with all of the compliments. “And not to mention stupidly hot.” The last kiss is for his lips and he quickly melts into you, his hands moving up to your bra as that was all the convincing he needed. He somehow unhooks it with ease then steps away so it can fall between the two of you.
When he takes your naked torso, he lets out a gasp at how absolutely breathtaking you look. He lets his eyes rake over you, stopping at your tits, really taking the time to check you out since he hadn’t last night. You’re definitely the most beautiful naked woman he’s seen, not that he’s seen as any in real life besides yours, but he’s still sure that he’s right.
“You can touch me, Eddie,” you assure him. “It’s okay. I know you want to.” And he does, so badly. So he slowly reaches up and brings his hands up to them, letting you fix them so they’re making the correct gesture.
His thumbs press against your nipples and you instruct him on what to do, moaning loudly as his thumbs move in circular motions, leaning into him as you do so. He’s getting harder against you, feeling himself progressively tenting in his jeans as more moans fall from your lips as he continues to work.
The whole thing feels foreign to him, but you just feel so good in his mouth that he wants to continue. He hasn’t been doing it for long, but he thinks he could easily do it for hours. Especially when you’re making such pretty sounds. And they sound even better in real life than they have in his dreams. You’re so loud and he’s absolutely eating it up.
“That’s it,” you moan. “Just like that-fuck.” Eddie doesn’t know what he’s doing, but the next thing he knows, his mouth is on your nipple, his tongue swirling around it he gives it a rough suck. “So you’ve got foreplay down for sure,” you tell him through labored breaths.
His movements continue, sucking on your nipple as his tongue flicks against it, but then he decides to test the waters by bringing it between his teeth and that seems to unleash something in you. You moan so loudly and he just knows you’re coming by the way you arch your back, your nails scratching down his as your head falls backwards, his name coming out of your mouth in the most hot way he’s ever heard.
He’s feeling cocky now as he’s successfully gotten you off. And he was able to do it with just his mouth so he thinks that has to mean something. He wonders if Billy’s ever done that, making you come so loudly even though he shouldn’t be comparing himself to him. Things with you and Billy are clearly over, so he doesn’t need to be thinking about him anymore. He’s no longer a threat anymore.
“Fuck, need you inside me,” you whine as you’re coming down from your orgasm. “Take off my pants. God, he’s bricked now and he finds himself needing to be inside you just as much as you do. So you’re both taking each other’s pants off, struggling to do so, so you take your own pants off until you’re both in your underwear.
And the next thing you know, you’re both fully naked and Eddie is lying flat on the bed, all ready for you as you move to straddle him, but you pause before you can get into position. He sees a concerned look on your face and he’s quick to sit up, grabbing hold of your hips as he sits up, a look of concern flashing across his face as he prepares to do whatever you need, whatever he can to make that furrow of your eyebrows to go away.
“What’s wrong, honeybee?” He asks as his fingers move up and down your back gently.
“We used my last condom last night, and obviously I didn’t think this was going to happen, so-” You cut yourself off as you chew on your bottom lips. Eddie doesn’t think he’s ever seen you this nervous and it’s internally panicking. You’re usually so laid back about everything so he can’t understand why something like not having a condom is causing you to stress.
“We don’t have to use one,” he says and clearly that was the wrong answer by the way you look at him. You haven’t even done anything yet and he’s already fucked up again. But he’s willing to fix it. To do anything to see that pretty smile again.
“But what about-”
“Hey,” he cuts you off, his voice so soft and reassuring that you take a deep breath, trying so hard to match his energy. “It’s okay. I have one.” He leans over to his bedside table and pulls one out of the drawer and he sees you visibly relax as he presents it to you.
You open it and roll it onto him before topping him, the moan that falls from his lip sounding like music to your ears and you begin to ride him slow as his hips buck against yours at the same pace. Together, you move as one as you lean over him as your hands find his. You watch him come undone underneath you, grateful that it’s going much better than it did the night before.
“Fuck, honeybee,” he whines. “This is so much better than I was imagining.” He’s cringing as soon as the words leave his mouth, but all you can do is smile.
“Oh, so you’ve been imagining it?” You tease, but really, you’re nothing but flattered. That he’s been thinking about it in the way that you have. “Well that makes two of us.”
“All the time,” he tells you. “When I go to bed, in the shower, even in-” he’s cut off by an orgasm rolling through him and you watch in amazement, fascinated as you watch him come absolutely undone beneath you.
He’s a little embarrassed by how quickly he’s come, but you seem to be into it, encouraging him, talking him through it. And god does, this beat the nights where he has nothing but his lotion, sock and hand to keep him company. Now that he’s had the real thing, masturbation is never going to compare in his eyes.
“Yeah, just like that, baby. Such a good boy for me, hm?” You coo and he swears he’s going to all over again just by hearing that nickname. He eats it up every time.
Just when you’re going to make him come again, there’s a knock on the door, making the two of you pause. You had completely forgotten about the pizza as other things had taken over your mind. You let out a laugh then climb off Eddie before helping him sit up.
“I’ll get it,” you tell him as you throw on his boxers and t-shirt before standing in front of him. “Just make sure to save room for dessert,” you tell him before pressing a kiss to his lips and then you disappear into the hallway while Eddie hurries to dispose of the condom and clean himself up before he finds another pair of boxers and t-shirt.
Once he’s dressed, he sits on the bed feeling nothing but giddy as he’s actually had sex with his dream girl. He collapses onto his bed with a contented sigh as he waits for you to come back. A grin is plastered on his face as he stares up at the ceiling and he can still feel himself inside of you. He’s riding a high that drugs have never been able to give him and that orgasm was easily the best one he’s ever had.
You come back into the room looking like nothing but a dream and he’s looking at you like you’ve hung the moon as you set the pizza box on the bed along with two plates and bottles of water.
You hand Eddie a plate and he doesn’t think he’s ever been happier in his life. You’ve shared more meals together than you can count throughout your friendship but this one feels different. It feels more intimate, almost like you’re a couple but you’re clearly not. At least, that’s what Eddie keeps reminding himself.
You sit right next to him and Eddie can feel your warmth emanating off your body. And seeing you in his clothes is doing something to him. Why is he more nervous to sit next to you than he was to sleep with you? Maybe it’s because it’s brought you closer, makes him realize just how in love with you he is even though he knows his feelings aren’t reciprocated. And that’s perfectly fine with Eddie. He doesn’t care what you are to him as long as you’re in his life.
The two of you polish off the pizza then go for multiple rounds between Eddie’s sheets before you fall asleep in each other’s arms. Eddie’s convinced that’s the best sleep he’s ever gotten and he knows that’s just because you’re there. There’s something about you that always seems to calm the screams that always circle his mind when he’s alone or with anyone who’s not you.
And you sleep well too, deciding that you’ll be able to do so as long as you’re in his arms, and you intend to be for as long as he’ll have you. It’s not like your parents will notice or care anyway. They’re either out for the night or arguing so loud that you can’t focus on anything else. Eddie’s trailer is the one place where you feel like you can actually get some peace and quiet.
Ever since that night in Eddie’s trailer, the two of you have been fucking on any surface you can find. You’ve done it on his couch, the back of his van, the boys’ bathroom at school, the janitor’s closet, and even on the hellfire table when you had met up with him after the session. It’s all just a cycle and neither of you can seem to get enough, as one of you is always initiating it and it’s always obvious where it’s going.
And even though it’s only been almost a week, Eddie’s become a natural. He somehow always knows what you want and when you want it, giving it to you with no question. He knows where to touch and what to say, god is he good at the dirty talk. He may be shy in public, but as soon as it's just the two of you, he’s got a filthy mouth.
But even when you’re not sleeping together, you’re still attached at the hip wherever you go. If you’re at his trailer, you’re cuddled up on the couch and at school, you’re either walking hand in hand or have your arms wrapped around each other. And when you can’t see each other for whatever reason, you’re on the phone, yapping into the early hours of the morning when you’re definitely supposed to be asleep.
This is the happiest either of you have been and even though you don’t exactly know what you and Eddie are, you’re just happy to have him around because of how happy he makes you. You know that the elephant in the room should be addressed, but you’re terrified to have that conversation. You’ve already had it with Billy and look where that got you.
Eddie knows there’s something you’re not saying. He can see it in your mannerisms and even right on your face, but he doesn’t want to pry. He doesn’t want to get into your business because that’s yours. He doesn’t like to pry. But he wants to know what you’re thinking. He wants you to just come out and say it even though he can’t get himself to ask. So you both just dance around the subject since your bodies do all of the talking anyway.
-
You find yourselves in the back of Eddie’s van once again in the parking lot of the grocery store. You know how public it is, but that makes it even more exciting. You’re on all fours as he fucks you from behind, his cock pounding into you as one of his hands is massaging your tit. You’re facing the back so anyone could see pretty much all of you as they pass by, but it’s not like you’re looking anyway.
Your eyes are shut tight as continuous moans fall from your lips as Eddie’s encouraging you with the most filthy words. He’s slowly fitting all of himself inside you inch by inch and even though you feel like you’re going to be torn apart, you hardly mind. In fact, you wouldn’t have it any other way.
“So good, Eddie, oh my god,” you whine.
“Yeah, you like that, honeybee?” He asks as his fingers dig into your hips. You like how he still uses your sweet nickname that always juxtaposes his dirty words. You don’t know where it came from, but it always seems to make your cold heart thaw just a little bit every time you hear it.
“More,” you moan. “Harder.” He hesitantly does as you ask and pounds into you even harder, a louder moan falling from your lips as he does so.
Billy pulls into the parking lot, muttering to himself about how he always has to do everything. Of course Susan just had to be out of pumpkin for a recipe and of course she sent him to the store because Neil can never get off his lazy ass and do anything for his wife.
He’s still muttering to himself about his shitty life when he sees a van rocking back and forth a few feet away. And because he’s a perv, he just has to see who’s getting it on in the grocery store parking lot. He recognizes the van, but he can’t figure out where from.
He approaches the back and peers in, feeling himself getting hard as he’s just thinking about seeing what he thinks he will. Whoever this chick is, she’s hot, and the way she comes makes him feel tight in his jeans. He’s seconds away from climbing in the van himself and taking over while he makes the bastard watch.
The girl looks familiar to him, though. He’s definitely seen her but he can’t quite pinpoint where. Maybe he’s fucked her? That seems likely considering he’s fucked pretty much all of the girls in Hawkins…and their moms. But then it all clicks in his brain as he sees you moan and now he’s angry, especially when he gets a glimpse of who’s behind you.
You and Munson?
He thinks he’s going to be sick as his hands slam against the van, causing both of you to jump. But he’s gone when you two look up, continuing what your doing. You’re reaching your orgasm and your moans are loud as your body starts to go limp.
You don’t mean to say it, the words just come out because of how overwhelmed with pleasure you are. It’s just three words, but they hold so much meaning, hold so much power.
“I love you,” you cry, and as soon as the words leave your mouth, you both pause, the sudden realization of what you’ve said washing over the two of you. Eddie’s quick to pull out and he grabs your shoulders and twists you around, pinning you to the floor of the van so he can see your face.
You think he’s going to make a run for it, but he just stays there, staring down at you with his pretty brown eyes. And then a smile kicks up at the corners of his mouth and now he’s full on grinning. You cover your face in embarrassment, wanting to take it all back, but he grabs hold of your hands and pins them to the floorboard so you can’t hide.
Eddie lowers himself down onto you and he pushes some of your sweaty hair away from your forehead, his grin faltering, but the smile is still very much there.
“I love you too, honeybee,” he replies as his lips find your cheek, then your other one, peppering your face in kisses as multiple “I love you’s” come from his mouth, the giggles coming from yours sounding like music to his ears. “I’ve loved you since the moment I saw you. But if we’re getting specific, it was that night we watched Carrie and you snuggled into my chest.”
“You’ve loved me that long?” You ask and he pecks your lips.
“I have,” he nods, his cheeks going pink as he lays his head on your chest while you run your fingers through his hair.
“I think I’ve loved you for a while, but I realized it when I left that night, thinking that you were mad at me and I realized how devastated I was to possibly not have you in my life.”
You feel your heart hammering in your chest as you confess to him, the feeling of vulnerability making you feel sick. But that all disappears when he leans up to look at you, resting his chin on your chest as he smiles up at you.
Eddie knows how scary you find sharing your feelings so he’s honored that you’re being honest with him. That you value him so much that you feel like you can tell him what you’d never want to tell anyone else. And that just shows just how much you value him as a person.
“Wow,” he replies with a smile.
“And I was thinking…that if you’re up for it…we could go to Nancy’s party tomorrow night. As a couple.”
Eddie’s smile grows even wider as he pins you to the floor one more time, peppering your face in kisses again, your laugh even louder this time.
“I’d love to,” he says as his lips find yours, his fingers intertwining with yours as he smiles into the kiss. And the two of you stay like that for a while, until your lips are kiss-bitten and he lays his head on your chest again, thinking to himself that he’s finally done something right in his.
“The blue one,” Eddie says as you hold up two dresses for him to choose. He’s lying on your bed as you get ready for the party, staring at you with so much love, completely enthralled by your routine.
“That’s the one I wanted you to pick,” you reply as you pull it off the hanger and throw it over your head. Eddie is quick to stand behind you and he zips up your dress, pressing a kiss to your shoulder as he does so.
“You look beautiful,” he says. “But you know where it would look even better?” He asks, his lips right by the shell of your ear. “On the floor,” he whispers and his hot breath sends a chill up your spine. “We could stay in,” he presses another kiss to your shoulder, moving up to your neck.
“Eddie,” you laugh and turn around so you’re facing him, wrapping your arms around his neck as his hands rested on your waist. “We have to go,” you tell him. “I promised Nancy.”
“Alright,” he sighs. “But you owe me after.”
“Of course I do,” you nod and press a kiss to his lips before you grab your shoes and let him lead you out to his van.
Everyone’s already at Nancy’s when the two of you show up and Eddie squeezes your hand as you pull him through the crowd, pressing his body against your back as he’s suddenly nervous again. He had hyped himself up the whole way there, but now he’s feeling like his shy self and is trying so hard to resist the urge to lock himself in the bathroom the whole night.
You’re the only reason why he’s even there. He can’t say no to your pretty face even though parties are the bane of his existence. Well, he doesn’t know that for sure since he’s never actually been to one that wasn’t hosted by someone in Hellfire. But they’re not really his thing. He hates the loud music and all of the chatter gets into his head and drives him crazy.
But he’s there for you. Because he loves you so much that he’ll do whatever you ask. And he saw how happy you were when you were getting ready and there was no way he was going to disappoint you.
So he lets you pull him into the living room where the host of the evening is conversing with Robin. You pull Eddie over to them with a smile and theirs match yours once they spot you.
“There she is,” Nancy says as she pulls you into a hug and Robin follows. “And it looks like I owe Robin five dollars.”
“Why do you owe her money?” You ask and she and Robin giggle.
“She bet me that you’d bring Eddie. But I only owe her if the two of you are together.”
“We are,” you confirm and you and Eddie are wearing matching grins. As shy as he is, he wants the world to know that he’s your boyfriend so he doesn’t mind in the slightest that you’re telling your friends. In fact, he prefers it. It means that you feel so secure in your relationship that you want to tell people about it.
“Good, because I owe Steve,” Robin replies and Nancy’s quick to elbow her in the stomach.
“What she means is that we’re happy for you guys. It’s been a long time coming, hasn’t it, Rob?”
That makes you wonder how obvious the two of you have been and how neither of you saw it. But you can see where they’re coming from as you’ve always been very close to Eddie, both emotionally and physical.
“It sure has,” you hear a voice behind you and feel your skin crawl as you know exactly who it is. You don’t want to turn around, but force yourself, making sure that your mind isn’t playing tricks on you. You have to confirm that you’re not in some sort of fucked up nightmare.
You gasp when you see Billy standing a few feet away, slowly making his way closer as one arm holds onto a girl’s waist and his other hand is holding a cigarette that he’s putting to his lips. He takes a drag and blows it into the air. You grab hold of Eddie’s hand and squeeze it as Billy approaches, blinking a few times and even going as far as pinching yourself to be positive that he was actually there.
“So you two, huh?” He asks, referring to the both of you with his cigarette. “So it looks like you got my sloppy seconds. That’s fine. She’s damaged goods anyway.”
By the way he’s speaking, you can tell he’s drunk, so much so that you can smell it on him even with him standing so far away. You can see how angry Eddie is already getting out of the corner of your eye.
“Did you really think I wouldn’t find out?” He asks as he removes his arm from the girl, slightly pushing her aside as he puts his cigarette out on the mantle above the fireplace. “Better be careful, Munson. She might try to baby trap you.”
That’s a low fucking blow and Billy knows it. He knows how to hit you right where it hurts and he can see it’s worked as horror flashes across your face. Good, that will show you for leaving him.
You remember it all so vividly, the flashbacks coming back to you in full force. It hits you all so hard that you have to hold onto Eddie as you try to shake it out of your head, but you can’t.
“I have a surprise for you,” you tell Billy as you hold up the test for him to see. You think he’s going to jump for joy, but you guess you should have known better as he steps closer to you, anger evident on his face.
“What the fuck is that?” He asks as he points to the test.
“It’s a test,” you reply, your smile faltering, your voice getting smaller.
“Yeah,” he spits. “A positive one and there’s no fucking way I’m having a baby.”
“Well, you don’t have to. I can raise it on my own.” Before you can turn away from him, he grabs onto your wrist and squeezes it until you’re wincing.
“Yeah, that’s not fucking happening. I don’t need people finding out that I fathered a child and I most certainly don’t need that little fucker trying to find me when it gets older.” He lets go of your hand then takes the tests and throws it in the trash before turning back to you. “We’re getting rid of it and you’re not going to tell anyone, got it?”
“Y/n…what’s he talking about?” Eddie asks as he steadies you and you’re not ready to tell him the truth.
“Tell him, y/n,” Billy commands. “Tell him about how you were so hellbent on having a baby that you tricked me into it.”
“I didn’t trick you,” you correct, shaking off the nervousness in your voice. “It’s not my fault you never wear a condom and didn’t pull out in time.”
You’ve got an audience now and you want the floor to swallow you whole while Billy is eating up the attention. That’s the whole reason why he’s there. He just wants to put on a show, to make you regret what you’ve done. Because if Billy can’t be happy, no one can.
You feel like you’re going to throw up and have to step closer to Eddie to make yourself feel more comfortable. You want to leave but know you can’t, because then Billy will win and you can’t have that. You want to be the champion this time.
“Well it doesn’t matter anymore,” Billy chuckles as he grabs a cup from some girl’s hand then downs it before throwing it to the side. He then takes a few strides until he’s standing in front of you. “Because the little thing doesn’t exist anymore, does it?” He asks and you’re so pulled into the flashback that you don’t hear everyone gasp as he makes the revelation.
All of a sudden, you’re thrown back in the waiting room where you had to sit alone, unbeknownst to you that Billy was fucking some other girl right after dropping you off. He was making you get rid of the baby that you wanted and he didn’t even have the decency to sit with you.
When you come out of your trance just in time to see Eddie throw a punch Billy’s way and Billy retaliates but Eddie is quick to move out of the way, causing Billy’s fist to collide with your face. Everyone gasps as you cover your nose with your hands and the girls pull you back as Eddie gets in a few more punches, causing Billy to fall to the floor before Eddie takes you up stairs to the bathroom to help clean you up.
You’re sobbing as Eddie pulls you up the stairs and once you’re there, he pulls you into the bathroom, making you sit on the toilet as he rifles through the cabinet above the sink to find what he needs to help you.
He can’t fucking believe it. He knew Billy was a dick, but he didn’t know that he went around making his hookups get abortions, especially not you. He wants to ask exactly what happened, but he knows it’s not his place. So he just gathers what he needs then moves to kneel in front of you.
He cleans up your wound and you feel guilt rising inside you as you think about the fact that he knows your biggest secret and you weren’t even the one to tell him. It makes you feel so sick that Billy had shown up with the intention of embarrassing you, but you guess you shouldn’t be surprised. And he got what he wanted anyway, even if he got a bloody and possibly broken nose in return.
“It happened last year…around this time,” you tell him as he hands you a piece of toilet paper which you put against your nose, wincing at the pain. “I told him that I was pregnant and he…I…” You try to find the words, but Eddie presses his hands against your cheeks to stop you.
“Hey, hey, let’s not focus on that right now, okay?” He asks. “We’re gonna fix up your nose and then we’re gonna go home and watch a movie and once you’ve slept on it and have a clear head, then you can tell me.”
“Okay,” you nod, knowing that you can’t fight him on it. And you don’t want to anyway. You agree and think it's too much for one night.
“Now let’s get you cleaned up, okay, honeybee?” You nod and let him clean you up, noticing how often he’s called you that nickname and now you want to know where it came from, the meaning behind it.
“Why do you call me ‘honeybee’?” You ask, looking up at him and he laughs in response.
“Because you’re sweet like honey, but you sting like a bee,” he winks. “Now hold on, this might sting,” he says as he brings a cotton pad covered in alcohol up to the wound.
You watch him as he works and can’t believe that after all the shit you’ve gone through that you finally found someone who loves you for who you are. That he doesn’t think low of you because of where you come from or your home life or the way you react to things because of your trauma.
Eddie sees the version of you that you show to only him and as you’ve gotten closer to him, you’ve felt the walls that you’ve spent years building fall away. You feel more like yourself around him and less like the shell that you had been when you hung out with Billy. And when you look into the future, you can see the two of you together, rocking your newborn on the front porch of the house you share together. And then you’d take her over to Wayne’s so he could watch her while the two of you go out for a much needed date night. And maybe, if you play your cards right, that’s exactly what will happen.
#stranger things#eddie munson#eddie munson x reader#eddie x y/n#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x fem!reader#eddie munson smut#eddie munson fluff#eddie munson hurt/comfort#virgin!eddie#virgin! eddie x experienced!reader
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