#the things they loved and did every day are your burdens to bear now. do you get me. screams

[snobgoblin]

thinking about the ring thing and the hat thing and the grief and the things people we love leave behind as reminders of the absence of their presence etc etc. sigh

[us3rnam3-r3dact3d]

the world (it burns through me)

Chapter 6

Ao3 | 3k words | Freelancer’s POV

Freelancer catches a ride home. Vincent shares some of his deep lore. Gavin cooks bacon shirtless. Caelum is just here for the cinnamon buns.

TW: discussion of past injury, medical terms, discussion of transphobia

“It’s fine, Lasko.” You grinned into your phone as you tossed your backpack onto one shoulder. “My coworker is taking me home.”

“I’m so sorry!” Lasko squealed for about the twentieth time since calling you in a panic right as your shift ended.

You didn’t drive, so the burden of getting you to and from work was split pretty evenly between your boys. You made sure you only worked night shifts on the weekends so you were there to tuck Caelum into bed almost every night of the week and there to entertain him on the weekends while Gavin worked. There were some days, however, where it couldn’t be avoided. It was a Tuesday, and apparently Sam had called out of shift for the first time ever, so you came in out of the goodness of your heart. That, and Vincent’s begging, of course. He couldn’t bear to spend a shift with one of the firefighters as a make-shift EMT, especially not when the spare was Christain. He was a nice enough guy to you, but his constant whining started to grade on you after a few hours. You did not want Vincent to be trapped in a metal box with him for twelve hours.

The only downside of relying on Lasko for things like rides was that he was chronically late, and almost always had a scheduling conflict he’d forgotten about. It hadn’t been nearly as endearing last semester, when every minor inconvenience became the thing that sent you over the edge of your always-looming nervous breakdown. Now, though, you only had a slightly overwhelming number of things to do at home rather than a completely insurmountable amount. You had time and patience to burn.

“You’re sure that it's fine?” Lasko asked. His voice was about an octave and a half higher than its natural range. You could imagine the cute little pinch that lived on his brow when he was this worked up.

“I’m positive.” You smiled fondly. “Please try to relax. Try that tea Gavin got you!”

“Y-yeah that’s um… a great idea actually.”

“Love ya, buddy.” You hung up before he could spiral any further.

“Your friends sound adorably high strung.” Vincent stepped out of the locker room and bumped his shoulder into yours the way he did with Sam every time they greeted each other. It had been a few weeks since you’d first joined the 10-19. It was stressful. You worried your way through most of your shifts, but it also came so naturally to you. You were beginning to fall in step with Sam and Vincent, blending into their well-formed routines. You still fucked up. You still had more questions than you thought you should. But Sam and Vincent were incredibly accommodating, more so than you deserved.

“Just two of them. The other two are worryingly laid back.” You laughed. Vincent grinned, his canines sharp and straight and white. He looked haggard, and to his credit, it had been a batshit crazy shift. A few drunken assholes, a few more bloody injuries than you were accustomed to, at least not since that first night. Vincent took it all in stride, of course, he took everything in stride. You could just barely see the lines of that exhaustion drawn on his handsome face. That designer bag not even Christian dared tease him for was hanging on one shoulder as his (probably also designer) hoodie hung off the other. It seemed intentionally messy, intentionally mused. You smiled. Cute.

“Well, I’ll have to meet your polar opposite friends.” Vincent held the door for you as you stepped outside into the cold. It had transitioned into proper winter, and a chill spread across your cheeks and made your eyes water. It was early enough that you could see the first brushes of sunrise in the space between the buildings. The sounds of Dahlia's morning were just beginning to echo around you. Something in your chest that had shaken and seized for so long was very suddenly still. “We do a barbecue every spring. Everybody brings their family.”

You shivered at the thought of introducing Gavin to Sam. You’d have to hide behind Huxley for that particular interaction.

“You guys might not let me back in after seeing the company I keep.” You laughed. Vincent’s echoed yours around the parking lot.

“We don’t scare easy.”

Vincent’s car was parked in the far corner of the lot, a few spaces away from everybody else. You’d dated a few guys who did that; parked away from other cars to protect their paint jobs. Those guys had, of course, driven comparatively unimpressive cars. Vincent’s seemed to be genuinely vintage. You didn’t know shit about cars, but you did know that it looked old, and its shiny black paint job was flawless and pristine. He opened the passenger door for you with a dramatic wave of his hands before circling the car and plopping down into the driver’s seat. You held your backpack awkwardly in your lap as you glued your eyes to the red leather interior.

Vincent was rich. Only rich people had cars like this and kept them so fucking clean. There wasn’t a speck of dust or dirt on the carpet that you hadn’t just put there. You felt Vincent’s eyes trail to the same spot yours were on before they politely glanced away.

You’d forgotten about this particular kind of awkwardness; figuring out the right time to transition from work conversation to more personal conversation. You’d never been good at pinpointing when a coworker became a friend.

“So…” Vincent trailed the word over his clever lips, “want to gossip about Sam?” It startled a laugh out of you.

“Oh, Vincent,” you pressed a hand to your chest, swooning, “I thought you’d never ask.”

As it turned out, Vincent was just as perplexed by Sam’s call out as you were. He had a slightly worried edge as he talked about it, like the change in behavior had thrown him entirely. You could understand the apprehension. Sam was nothing if not steady. He was a constant in the 10-19. Always early, always leaving late. Vincent had never known him to be anything else.

“You two are close,” you inclined your head, the question unasked but clear. You wondered, sometimes, given their connection, what exactly the two of them were. Vincent met your eye with the corner of his, a dangerous, sharp smile curling across his lips.

“We’ve known each other a long time.” He answered your question with his tone alone. Your cheeks burned, but you fought to keep your air casual. “He was on my medical team when he was a surgical intern. Saved my life a few times.” You hummed noncommittally, allowing him room to share or hold back whatever he chose to. “I was in an accident when I was a teenager.” he said after a moment. It was a well worn explanation, something he’d said over and over again. “Broke my spine, traumatic brain injury, the works.”

“Jesus,” you breathed, shaking your head.

“Yeah, tell me about it.” Vincent laughed. “Anyway, to make a very long story short, my surgeon adopted me so I could use his insurance.”

“William Solaire.” You provided before you could stop yourself.

“You know him?”

“I’ve read… one or two of his journals.” All of them. And his book.

“Yeah, that guy. He adopted me and Sam was the surgical intern in charge of my case. He was like… six years older than me? We were close enough in age and he spent so much fucking time with me that… yeah, we got close. By the time I was out of the hospital, we just… kept hanging out. Eventually I recovered enough to like… be normal? And he talked me into getting my EMT certification.”

“He’s a good guy.” You said softly. Vincent nodded.

“Yeah.” He said. “Just… with really bad taste.”

“Oh yeah?” You laughed.

“He’s got a track record.” Vincent shrugged. You pointed out your apartment building. Vincent’s fancy car purred into a free spot. “Just… yeah. Everybody is so tight lipped about Tank and… I don’t know. I worry.”

“For what it’s worth,” you offered, “they don’t give me the vibes of an abusive asshole.”

“How are you sure?” He asked. Something about his voice seemed suddenly vulnerable. You sighed softly.

“I just… you know. I’ve met enough of them. Abusive assholes, that is.”

“Ah.” Vincent nodded, his face tight with understanding. Early morning light filtered in from between the buildings, still gray and not quite beautiful yet. You blinked the exhaustion from your eyes.

“Wanna come up for breakfast-dinner?” You asked.

“I’d love that.”

You realized, as you were ascending the stairs towards your top floor apartment, that there was a very real chance that Gavin was naked. He worked very hard to keep Caelum insulated from his work, but he also spent the majority of his time alone in the apartment in as much of a state of undress as he could get away with. You held your breath as you opened the door, angling to step in front of Vincent or maybe cover his eyes like you did Caelum during scary scenes in movies.

The apartment smelled like bacon and cinnamon sugar, and you relaxed into the warmth and homeliness of it all as you kicked off your work boots. You chucked your backpack in the corner next to Caelum’s and rushed around the corner before Vincent could.

Gavin was at the stove. He was wearing a pair of your sweatpants, purple and ancient and sinfully tight on him. Dark, curling hair fell around his face in mussed ringlets. He was shirtless, his carefully maintained musculature and tan on full display. You swept your eyes across his chest. The light, pinkish scar tissue under his pecks usually didn’t draw your attention, but you worried when introducing him to people whose views you hadn’t had the chance to suss out.

Vincent wasn’t an asshole. He asked you your pronouns when meeting you for the first time. He didn’t bat an eye the few times you’d mentioned Damien and Huxley. Even still, you couldn’t help the surge of protectiveness that overtook you when it came to Gav.

“Hello, De-” Gavin turned in time to spot Vincent, the lewd nickname on his lips morphing as he realized that you had company, “-my love!” He chirped. His features took on a slightly alarmed edge, but when his eyes met you, they softened. You must have looked exhausted. “Who’s your friend?”

“Hey, baby,” you pressed a hand to the small of his back and kissed his temple as he turned back to the eggs he was scrambling, “this is Vincent. Vincent, this is my partner, Gavin.” Gavin looked back over his shoulder, cut his eyes up and down Vincent before a smile curled around his teeth.

“In all the stories you told me about Vincent,” Gavin said, and you braced yourself for whatever innuendo or flirtatious remark he was about to make, “you never mentioned that he was a dreamboat.”

It was just how Gavin was. He was a flirt, a devastating one, and with everybody who didn’t directly indicate they didn’t enjoy it. He often started out relationships this way, a quick compliment or sexual comment that would gauge how far he could go with any given person. It got him in trouble sometimes, but he always claimed it told him who he did and didn’t want to be associated with. You were of the opinion that there was nothing wrong with the way he talked to people, but that didn’t mean the manners you were raised with were suddenly out the window.

Vincent was struck silent for a moment, and his gray eyes followed the same path over Gavin as Gavin’s had followed over him. Then, a delightful little giggle bubbled up and out of him. Gavin was right, of course. Vincent was a dreamboat. He was thin but muscular in the right places, and his dark hair framed his narrow face precisely. He swiped a hand over his face before leveling Gavin with the same knee-shaking grin he gave to particularly flirty patients.

“In all the stories you told me about Gavin,” Vincent’s eyes flicked to you, “you never mentioned that he was exactly my type.”

“We’re too similar.” You shrugged, relaxing into the knowledge that Gavin was safe here, with this person you’d brought into his space. “I didn’t want to have to battle it out for him.”

“Please, please,” Gavin laughed, “there’s plenty of me to go around.” He motioned for your hoodie, which you relinquished without a thought, and then stepped towards the back of the apartment, where the three bedrooms rested all in a row. “Caelum!” He called down the hallway, “Breakfast! We’re late, buddy.”

Vincent cocked an eyebrow at you.

“Our kid.” You supplied, handing him a plate as you pulled the cinnamon buns from the oven. Gavin had forgotten them, but you wouldn’t let them burn. They were Caelum’s favorite at the moment, which meant you were eating them breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

Caelum hated when you worked the night shift. He claimed that he couldn’t sleep in the apartment when you were gone, even though you called to tell him goodnight and he knew Gavin was there. His therapist said it had something to do with his sense of security. Caelum had never had an abundance of supportive, safe adults in his life before coming to stay with you and Gavin. He did now, of course. Between you and your boys, he had enough parents to supply a small village.

Their father, Gavin’s and Caelum’s, had failed them in many, many ways. Gavin said the only good thing the man had ever done for him was signing over his parental rights. Gavin was determined that Caelum wouldn’t see a single consequence that he had for their parent’s shortcomings.

Caelum didn’t bound down the hallway the way he did most mornings. He was mostly dressed, save for socks and shoes. He was technically wearing a pajama shirt, but you weren’t choosing that particular hill to die on. The two of you had argued enough times about the top to his Spider-Man pajamas to drive you actually insane. At this point, if it bothered other people, that was their problem. His sandy hair was still wild and he rubbed one chubby little kid hand over his eyes as he walked out into the bright, bustling kitchen.

“You were gone all night.” He said by way of greeting. You smiled softly and scooped him up, peppering his cheeks with kisses.

“Sorry, buddy.” You said gently, settling him in a seat next to you, across from Vincent at your small kitchen table. “Had to work. I’ve got cinnamon buns to buy!”

“Gav never has to work at night.” Caelum said defiantly. He eyed Vincent suspiciously, but didn’t introduce himself. He struggled with new adults sometimes, especially men. It was good practice, his therapist insisted, to introduce him to a handful of trusted people with little or no warning.

“Gav has worked enough nights for one lifetime.” Gavin sighed as he sat next to Vincent. “Eat your sugar, Sugar.”

Caelum giggled at the pet name. Halfway through breakfast, he stood on his chair to extend a hand to Vincent across the table, loudly announcing his name. After that particular seal was broken, he chatted Vincent’s ear off about how excited he was to go to school because it was nearly time for winter holiday and that meant they weren’t doing any math at all anymore.

Once breakfast was over, Caelum carried his own plate to the sink and ran off to gather his socks and shoes.

“Cute kid,” Vincent smiled, “my partner works with kids around his age. I never personally saw the appeal, but hey.” He shrugged.

“Trust me, neither did I,” Gavin laughed, “but I met him once and just couldn’t say no.”

“Caelum is Gavin’s half-brother.” You explained.

“I thought you two looked a little young to have a kid his age.” Vincent grinned. Gavin laughed and shrugged, grabbing his fur-lined, impractically cropped winter coat from the rack next to the door.

“He’s the best thing that ever happened to me.” He smiled, a rare moment of unguarded emotion passing over his features. Vincent’s smile deepened.

“He’s adorable.”

“He is!” Caelum emerged from his room, winter coat on, and grabbed for his backpack.

“Come on, buddy,” Gavin offered his hand and snagged his keys from their designated hook, “we’re late for the bus.”

“If we miss it, will we go for ice cream like last time?” Caelum laughed. Your eyes widened as you leveled Gavin with a deadly look.

“He’s joking!” Gavin splayed his hands out in a show of innocence. “What an imagination! Kick my ass for that later, we’re actually very late, I love you!”

You sighed as the door shut, a fond smile worming its way onto your face despite your annoyance.

Vincent helped you clean up, dutifully dried the dishes as you washed them. He gathered his jacket, keys, and bag.

“I had no idea,” he said, as he made his way towards the door, “that you had so much going on.”

“Oh, I mean,” you shook your head, “it’s not…” you swallowed, fighting back the urge to downplay your circumstances like you always had. “It’s… I’m very happy.”

“I’m sure.” Vincent smiled, but not his usual smile. That thing was all sharp canines and facade. This one was almost gentle, almost blushing. “You’re just um… you’re so focused. I have a hard time keeping up with you sometimes. It’s hard to believe you have anything to think about besides medicine.”

It startled a laugh out of you. You felt so scattered most of the time.

“Vincent Solaire,” you grinned, “you flirt.”

“Guilty as charged.” That sharp smile was back. “I’ll text you if Sam does anything worrying. See ya, Probie!”

The apartment was quiet once the latch slid back into place. You had a million things to do. Instead, you crawled into bed and slept like the dead. You woke halfway through the day, curled against Gavin’s side. He mumbled something inappropriate into your hair before he began snoring again. The million things you had to do could wait just a little bit longer.

[cheralith]

to a heart's content — 「 single father!miguel o'hara x reader 」

content warnings ; fem!reader, use of she/her pronouns, "mother"/"daughter"/"wife" used, parental death, mentions of child abandonment, not too much mention of him being spider-man

contains ; single father!miguel o'hara, boss!miguel o'hara, assistant!reader, hints of pining, just some good ol' fluff for everyone's current favorite dilf, angst w/ comfort, heavy need of editing prob, not beta read

notes ; purely self-indulgent to fuel my love of found family trope apologies

parts: one two three four (tba)

Single Father!Miguel O'Hara whose life revolves essentially around one person—his daughter—but to be one of the heads of America’s largest corporation and bearing the responsibility of keeping Nueva York safe and sound whilst simultaneously being a single father was not exactly something that Miguel O’Hara could juggle so easily. Hell, he’s even surprised that he’s made it so far without losing his absolute sanity considering he couldn’t even recall the last time he was able to rest properly without his attention being wavered to something or someone else.

Single Father!Miguel whose hands always filled to the brim with tasks and obligations. Miguel wished he was able to clone himself twice in order to have three Miguel O’Haras attending to each of his duties soundly, but alas, Alchemax and the matter of his mind can only do so much.

Single Father!Miguel whose ever so lucky to have you as his assistant to at least help with two out of three of them. You entered the picture around three years ago, when he had caught the eye of his superiors and had used his intelligence to their own advantage, disguising it as a promotion of sorts. You were given as some sort of gift to them as a way to help ease his workload and he truly couldn’t be more thankful for your existence—if he doesn’t necessarily show it most of the time from his stoic countenance he masks on 24/7. While not exactly a carbon copy of him, you, by far, come rather close, and Miguel will take whatever comes to him in this day and age.

Single Father!Miguel who notices that you're obedient and demure, though rather soft spoken and a little too apprehensive for his liking at times (he had noticed, before you became his assistant, that your coworkers would shovel their workload onto you and you’d accept with little complaint but evident hesitation; he wonders if it was the given similarities between you and him that made him choose you as his assistant). You dressed well, hung onto every word he said, and spoke out when properly needed. You were a good aid to have around—great, even.

Single Father!Miguel who trusts you as both his assistant and a human being enough to leave his precious daughter in your care knowing full well she would be in good hands. Sometimes Alchemax would work him overtime, sometimes his duties as Spider-Man would interfere. No matter what it was, it delayed him from seeing and attending to his daughter’s needs, and thus, he had asked you once in a while to pick up and babysit his daughter after your usual 9-5.

Single Father!Miguel who, at the beginning, once in a while asked you to pick his daughter up from school. Once in a while turned into occasionally. Occasionally turned into sometimes. Sometimes turned into constantly, and next thing Miguel knew, you were the one that his daughter and teachers would look out for during school pick up time. He didn’t expect that you would become his assistant even outside of work, but you did, and Miguel can’t exactly turn back time now. He’s labeled you as his child’s unofficial secondary caretaker—you’re even listed as an emergency contact.

Single Father!Miguel who thinks you’re too polite for your own good. Miguel had asked you once if this was a burden, being his assistant both in and out of Alchemax, and if it became too much that you were more than free to quit at any sudden time without consequence. You had merely replied that you understood the struggles of being a single parent and that he shouldn’t be ashamed of asking for help when it was needed. 

Single Father!Miguel who notices that Gabriella views you more than just her occasional babysitter. When he'd come home late at night, he was usually greeted by you two doing something together, whether it be doing math homework together, baking cookies, you reading aloud to her, or just simply talking, he'd always catch you and her almost... bonding.

Single Father!Miguel who often dwells on the memory of young Gabriella asking innocently why she doesn't have two parents like the rest of her classmates, why she only had one parent compared to everyone else after witnessing she was the odd one out during Family Day. Miguel didn't, and still doesn't, have the courage to tell her that her real mother had abandoned her to him, leaving Miguel in the dust. Miguel used her naivety to his advantage. He disguised it as her being unique compared to others, that some moms just came later in life; she just happened to be a late bloomer.

Single Father!Miguel who always thanks you for staying late tucking Gabriella into bed when he couldn't. You constantly tell him that it's truly no problem, but he insists on thanking you every time and ever so subtly increasing your paycheck. How could he not? Especially considering the fact you always, always whip him up extra dinner that was tucked away for him to eat during the late hours of night.

Single Father!Miguel who feels uneasy as he opens up a fridge to find the said pasta left by you one night in a glass tupperware container, staring at how neatly it’s been plated despite its standard container. He juts it into the microwave as he attempts to ignore how quiet and desolate the kitchen and the apartment is, how the humming of the microwave and the humdrum of the ceiling fan are the only noise that floats through. And when he quietly eats the pasta serving meant for one, he can’t help but gaze longingly at the empty seat across the dining table, where someone else should be seated with him sharing the same meal.

Single Father!Miguel who finally has the time to pick up his daughter after school for once in the school year, but forgot to tell you that you were able to take the rest of the day off. So you, him, Gabriella, and essentially everyone are surprised when both you and Miguel show up to pick Gabriella up after school. One of the teachers goes to gush about how she's excited to meet Gabriella's dad and what a beautiful family you all are, to which you and Miguel, evidently flustered, explain loosely your relationship to each other and how it's merely professional (to one curly-headed third grader, though, it's not—but she'd never tell you and her father that. At least not now.).

Single Father!Miguel who tags along to Gabriella's after school soccer practice for once and despite your protests about you not wanting to interfere "family time", Miguel and his daughter convince you to come watch her like you usually did on Wednesdays. He says he doesn't mind at all and if anything, could use your presence there to ease his nerves since he'd be a newcomer to the soccer parent group.

Single Father!Miguel who watches attentively to how you support Gabriella on the field from the sidelines. He wonders tenaciously if you've fallen into routine of this—from helping her get ready into her uniform to offering small suggestions that help her on the soccer field. He doesn't miss the way her eyes go towards you whenever she did something right and he especially catches onto the fact that she would gush in pure happiness from your approval when you would throw a thumbs up or a delighted nod.

Single Father!Miguel who merely blinks at the compliments given by the two friendly soccer mom next to him.

"Gabi does certainly look a lot like you, but she still has (Y/N)'s beauty and kindness, doesn't she?"

"Oh yes, I agree. Your wife is nothing less of lovely, you know, you're a very lucky man, Mr. O'Hara!"

He's so caught up in trying to process both their words and Gabriella's action on the field, that it doesn't register to him until a few moments later. Miguel attempts to butt in, saying that you're just his subordinate, but when a loud cheer from the other team erupts through, his words fail him.

Single Father!Miguel whose mind is still so stuck on what the soccer moms had said about you that he didn't even realize Gabriella had made the winning goal for today's practice match. Lying through his teeth when asked about if he saw it from her, he realizes that perhaps he should start viewing you in a different light rather than just his daughter's babysitter because the way that Gabriella looks at you with such elation when you congratulate her on her win pulls at his heartstrings ever so slightly.

Single Father!Miguel who contemplates over and over again if he should be doing this—inviting you to Gabriella's first game of the season—the two purchased tickets he held in his fist. You've entered his home a dozen of times, but this would be the first time in three years that he was outside of your own residence. He thinks he's too dressed up for the occasion, cladded in a white button up and black dress pants. A voice asks him if he's his daughter's boyfriend, and Miguel whips around to face an elderly man with a questioned look on his face.

Single Father!Miguel who realizes that it's your father standing in front of him, spare key in hand. He's quick to say no (to your father's disappointment), and introduces himself as your superior. Your father invites Miguel inside your apartment, telling him that you were out fetching groceries and jokingly mentions he uses this opportunity to sneakily fill your cabinets and fridge of food. Your father complains you're too independent for your own good, but he can't exactly blame you—you grew up that way.

Single Father!Miguel who learns that once in your life you were just like his daughter and that in one point in your father's life, he was just like Miguel. All details shared from him, he learns that your mother passed away early in your life due to cancer and ultimately left you and your father to fend for yourselves. Your father tells Miguel that you often had helped out even when you didn't need to—and it doesn't take long for Miguel to piece the pieces together. Why you barely complain about the extra workload, why your father said you're too autonomous, and why all those years ago you not only sympathized with Miguel, but understood his situation as you came from the same exact upbringing.

Single Father!Miguel who listens intently when your father quietly tells him that all he wants for you is to find a good man that would be able to take care of you properly because he believes he wasn't able to. Miguel is quick to reassure him, however, that he did a fantastic job raising a selfless, humble woman that grew to be compassionate and considerate of others' needs, that you were the hardest worker he had ever seen and that he shouldn't discredit himself. Your father goes to examine Miguel for a moment before letting out a loud, haughty laugh in your apartment and jokingly (not really) tells Miguel he hopes that you'll marry him one day, or at least someone like him.

Single Father!Miguel whose resolve dissipates when you walk into your apartment to find your boss and your father talking amongst each other. He sits silently and awkwardly as you complain to your father about dropping by without any warning before you ask him what was he doing here in the first place. Your father takes his leave, winking at Miguel with a glint in his eye, leaving you two in your apartment alone.

Single Father!Miguel who finally gathers up the courage to ask you if you'd like to attend Gabriella's soccer game with him. You interject with visible hesitation, telling him that it was implied that it was a family-only event and you'd hate to intrude onto something so intimate, but he's quick to reassure you that his daughter would love to have you there considering all the help you had given her during her practices—if anything, she would need you there for your support.

Single Father!Miguel who tells you that Gabriella had shown visible distress last night when Miguel told her that you might not be able to come due to your non-familial relationship with them. He almost begged you to come with them, as Gabriella had even threatened to quit soccer altogether if you weren't there to witness her first game. When you give in after moments of contemplation, Miguel truly couldn't believe his luck.

Single Father!Miguel who roots alongside you for Gabriella and her team, watching oh so closely just in case someone from the other team did a dirty trick on his precious daughter. He'd sometimes occasionally glance at you, only to see you completely zoned in and focused on Gabriella's playing like the rest of the parents, offering your support through compliments and encouragements that his daughter always caught and would visibly improve from. When she finally scores the winning goal per usual, she's quick to ignore the cheers coming from her teammates and parents to run off the field and not look for Miguel first, but for you.

"Did you see me?!" Gabriella exclaims excitedly as she flings her arms around your waist. "Did you see what I did?!"

"I did, yes," you laugh, attempting not to stumble over from the impact with visible glee and crouch down to her height. Pride written all over your face, you grin. "And I'm so incredibly proud of you."

"It's 'cause I did what you taught me," she declares. "I pointed first and then I shooted!" She uses hand gestures to reanimate her play on the field.

"Shot, Gabi," you correctly gently, your fingers going to automatically comb out the tangles out of her hair like you usually did after practices. "It does come handy, doesn't it?"

"Yeah!" Her eyes go to see Miguel, who doesn't stalk too far behind with open arms and the same proud look painted on his face. "Dad! Didja see me?! Didja see that I scored?!"

Miguel lets out a once-in-a-blue-moon chuckle and lifts his daughter into his arms, her arms wrapping around his neck in an affirming hug. "I saw very clearly, mi cariño, and I can't wait to brag about how my daughter scored the winning shot for her team," he compliments warmly.

Gabriella goes to point gleefully in your direction. "It was all because of Miss. (Y/N)," she declares, not knowing that her statement would make a rush of heat bloom onto your face.

"O-oh no... I only... w-well," you stammer out meekly, trying to find the right words. "I'm actually not too knowledgeable on soccer... I only repeated what I found online and—"

"Thank you," Miguel starts off fondly. "(Y/N), truly. Thank you."

You stare at him. "Mr. O'Hara..."

He sets Gabriella down for her to join her rejoicing teammate and pats the small of your back with a grateful look plastered on his face. You were so used to seeing the rather stoic and often tired side of Miguel O'Hara that you forgot he, too, was capable of smiling at times, so when you spotted the small of a grin on his lips that was for you specifically, you felt something in your chest jerk a little bit.

"If it weren't for you being here," he starts off quietly so only you can hear. "Gabi wouldn't have participated at all. She wanted you to come so she'd have enough courage to play because she was so used to you supporting her," Miguel glances at his daughter giggling about on the field. "So it was understandable that if her biggest supporter wasn't here to cheer her on, she wouldn't exactly do her best."

You blink slowly at him, digesting his words in order to truly savor them for all that they were. "I was just—"

"—doing your job?" Miguel finishes for you. He shakes his head. "Last time I remember, 'attending your boss's daughter's soccer games' wasn't on your job description," he says, earning a soft chuckle out of you despite his rather flat tone.

"I suppose so," you murmur with an evident warmth in your eyes, one that Miguel is sure Gabriella has seen numerous times and will continue to welcome as long as you're around.

So when after a dinner celebration at her favorite restaurant, after the star player is tucked into bed after a long day's work, Miguel takes it upon himself to do the what he thought was the impossible for him but possible for Gabriella.

"Stay safe out there," Miguel directs quietly as he helps you put on your coat again. "And again, thank you for today."

"It was my pleasure, Mr. O'Hara," you reply, "And I actually had fun today, so I can thank you for that."

He escorts you down the apartment complex to the lobby and begins to watch you leave, the words on his tongue tipping ever so slowly before they spill the moment you're about to exit through the doors.

"(Y/N)."

At the sound of your voice, you turn to him with a questioning look on your face. "... yes?"

Miguel opens and closes his mouth like a fish for a couple of seconds before blurting out, "Are you free tomorrow evening?"

He scans your face for a reaction before surprise paints itself on your moonlit features. "I-I suppose I am," you nod slowly. "May I ask why?"

"Gabi is having a sleepover at one of her teammate's house," Miguel coughs out and shoves his hands into his pockets to hide their fidgeting.

"Do you need me to drop her off...?" you ask, clearly puzzled.

"No, um," he clears his throat again. "I was... I was actually wondering if you'd... if you'd like to check out that new restaurant that opened up on Clark..."

Regret pools in his mouth the second it falls from his lips and he begins to internally conjure some sort of half-assed lie, perhaps saying something along the lines of the company wanted him to review it for a potential cater in the future or that a friend of his worked there, but when he sights your eyes softening with the same warmth from earlier, he lets you take the reigns on fate.

"I'd quite like that," you murmur, a modest smile on your lips.

a/n ; i told you i was going to give into temptation. wrote this on a plane with no wifi on the way here (thank god for offline editing!)

anyways, i'm trying to squeeze this bit out before my plane ride tmrw since i've been travelling for the past week and a half! i'll be returning home soon where i can finally write to my heart's content, phew! i just reallyyyyy wanted to write something for miguel adjdjfkfalwf but fear not! we shall be back to our regularly scheduled program soon!

as always, thank you for reading and likes+comments+reblogs are always appreciated and never unnoticed（╹◡╹）♡!

[fushic0re]

─ 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐌𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑

𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐒, 𝐒𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐍'𝐒 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋

𝗡𝗔𝗠𝗢𝗥 𝘅 𝗙𝗜𝗟𝗜𝗣𝗜𝗡𝗔!𝗦𝗜𝗥𝗘𝗡!𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗘𝗥

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒 — a prophecy has tied you to the feathered serpent god before you had even existed. now, it’s time to come home.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 — 18+ ONLY; MINORS DNI. possessive behavior. near death experience. smut; penetrative sex, oral (f receiving), multiple orgasms, creampie (lots of cum bc i'm disgusting), breeding kink.

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑❜𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 — this has to be the most excited i've been for a fic in a long time 🥹 i had a blast including a little bit of my culture's superstitions and lore. my sincerest apologies for any inaccurate yucatec maya translations, i used a translator website. the song the reader sings is "daughter of the sea" by sharm. i hope you all enjoy! ♡

𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒 —

⁀➷ “anak” - child.

⁀➷ “po” - a respectful term with no direct translation used when talking to someone of higher rank than you such as elders or your boss.

⁀➷ “mag ingat ka” - “be careful.”

⁀➷ “ka’a suku’un u?” - “cousin?”

⁀➷ “ko’oten tin wéetel in kaxtik ti’ le ajawo.” - "come with me to find the king."

⁀➷ "in yakunaj" - "my love"

⁀➷ "in k'áaté" - my one and only.

⁀➷ "le ba'alo' leti'e" - that is her.

⁀➷ "bienvenido tin wotoch ti', in reina." - "welcome my queen."

꒰ ͜͡➸ 𝐈𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐄𝐍𝐉𝐎𝐘𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘, 𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄 𝐆𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐈𝐓 𝐀 𝐑𝐄𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐆! 𝐑𝐄𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒❜ 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 & 𝐁𝐔𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑! ♡

FOR AS LONG AS YOU COULD REMEMBER, the ocean was your safe haven.

While others strayed from its depths for fear of the unknown, of the creatures that could be lurking down there, you had always been curious to know. There had always been an itch that couldn’t quite be scratched when it came to your love for the water. You frequented your local beach nearly every day, wandering aimlessly until you grew tired. Unlike others your age, your life was one of solitude. To an extent, you were content with it, for the ocean was your companion. It never judged you and always welcomed you. It listened when you spoke, carrying your worries far from you never to be seen again.

Nowadays, to your heart’s discontent, the ocean was not enough.

You were lonely. Truly lonely and feeling what it was like to be so for the very first time in your life. There were nights you stared into the abyss; eyes watery as you wished to drown in it. To be embraced by the one thing that was consistent in your life. Would you feel less alone then?

─

From the deepest point of the very sea you gazed into, the heart of a God grew heavy. K’uk’ulkan loved his people, adored them with every fiber of his body. Each and every one of the faces of those he ruled, dead and alive, were imprinted in his soul permanently. Every step he took was taken with them in mind. He prided himself for being a good leader, for doing everything and anything possible to keep his nation safe. After the events leading up to the alliance with the Wakandans, however, he did not know if that pride was deserved. He had made mistakes; misplaced his trust and allowed two of his own to die right in their very home. Namora, as loyal as she was, began to question his decisions. He was alone in bearing this burden with no one to rest his head on at night from the heaviness of the day.

What pained him the most? He knew he shouldn’t be alone.

He recalled the day he and his mother had been read the prophecy when he was a child clearly. The emotions he felt upon hearing those words spoken into existence were still fresh. There was someone for him. Just for him, and him alone.

“For His fealty, the First Son of Talokan shall be given a gift from the Gods; a descendant from the Heavens, a child of Bulan with the voice of an enchantress. For as long as He shall live, She shall rule the seas by His side.”

Years passed. Those years slowly faded into decades. After the passing of his beloved mother, it became difficult differentiating when those decades turned into centuries. Still, there were no signs of his soulmate. His people knew of the prophecy. K’uk’ulkan was all too aware of the anticipation his children felt as they eagerly awaited the arrival of their queen. Yet, she never came.

He grew angry at the so called Gods for turning on their promise – at her. Where was she? he’d hiss. My people, our people, have come dangerously close to being discovered. I have nearly died defending them all alone. My wings have been ripped from my flesh. Why isn’t she here? The prophecy meant nothing to him anymore. Just as he was naïve when he entrusted Princess Shuri with seeing his home, he was blindly foolish for believing in a fairytale.

Namor was without love in more ways than one.

─

You didn’t remember falling asleep. There was no explanation as to how you ended up perilously close to the edge of the water, the violent thrash of waves serving as a warning to you. Still, you remained completely still as fear immobilized you. You racked your brain for any recollections of your previous actions. Nothing came up. You couldn’t remember anything after you came home from the market.

Nothing, that is, aside from a single voice.

It cooed to you, whispered your name like it had waited a thousand millennia to taste it upon its tongue. Sang to you like you were its favorite person in the entire universe.

Come to me.

Come home.

In yakunaj.

In k’áate’.

Come home.

Taking a moment to steady your breathing, you slowly stepped away from the ledge before rushing back home. As you tucked yourself into bed that night, you tried your best to bury what had just transpired. You sought out every possibility – rational and irrational – that could have resulted in your odd behavior. You always went to the beach, maybe you just wandered there after dinner out of habit. Perhaps something went wrong with the batch of your usual tea and an ingredient that causes cognitive dysfunction was accidentally added to it. Maybe tomorrow morning you will wake up to a news report about your batch being recalled from all stores.

The explanation you vied for never came.

As time persisted, so did the bouts of blacking out, regaining consciousness, and finding yourself near the ocean. Each time, you got closer and closer to its waters. Every day after the next, you would feel the fatigue in your muscles from all of the walking. And yet, it did not stop you. You always found your way back to the ocean. It didn’t matter if you walked into ongoing traffic or if a concerned neighbor physically restrained you, the pull was stronger. Shamefully, you began to avoid leaving your home altogether. You couldn’t bear to face the condemnatory looks you were bound to receive. Whatever those in your area thought of you, you didn’t want to know. You were afraid enough of what you were becoming.

When you wake up from the next spell, you were waist deep in the ocean. Shivering as your thin nightgown stuck to your skin. Wrapping your arms around your torso, you salvaged any and all body heat. The gravity of your circumstances hit you all at once. Biting your lip, you held back your tears as your turned around and began making your way out of the water hastily. Just as your bare feet touched the white sand, you caught the eyes of the elderly woman who lived closed by. The two of you had never spoken, but her presence as a resident was always acknowledged.

“Sorry, po,” You spoke sheepishly, a polite and apologetic smile on your face.

Her expression was grave as she stared at you wordlessly. Silence stretched between the both of you and just as you were about to walk away, she harshly spat one single word.

“Magindara.”

Before you could seek clarification, she was back inside her small hut, the door slamming behind her acrimoniously. The only proof that the interaction with her was even real was the residual sting of her hostility and rage. Her persecution was the straw to break the camel’s back. Unable to maintain your resolve any longer, you fell to your knees and began to you’re your hands clutching at your chest in hopes to alleviate the pain. Humiliation, terror, anxiousness, and frustration were just a few of the emotions you were feeling. Even then, they were just the tip of the iceberg. As you cried to yourself, sand sticking to your wet limbs uncomfortably, you longed for nothing but someone to wrap you up in their arms – for someone to tell you that for once, everything would be okay. Just this once, you craved a life outside of isolation.

Once your breathing evened out, you stood up and leisurely began to talk along the shore. Soothing yourself in the only way you knew how, you began to softly sing.

“Beware, beware the Daughter of the Sea. ‘Beware’ I heard him cry. His words carried upon the ocean breeze, as he sank beneath the tide.”

Namora watched acutely as the quill in her king’s hands abruptly dropped to the floor. The warrior waited for the moment he would pick it up off of the ground and continue with his painting, but it never came.

“K’uk’ulkan?”

She received no response. His eyes held an indecipherable expression, one far away from the present.

“Ka’a suku’un u?” Namora repeated, her tone now carrying concern.

The King of Talokan turned to her for a split second before he stormed out of the room with speed she had never witnessed from him before. Namora was hot on his feathered heels, but the second she dived into the water, her cousin was nowhere to be seen.

“Attuma!” She bellowed. “Ko’oten tin wéetel in kaxtik ti’ le ajawo.”

K’uk’ulkan was stunned when he first heard it – the most beautiful sound to grace his ears. He was livid with himself for being unable to find a better word to describe the voice, for “beautiful” was such an understatement that it was borderline insulting. Without hesitation, he followed it. It didn’t matter that he didn’t know where it was coming from or who it even belonged to, he needed to find it. It called to him, turned him into a man possessed as he soared through the waters restlessly to get to it.

His head broke the surface, and that’s when he saw its owner – her. His soulmate.

She was the most exquisite living being he had ever laid his eyes upon. A gift from the heavens she was. Her beauty made him dizzy, his knees growing weak as he took in his beloved’s features. He admired her as she outstretched her arms, cupping the moon in her delicate palms. It paled in comparison to her. Everything did. Nothing could possibly compare. He remained paralyzed as she continued to sing, a foreign feeling settling in his stomach.

“Why this? Why this, oh Daughter of the Sea? Why this? Why did you forget your seaside days? Always the pride of our nation’s eyes, how could she go astray?”

The words of her melody pierced his heart. They reflected their journey far too accurately to be a coincidence. Did she know that she had always been destined for him? To be loved by the entire nation of Talokan? His lids fell shut slowly as he basked in her harmonies, feeling tranquil at last.

“I heard, I heard, across the moonlit seas, the old voice warning me. Beware, beware, the Daughter of the Sea. Beware, beware…of me.”

Namor studied her face as her song ended. He noted her red rimmed eyes and wet cheeks. Her damp nightgown stuck to her body tantalizingly. The despair in her hypnotizing voice was palpable. All of the wrath and resentment he had once harbored dissipated. Oh, my love. I have longed for you too. He could do nothing as he watched you turn your back to him from above, only pray for another encounter. He rose entirely from the sea, the wings on his ankles fluttering in the air as he watched her in the sky until she was safe in her abode. A quiet splash could be heard from under him. Attuma and Namora stared up at him expectedly.

“Le ba’alo’ leti’e’.”

He nodded slowly, eyes burning holes in the spot where she once stood.

“A human?” Attuma questioned, his voice rigid.

Namor shook his head.

“’A child of Bulan with the voice of an enchantress’.” Namor quoted the prophecy directly. “Bulan was a deity the heavens sent to the ocean to protect the moon from sea monsters. She is a siren; they are descendants of Bulan.”

“What is she doing on the surface?” Namora chimed in.

The king frowned, his fists clenching at his sides as he longed to feel her touch.

“She is lost.”  

─

Returning to the beach after the unpleasant encounter with the elderly woman who lived on its grounds probably wasn’t the most sensible decision. In your defense, however, nothing in your life was sensible nowadays.

Magindara was what she called you. A whole day’s worth of research, hundreds of Google searches, and several life crises later, you found out what it meant – siren. A subspecies of mermaids that were known for being especially vicious. You wanted to badly to laugh it off, to chuck it up to her being a senile old woman, but that was not an option. To do so would be like ignoring statistics. The facts of your life were laid out clearly; there was a connection between you and the ocean. A connection so strong that it bewitched you – mind, body, and soul. There were no traceable origins you could use to refute the woman’s claims. Afterall, you had no family. There was nothing more to do than return to the very place that could give you answers.

Your eyes darted everywhere in search of the familiar head of silvery locks. Once identified, you ran to her.

“Excuse me, po?” You called desperately, your eyes begging her for something. Anything. “What…what am I?”

She stared at you with a severe expression on her aged features.

“The man from the sea with wings on his ankles. Mag ingat ka, anak. He’s coming for you.”

You furrowed your brows in confusion.

“Could you expla—”

“Do not come back here.” She warned. “He will drag you down with him.”

With that being said, she entered her home and slammed the door in your face for the second time. Vexation filled you as you were met with another dead end. A man from the sea with wings on his ankles. What the hell was that alluding to? Did the elderly have to always speak in riddles? Were you in danger? Why was he after you?

You dragged your feet as you trudged home dejectedly. You were already exhausted, not sleeping a wink once you returned home after your stint last night. Sleep was unfathomable considering you were haunted by unanswered questions. Once you crossed the threshold of your bedroom, however, you could no longer ignore your body’s need for rest. Flopping down on your bed, you shut your eyes and instantaneously succumbed to a peaceful slumber.

That night was the last time you slept in your own bed.

The beach was eerily quiet, void of the usual sound of waves crashing against the shore. Seemingly, the ocean yielded to you, it’s queen, the second you stepped foot in its territory, entranced and guided by a single voice.

Come home. Come to me.

Your feet carried you to a cliff high above the sparkling midnight waters.

My love. My soulmate.

Home. You needed to come home. It was time. 

Come home.

Just a couple of more steps.

Come home.

This is your destiny. Fulfill it. Fulfill the prophecy.

Come home.

With that, you took one final step off the cliff and prepared yourself to plunder into the deep waters. Your feet were only in the air for a brief moment before a pair of strong arms caught you midair. Upon physical contact, you snapped from your trance with a sharp gasp, your heart pounding in your chest as you began to panic.

A deep, gentle voice lulled you. It was then that you finally registered who it belonged to. The being who had saved you was the epitome is beauty. Everything about him exuded regality from the air of confidence and ease he carried himself with, to the adornments on his muscular body. A large gold and jade neck plate took up the most space on his expansive chest. Ropes of auriferous shells and opalescent-like pearls hung around his neck. Gilded cuffs were locked around his biceps, wrists, and ankles. You quickly noted the alabaster wings fluttering away attached to them, the very wings responsible for suspending the both of you in the air. Your eyes trailed to his delicately pointed ears, embellished with jewels just like the rest of him. The only clothing he sported was a pair of emerald shorts that left nothing to the imagination. The walls of muscle that were his thighs were on full display, the muscles of a man built to withstand the brutality of the ocean.

This was the man the elderly woman was speaking about. The man from the sea with feathers on his ankles.

That revelation should have scared you. Every alarm in your body should have gone off.

Escaping him should have been the only thing occupying your mind. You should have kicked and screamed until your throat was raw and bloody.

But you did no such thing.

Instead, it was the way he looked at you, gazing at you with the most intense smolder in his eyes that occupied your attention. He gazed at you with pure wonder, and held you delicately yet fiercely in his arms like you were the most precious thing in the entire world. Instinctively, you placed your hands on his bare chest, mindlessly tracing the dew drops sticking to his golden skin. The beautiful man shivered beneath your touch.

“500 years I have waited for you.” He whispered reverently.

Your mouth opened, prepared for a response that never came. Instead, your vision went dark.

─

You woke up to hushed voices and heedful, diligent hands. One set of hands languidly brushed your hair away from your face. Another daintily shimmied clothing onto your body once they were finished drying you off with the velvetiest cloth to ever touch your skin. The last set secured what you assumed was jewelry onto your wrists, neck, and ears. Upon opening your eyes, your assumption was correct. The dress on your body was stunning, embroidered with hundreds of crystalline beads. The jewels on your wrists alone were probably worth more than what you had made in your entire life.

The women who stood above you were unlike you had ever seen before. Their skin was a brilliant shade of cerulean. Vibrant, yet pleasantly understated. Masks covered their mouths and noses, but you could still see the bright smiles behind them.

“Hello,” You greeted shyly. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

Each of them let out a small cry, their eyes welling up with tears as they bowed earnestly.

“Bienvenido tin wotoch ti’, in reina.” They spoke warmly in unison, forming a gesture with their hands at you respectfully. Their mother tongue was foreign to you, but not for long. As if you had spoken it your entire life, your mind made quick work of interpreting it.

Welcome home, my queen.

Once again, you were puzzled. You had no idea where you were or who exactly that man was and why he had taken you here. You obviously hadn’t a single inkling as to what he meant by “500 years I have waited for you”. Now, these women were calling you their queen in a language you had never heard your entire life but somehow had the ability to understand perfectly.

The sound of feet pattering lightly gradually got closer and closer until the man of the hour stood before you at the foot of the bed. The women attending to you immediately turned their attention to him, bowing and forming the same hand gesture you had seen moments ago. He looked just as regal still, now adorned in a cape tucked into golden plates of armor on his shoulders. He regarded them gratefully.

“Leave us, my children. Thank you.”

They bowed to you both once more before swiftly making themselves haste. You now had his undivided attention.

“I hope you slept well. The healers said showed signs of exhaustion.”

“I—” You cleared your throat nervously. “I did, thank you.”

The barest hint of a smile graced his features. With graceful and controlled movements, he poured water into a glass and handed it to you.

“Do not be nervous.” He spoke lowly. “Speak freely.”

“Thank you.” You squeaked out again, taking a generous gulp of water before speaking again. “Where am I? Who are you?”

“My people call me K’uk’ulkan. To my enemies, I am Namor. You are in our kingdom – Talokan.”

The water got caught in your throat mid swallow, causing you to cough obnoxiously. The man who you now knew as K’uk’ulkan, discreetly smiled to himself as if this was a reaction he had anticipated. Before you could blurt out another string of questions, he held his hand out to you.

“Come. I will remedy all of your concerns.”

As if you had done so a million times, you placed your hand in his and stood by his side. Namor lead the both of you through a series of corridors. Your eyes took in your surroundings with pure astonishment. Cavern seemed to be a secluded corner for the king, crystal waters surrounding its premises. Bits of glittery minerals were embedded into the sediment walls. An air of serenity blanketed the entire area.

From the corner of his eye, Namor gaged your reactions, his heart so full of unfiltered adoration that it felt like it would explode in his chest. His hand was still tightly clutched in yours like it was second nature. Subconsciously, you had drawn your body closer to his. He was a meticulous man of control and strategy, but at that very moment, K’uk’ulkan wanted nothing more than to take you into his arms and kiss you breathlessly. The moment was cut short when you reached his study. He offered you a seat at his desk, drawing the door shut behind him for privacy. It didn’t take long for you to deduce that the murals painted on the walls were ones depicting the history of Talokan.

“Centuries ago, my people took an herb that allowed them to survive underwater. The herb was infused with vibranium. We are the only nation aside from Wakanda to possess it.” He began, his hands tracing over a painting of a beautiful woman cradling an infant. “My mother was pregnant with me when she ingested it. That is why I am the way I am – why I am the only one out of my people that can survive on both land and underwater, fly, and age slower than the rest. For this, they made me their king. Their god.”

You listened intently, fascinated by the discovery that they had remained a secret for this long.

“There was a prophecy made shortly after my birth. The gods promised me a soulmate.”

Turning around to face you, he bore his soul to yours through his eyes as he read the prophecy to you. With each word that fell from his lips, the world around you spun quicker and quicker. It made sense. It all made sense.

“I gave up on the idea of the prophecy coming true as time passed. In yakunaj, when you have lived as long as I have, seen as much as I have, happy endings are nothing but meaningless fallacies. But then, that night came…the night I heard you sing for the first time.”

He approached you slowly, cautiously like a wild animal that would take flight if startled by any sudden movements. What happened next made your eyes fill with tears; he knelt before you. This man – a king, a god – surrendered to you with no hesitation.

“I have finally found you…” He breathed, his orbs shining with devotion. “You are home. Why do you think you have no family? No one to trace your roots back to? You were made for me. Mine.”

Your face fell in between the palms of your hands as you wept. Quickly, your hands were replaced by his. He held your face in his hands like he was holding the entire world, the pads of his thumbs gently brushing away your tears.

“Why the tears, my love?”

You shook your head, placing your hands on top of his. The spark you felt every time the two of you touched could no longer be ignored.

“Why did they just now bring us together?” You cried. “We’ve both been alone for all this time, how could they not do something about it!”

“Shhh,” Namor cooed. “You think I have not been angry with them, my sweet? I have held myself back from tearing their skies and oceans apart just to find you. But what I feel for you right now in this very moment? That feeling will always win.”

The both of you said nothing more, for there was nothing that needed to be said. Your long lost love held you in his arms as you liberated yourself from what felt like decades of anguish. His grip never faltered even as you gripped his flesh hard enough to draw blood. Instead, he soothingly rocked you as he recounted the stories of his people’s origins. Talokan was a clandestine national treasure, one of the only things on the earth that had not been bastardized. That was all the doing of this wonderful being who had been promised to you.

“They were wrong about you. Your name.” You whispered. “You’re not without love, quite the opposite actually. The actions you have taken, the lengths you have gone to protect your people and your home, are ones of a man consumed with nothing but love. You can see it in how happy they are.”

With cautious hands, you caressed his cheeks. He preened against your touch, melting right into your palms. The world would never see the stoic warrior king falter, but already, you had him firmly wound around your finger. He could sit there for hours soaking in your ardor.

“Our home. Our people.” Namor corrected. “They can’t wait to meet you.”

Lovingly, he pressed his forehead to yours, nudging the tip of your nose with his.

“Are you ready to meet them?”

He observed endearingly as your eyes widened as large as flying saucers as you nodded overzealously, a giggle tumbling from your lips. K’uk’ulkan noted once more how full of love he felt. He wondered if this was what your lives together would consist of, overcome with all of the possibilities. Was adoring you more than he did in this moment even conceivable? When your smile faltered slightly, worry filled him.

“I’ve never seen…myself.”

“I am honored to be the first to see your true form.”

The two of you stood, walking hand in hand out of his personal study and to the outermost cove surrounded with the most water. Inhaling shakily, you eyed what awaited below you with apprehension. You were not human, far from it, and yet it felt as if you and your true form were worlds apart. Namor was silent. He knew this was something you needed to do alone. The only form of assurance offered to you was a look of encouragement.

Slowly, you dipped one foot into the water and allowed the other to follow. Keeping your eyes closed, you focused on your heart rate as your body adroitly descended into the abyss of the sea. You could have easily fallen asleep if it weren’t for a tingly sensation disrupting your peace. It started small, gradually winding around you until all at once, currents of electricity bolted through your limbs. Instinctively, your lungs expanded, and you took your first gulp of air underwater. You ripped your eyes open in bewilderment when you didn’t choke on water. The clear-cut view you had of your surroundings despite no sources of light being near further consolidated your shock. A noise akin to a squeak and gasp escaped your lips and before you knew it, you were cutting through the waters with newfound ease until your head broke the surface.

Namor would have given everything to his name to capture the sight before him. There you were, beaming at him with unrivaled radiance. He stopped breathing when you lifted your tail out of the water. Just when he thought you could not be any more magnificent than you already were, you defied his expectations. The scales covering the muscle were a range of shades of lapis lazuli, emerald, and gold. Towards the tips of your forked fin, they all blended into a rich shade of dark indigo. Your torso was bare but hidden behind your locks as they cascaded over your breasts. Namor could have gawked at you for hours if it weren’t for you playfully flicking water at his face. He felt light and dream-like as your melodious laughter echoed through the cavern. He decided then and there that your laughter was his favorite song. The scowl permanently etched onto his face fell. In its place, a smile so wide it hurt spawned. For the first time in centuries, he laughed so hard his abdomen hurt.

Powerless to his desires, he dove into the water after you, finding shelter in your embrace once more. Intuitively, your tail curled around one of his legs. He submerged the two of you back into the water and before you knew it, his lips were pressed against yours. Skin to skin, naked chests were tightly pressed against each other, your arms locked around his neck as your mouths feverishly meshed against one another. A barely audible moan slipped from your mouth right into his as his tongue pushed passed your lips. Namor voiced his pleasure with a low rumble from his chest. Pathetically, you could cry again right then and there. How could you have gone without this your whole life?

A loud clearing of the throat caused you both to cease your ministrations. Namor was anything but sorry as he pulled away with the softest expression you had seen on his face thus far. He regarded the two individuals standing in front of you – a hulking man with long inky tresses and an ornate headpiece resembling the skull of a hammerhead shark and a fierce looking woman with a feathered lionfish-esque headdress. Though both clearly high up in the royal ranks with a cutthroat reputation to uphold, they studied you and Namor with mischief.

“K’uk’alkan, they are waiting for her.” The man spoke.

“You might want to put this on before you go.” Spoke the woman, pulling an opulent bra top from behind her back and extending it towards you.

The state of undress you were in hit you like a bus. Your face felt like it was on fire from embarrassment, your lover pressing a tender kiss to your heated cheek. Tactfully, he maneuvered you away from the eyes of the warrior you now knew was Attuma. The woman, his cousin and second in command named Namora, expertly laced you into the garment.

“That was so embarrassing,” You mumbled to yourself once your modesty was secured.

Namor cracked a hint of a smirk.

“Attuma and my cousin expected nothing less from us. Now, shall we?”

─

Talokan was a magnificent sight. The agriculture was impressive, the vibranium rich soil working wonders for the crops. Sea creatures from colossal sized sea turtles, lengthy luminescent jellyfish of different colors, lively fish, and enormous whales to start were one with the Talokanil, peacefully existing with one another. The treatment you received from everyone was something you would never get used to. Despite not knowing you, they acknowledged you as if they had known you their entire lives. K reina perdida they called you with earnest smiles and misty eyes. Our lost queen.

But you were no longer lost.

It was evident in the way the orcas sang with you as you glided through the waters, seemingly understanding you in a way no one else could. Namor’s soul was finally content after seeing you swim freely, laughing so hard your stomach hurt as a couple of toddlers crawled around on your tail. His people loved you. Just as he thought they would. And you fit right in just as you were meant to. With further exploration of your physiology, the two of you discovered that like Namor, you could survive both underwater and on the surface, donning a set of legs seamlessly upon contact with land. Your strength, speed, and agility matched up perfectly with his. For hours, he chased you through the ocean, the both of you weaving in and out between walls of coral and tall beds of seaweed with dexterity. You truly were made for him.

A week later, you were officially crowned their queen. You and Namor ended the celebration with an intimate wedding ceremony in the cavern. After years of going without each other, neither of you had the patience to wait for a union on a grander scale. You both were enough – you would always be enough. And as he laid your bare body across the bed he occupied by himself for half a millennium, he was confident in that conviction.

You felt dizzy as he pressed his hard bulge against your core. The most heavenly noise to grace your ears came out of your now husband when you raised your hips to grind against it. Your hands liberally roamed his chest, now stripped of his jewels, before slithering to his robust back. Your nails drew tiny half moons as they dug into his flesh when his lips made their way to the column of your neck. The decorum of countenance he upheld was nowhere to be found as he ravaged your breasts with his mouth, lightly tugging your erect nipple between his teeth before he began to suckle. You cried out pathetically. His lips twitched, umber orbs now staring up at you with lust.

“You are so noisy for me,” He purred. “I have not even touched the most sensitive parts of your body yet.”

“Please,” You breathed. “Please, I need you,”

Namor made his way down your body, leaving no part of you untouched by his lips. Deftly, he gripped your thighs and place both of your legs over his shoulders. Gently, he kissed your dripping core.

“You have me, my love. Always.” 

His mouth took you straight to heaven. He devoured you like a man starved, tongue flicking your nub of nerves tirelessly with precision. Your thighs were already trembling, but he had just gotten started. Your orgasm crept up on you, the strongest one you had ever experienced. It left you heaving with your back arched off of the bed, unable to do anything besides chant his name like a mantra. But your beloved’s ministrations did not cease. He continued working at your core, now swollen and glistening from your juices and his spit. The second orgasm built up slowly, the knot in your stomach getting tighter and tighter with each time he sucked your clit. The final straw was when you noticed his hips gyrating. He was pleasuring himself while pleasuring you. This time when you came on your lover’s tongue, no words or sounds were able to slip passed your mouth. You were quite literally speechless.

With a satisfied moan, he lapped up the rest of your arousal, cooing to you as you quivered and whimpered from hypersensitivity. His scorching body covered yours once more, his lips familiarizing themselves with yours. Namor held you tightly against him, whispering sweet nothings against your lips as you steadied your breathing. It wasn’t long before you felt the head of his cock prodding your entrance. Gripping your face firmly, he forced your eyes open. The frenzied look in his eyes as he languidly sunk into you alone could have made you come for the third time that night. But alas, the universe was on your side. Instead, you savored that moment – the feeling of him. Every inch, every vein, ingrained into your memories for as long as you shall live.

“You feel incredible.” Namor panted, now beginning to steadily thrust. “You truly were made for me.”

You could only respond with wanton cries, too consumed with desire. The king began to piston in and out of you until he was fully pounding you into your marital bed.

“Namor!”

He grunted into your ear, pulling out of you for a brief moment to flip you onto your stomach. He plunged back into you and picked up right where he left off. This time, however, he was brutal with the punctuality of his thrusts.

“Am I your enemy, wife?” He taunted. “Are you even worthy of any mercy I have to spare?”

At this point, you could not even recognize the sounds you were making. They were debauched. Depraved. Combined with rhythmic percussion of skin against skin and the squelch of your wet cunt each time Namor entered you, the song you two orchestrated was one only for the lecherous.

“K’uk’ulkan,” You barely managed to murmur. “I’m s-so close, you make me feel so good,”

He hummed satisfactorily, driving into you even faster.

“You are, aren’t you, my sweet? That’s it, sing for me. Take my seed. Carry my children.”

“Please!” You screamed as your walls convulsed around his cock. Please come in me,”

With a shout and one final thrust, he released in you. Rope after rope, he filled you with his cum with proclamations of everlasting love on the tip of his tongue. His cock remained nestled deep within you as you both descended from your highs, keeping his spent from spilling. He shuddered at the image of you round and radiant carrying his child and just like that, he was hardening inside you once more. As you lay there, thoroughly cock drunk, he began to pull out of you and slowly push back in. This time, he was tender and gentle, unhurriedly focused on taking you apart for one final time that night. The two of you had centuries left together. There was no need to rush. Then again, Namor could live another 500 years with you by his side and still feel like it was not enough. He needed you forever, and then some.

“I love you,” He whispered against the blade of your shoulder. “You are everything.”

The next morning you would wake to the sight of your husband painting a new mural. One of a beautiful woman with the upper body of a human, and the lower body of a fish. By her side, a man with ears that pointed to the skies and wings on his ankles, their eyes locked and hands intertwined.

The beginning of your story.

[annwrites]

⸻ isn't she lovely?

· pairing: samifer x fem!reader x dean · type: drabble · summary: dean witnesses what the future holds for you, in a reality where lucifer has won & is horrified by what he's done to you. · word count: 452

Dean watches silently as you pad across the yard toward his brother—no, what used to once be. It is only his flesh that remains now. His flesh, which has been overtaken by something so insidious—so evil and vile—it's difficult for even him to stomach.

All due to his own failures.

Always his failures. Always the weight of an ungrateful world bearing down upon his shoulders. Because there is no one else to uphold it. This terrible, terrible burden.

"Isn't she lovely?" Lucifer asks, a small smirk crawling across his lips as he cups your cheek.

You merely stare up at him, dead-eyed and wholly lifeless.

Dean's eyes trail along your form, which is now eerily slender beneath your thin silken gown. Save for your swollen stomach that his hand slides along, resting there atop it proudly.

"She's carrying my heir."

"The anti-christ," Dean spits at him.

It doesn't phase him. "Every king needs his successor."

He looks at Dean then. "Does he not?"

Dean looks at you. "Sweetheart, look at me. Y/N, look at me," he pleads, desperately.

You slowly turn your head toward him, glancing down to the dead body—his body—lying lifelessly upon the ground, then back to him. It doesn't stir even a miniscule reaction from you. Not so much as a furrowed brow.

God, he doesn't know that he wants to even try to imagine the horrific things Lucifer has subjected you to in this life.

You've given up.

He can see it.

And he breaks.

His sweet girl. His vibrant girl. His loving and selfless girl. This... This will be the last thing you ever give. He knows it.

You won't survive this.

How—how the fuck—could the other version of himself have given up on you? Left you to his treacherous clutches? How...how could he?

He can't fathom it: knowing that Lucifer has you and just...letting him, while doing nothing to stop it—to save you.

How many days, weeks, months—years—did you wait for him to come for you, until you stopped looking out the window, knowing he no longer cared?

How many times were you forced to lie there while he took you over and over, until your body finally began to change and alter from an unspeakable form of life beginning to grow inside of you?

He takes a step forward, while you step closer to Lucifer, trembling.

He tucks a lock of hair behind your ear, then presses a gentle kiss to your forehead as he glances behind you to one of his cronies. "Take my dove back to her cage. She's tired and needs her rest."

You do as you're bid without quarrel, walking away—a man carrying a rifle following closely behind—leaving without a word.

[woaza]

Can you do headcanons for fixing the fra family? Like before marriage reader assumes that Gerhard is just super protective of his son and that's why he won't introduce them but in reality it's because he doesn't want to drive away the best thing in his life with his biggest mistake

After they get married they attempt to bond with Angelico and overtime Angelico loves his new parent because they actually pay attention to him. Gerhard is stuck with a head full of thoughts. Is this how easy it was? Why wasn't Angelico being difficult like he normally was? Why was his spouse so doting to a child that's not biologically their's? Why did his insides twist every time he saw them bonding? He doesn't hate it... But he's confused...he thought it was jealousy but that's not quite it....it's something more painful

MY MOTHER || Angst

Paring : Gerhard Fra X (Fem) reader

Word count : 3.5K

Warnings : Angst, Neglectful and abusive parenting, Gerhard slightly rude to reader at times. Use of pet names.

Author note : This hurt me so bad, hope they can live in peace and maybe the reader stops Angelico from growing up into an evil man. Also I realize this isn’t really head-cannons but more so just a fic so I am sorry.

“Don’t pry” is what you repeated to yourself. Don’t meddle about where you’re not wanted or desired let alone needed. You’re only in the early stages of courtship don’t frighten the man away. He was certainly not secretive, a gentleman. He would politely tell you as much as he believed was appropriate. Never to much or little information, just enough for you to grabble a small understanding of the inner workings of Lord Fra’s head.

Not wanting to push yourself upon the man. You wanted to be his lady wife. The title of lady Fra was humming in the back of your head in such a sweet melody.

That wasn’t the only thing that created a desire to impress him, but just the man himself. To his prestige hygiene and presence, but to the way he treated you. The way he kissed your hand when he greeted you in the parlor. Both pair of eyes gently bore into each other. It was all so prefect. You didn’t want to push past the formality’s and charming romances.

“Don’t pry.” You heard the back of your head call out. Once again you and Fra were in a brief silence. Discussing the married life and what it would bear for the both of you. The topic of children always fell silent. Only in moments as these did his eyes leave yours. Awkwardly glancing at the nearby painting.

Holding his hand in a fist and politely clearing his thought. “Don’t spare my heir a second thought. He is mine to be burdened with. I’m sure you understand.” He mutters, so unlike him. Such a sure man he was. Always knowing his direction and next move.

So loving and protecting of the boy, it made you smile. How sweet of him to not push a burden of motherhood onto you. Looking out for the boy and his feelings.

Perhaps that’s why he got so flustered when you brought up the topic of the small child. Lord Fra simply desired to keep him safe. To keep a watchful pair of eyes on the boy, not introducing a woman just for her to be temporary. In your mind, maybe he was simply making sure you were perfect.

All these assumptions made you feel even more excited to marry the man. To you it was so admirable that the man would care so deeply.

Unbeknownst to you were all that he ever truly wanted even above the needs of his child. Consuming his thoughts and actions. as he fell deep and deeper, everything he did seemed to be for you. As he woke up and got ready for the day, thinking of what outfit you would complement on him. Once you had noted that you found his hair particularly beautiful, now he never skips another wash day.

He simply had no time for anything else, but you and his duties. Every day when he woke up, he was filled with thoughts of you that were eventually tarnished. Tarnished by thoughts of what you would think of him.

How would you would run at the sight of the snot covered brat. A disappointment he thought to himself, why would he want a child from a wife he no longer has. A Child so dependent on him. On occasion Gerhard thought about Theodore Classico. Such an independent polite child, sitting in the corner of the room, educating himself reading peacefully. Why couldn’t Angelico be that way?

Why would you want to marry a man whose heir is so incompetent? It practically made him cringe in his skin that what he considered a mistake could potentially scare you away from his only deep desire. Your companionship and commitment.

Every night he turned to bed, thinking of the dedication and time he would give you if you only gave him the chance. If only he could keep you away from Angelico.

“If only” was all he could think. “if only that child wasn’t his.” it drove him insane. Why was the boy so needy? Why did he need this? Why did he do that? If only he was like the other Noble children.

In his mind, if he were to marry someone with such a child he would run. Oh how he would refuse such an offer. why would anyone put themselves in such a position? To involve themselves with such a misbehaving child. He knew for a fact, he wouldn’t do that himself. So in good conscience, could he continue to court you and marry you? That is what he desired so deeply.

Yet the guilt followed him. The guilt of pushing unworthy child onto you.

Yet, he didn’t let his guilty conscious Stop him and pursued you. How he couldn’t keep himself away from you even if he tried. Gerhard made a silent vow to himself to do his best to keep you unburdened by the child. Yet work with the agency kept him very busy and he couldn’t be there every day to usher the small boy away from you, what he considered an angelic presence. A gift that the boy was even able to lie his way eyes upon you.

It was a Frigid winters day, Gerhard was called to the agency on an urgent matter. Almost leaving the first thing in the morning. In a large winters coat, appropriate hat, and shoes more equipped for the thick snow that piled on the ground.

He left before you even opened your eyes. As you did immediately you noticed his presence was missing. Much to your dismay you woke to find a quickly written letter. In his rushed cursive he informed you of the urgent business. You groaned and sat up in the bed, stretching your arms and yawning. Standing up from your bed and walking past the crackling fire place. You went to the window, the sun was up, reflecting off of the snow. Your window with a small layer of frost covering the corners.

The snow looked so pretty in the garden. Dispute the un-growing plants the snow was charming and magical in its own way. Icicles hung from the roof of the Estate. Such a peaceful moment, which was quickly interrupted by a quick and shaky knock from the door.

“Lady Fra, may I enter?” A familiar voice of one of the maids. She often was the first one to greet you, she brought you tea and would dress you for the day. “You may.” You said turning you back to the window looking towards the grand doors.

She opened Them Trey in hand, yet one thing caught your eye. A familiar small boy, making a small smile immediately cross your features. “My lady I’m so sorry he insisted and I-“ the maid began to apologize but instead of paying any focus to her apologies you leaned a bit and held open your arms. Angelicos face practically began to glow. “MOM!”

He ran to you and quickly embraced you in a hug, in which you began to place kisses across his face. He giggled but didn’t try to push you away, happily and greedily accepting the kisses. The maid let out a small sigh, whenever Lord Fra wasn’t around Angelico seemed so much more lively. “You know I never have a problem with Angelico, my dear and only son visiting me.” You said as you were crouched down gently running your fingers through his flowing golden hair. The maid setting the trey onto a coffee table

“Miss Charlotte will you leave us be for a moment?” You look up to the maid as you lift Angelico off the ground, walking towards the fire place and your morning tea.

“Yes of course lady Fra, but if I may-“ she cleared her throat “do you wish to get properly dressed?” Angelico looked up at you as you held him in your arms. Anxiously waiting for your answer. “No I’m with my son that can wait.”

She hesitated but then left the room. Angelico was ecstatic! You had chosen to be with him rather than getting dressed. He couldn’t help but hold onto tightly, his small grubby hands clenched onto the opening of your nightgown and sleeve. Leaning his head on your shoulder. “Mother what will we do today?” Moving to sit down on the sofa with him still in your gentle hold.

“I’m not sure I’m free of any duties today. What do you wish for Angelico?”

The youngest Fra thought deeply while your sipped on your warm morning tea. Henry cared for your opinion, wanting to choose something that you would approve of. Yet in your mind that isn’t want mattered. You were is mother and determined to give him the attention and care he needed.

“I just want to be with you mom.” Angelico whispered as he sat on your lap, still in his night wear. The same as you. He smiled as he said the word mom. Lord Fra would be disgruntled when the boy called him ‘father’. Yet you encouraged such an intimate title to be used. Embracing the role as the boys mother.

It’s been a little over a year and he had already grown so attached to you. Throwing tantrums and devastating fits when he was denied your presence. You are his mother, and he was your son. No where was he more content than in your arms.

Gerhard watched this relationship between you two unfold throughout your marriage. As you would go out of your way to sneak the boy an extra treat or have him accompany you to the library. It was so puzzling. He spent all this time keeping the ‘brat’ away from you, how rude of you to go out of your way to ruining his hard work and planning. How it was so so easy for you.

It bothered him.

Why bother? What did you get out of it? Was it to bother him? Were you even aware of the effects it had on him?

The way his fists clenched at the sight of you combing the boys hair or tucking him to bed and singing him a lullaby. It made him sick to his stomach, actually sick. He felt like a deprived delirious man. His common logic which he so commonly used seemed out of the window in the situation.

The boy bothered him, often asking him for simple things. Like food, water or even to use the bathroom. Gerhard would often ask himself if the boy thought he was a servant or someone to give him what he needs. Which in his mind that wasn’t the role he needed to be fore Gerhard. Lord Fra wanted him to follow his footsteps. Be the perfect heir he needed to be. None of the childish nonsense.

Later in the Day Lady Fra and Angelico had spent the whole day together. Day growing into night as the moon slowly crept into the sky, the stars covered by clouds full of snow.

Lord Fra finnaly returned home and was welcomed by the staff and led to the dinning hall where he saw his lovely wife, and son. Both already sat and picking at their plates. As the doors were opened for him neither bothered to look at him enter the room. They were laughing, he didn’t know about what. Lord Fra already felt a scowl form on his face walking to his chair at the head of the table.

Clearing his throat as he walked behind his son. Looking at his wife who sat across from Angelico. You were quick to smile at your husband who didn’t return the familiar gesture.

This startled you but you shrugged it back, he had just returned from the agency. “Ah, My husband welcome home.” With a small Puase Angelico was quick to follow your lead “Hello father, welcome back.”. Angelico wasn’t dumb by means and immediately noticed his father’s suffocating mood. His bad temper filled the room and encroached on everyone’s personal space.

“Thank you.” Was all lord Fra said before picking up a fork and starting to eat politely. You hated when he acted like this. He was such an affectionate man but whenever Angelico was around he was a different man. At least from your point of view. Everyone but you seemed to have this impression of your husband.

Yet An ever so charming man in privacy. “How were your duties today?” You lean towards him a bit, using your body to signal your eagerness to listen. He noticed, his expression softened slightly. But he was far too annoyed with Angelico in the room. “It was nothing I couldn’t handle. We can talk about it more in private my lady.” Was his blunt and rather boring statement.

Angelico looked only at his plate now and the lovely mood he was in, was crushed by his father’s attitude. Your eyes drifted back-and-forth across the table, looking at your son and your husband. Why couldn’t they simply be kind to each-other? “We are in private. This is the privacy of our family is it not?” Was all you had to say before Gerhard shot you a look. His fork pushed into his plate, a pea escaping the utensil.

“Don’t be ridiculous, we aren’t in private.” His words were sharp and concise warning you not to push anymore further.

But you were the only one who knew, your husband could never refuse you. In the letters, he wrote to you speaking of how deeply he felt and how devoted he was to you. You knew his true emotions towards you. It felt silly for the man who had said all of those charming things to you to be sitting here acting like a young boy whose mother had just told him no.

“What isn’t private about the dinning room, my dear?” The smug undertones well hidden to Angelico but not to your grouchy husband. “Dont act stupid-” he sounds a bit louder before turning fully to face you “I won’t speak with that insolent incompetent boy in the room.” Your eyes widen and your smile drops immediately. “Don’t speak that way about him.”

Within a moment you took a breath through your nose and looked over your husband’s glare and made you attention to Angelico who was on the brink of tears. “Angelico, if you’ll excuse me and your father for a moment.” Your tone was firm, leaving your husband no time to object. Your hands pressed firm against the table as you stood up from your chair.

You dared to look at your husband through the corner of your eyes. He rolled his eyes but dabbed his face with a napkin and followed your less then lady like attitude.

The two of you quickly excusing yourself’s from the family dinner hall. Gerhard walked out the large double doors first with you following behind him. Spreading your arms wide to shut the doors almost theatrically behind you, which wasn’t the intent of your movements. But with how grand everything was in the Fra manor, everything almost seemed theatrical.

Including your husbands mood. Which you weren’t amused with.

“What was that?” You said in a brash tone, not looking for more formal words. You were simply fed up with your Husbands insistence to leave out your son from any conversation.

“This is your fault, don’t put this on me. Wife.” His words were sharp, and simply put, rude. He spoke as he stood tall, his arms crossed and his head not even facing towards you. His ego far too big and he knew it would be crushed under a single glance from you.

You scoffed at this child like behavior. Pulling off the glove from your arms, snapping your fingers. To get his attention.

Which worked, he looked at you with surprise. Not appreciating you snapping at him like a dog to get his attention. Yet it seemed to be the only way that cold man would listen.

“My fault? My fault I treat that boy as my son, which I remind you. He is my son- and seemingly you have forgotten that he is your son aswell.” You said sternly, speaking so fast you felt as you might explode with every harsh tone you spoke, but your face quickly softened as your gaze landed on your husband’s handsome features. His normal scowl was replaced with a light, pout? If that’s what you could call it. Maybe more so a frown. The way he looked in your eyes definitely came across as apologetic.

Your eyebrows visibly unfurl and softened. “My love, what is the Behavior?” You whispered, your tone much sweeter.

“Why do you spend time with that boy.” Lord Fra seemed incredibly distraught.

“Because he’s my son?” You said almost as he was a child you had brought into this word. Like it was just second nature to you. In your mind there was no doubt that this boy was your son.

“No he’s not, he’s my heir. My burden.” Gerhard sighed moving his hands to pinch the bridge of his nose. It seems as his body was desperately trying to portray a confident man. His words colored a much different picture.

“Is that all you think of Angelico? A burden?”

“You don’t?”

“No of course I don’t!?”

Without much thought your face contorted into light disgust, or more so concern.

“He takes up all your time and he whines and complains, he’s a pester.” Gerhard’s tone was quite for once but he pushed his words against his teeth, leaning over a bit to keep him and you in close proximity.

“That’s because he’s a child. He needs a mother. I teach him and he grows more intelligent by the day. Angelico is simply growing into a young man.”

“My love your time is much more valuable in other places.”

“I disagree, when you married me. I took on the honor of being his mother.”

“That boy is no honor, he is a burden.”

“See the way you speak of him! It’s horrible!”

Both of you grew silent, the already large hallway seemed to grow larger. This didn’t feel like the man you loved. This was a feeling he had been growing in his heart much longer then the two of you had been wedded for.

“How is it so easy for you?” Was the words Gerhard spoke. They seemed to echo in your head a bit, it never crossed your mind the Gerhard simply didn’t know how to be a father.

“Well why is loving him so hard for you?”

“Because that’s not a burden a man of my position needs to fret about.”

“Well if it’s none of your concern, why dose my involvement impose such a threat to you?”

That made Lord Fra stop in his tracks, he loved your intelligence but in moments when you out wit him was frustrating. He actually had to think, why did your behavior disturb him. On the surface he would simply reply that it was because ‘Your nobility, not our job to think of. Childcare is no place in our lifestyle.’ Yet being a mother is something you’ve woven into your very breath.

Though the very distinct sting of jealousy rang throughout his whole body. It was screaming loudly like a kettle about to overflow. He knew what this feeling was, but by the gods he didn’t want to acknowledge it. Though that was loudest feeling he felt, this was deeper there was more. He didn’t know what it was. But he hated it.

It almost hurt, No I did hurt. He hated this. Why did he have to love you so much? Why was the boy in the way? Why did you love what he considered his biggest imperfection?

“I spent all this time trying to keep my biggest mistake away from you, but now you’ve embraced it with your whole soul. Can you not see how it disturbs my very being my love you have to understand me.” His hands moved to hold yours. Gently guiding them to his lips. Placing a couple of soft pecks across the back of your palm.

“My love, may i request something?” You spoke so softly he almost didn’t catch what you had said.

“Hm?”

“Can you try to be present. I promise I will lead the way, you don’t have to feel this way. Let me show you how darling.”

Lord Fra didn’t say anything but he simply held your hands tighter and nodded his head softly. Maybe he could change, for you. You always seemed to know what to do.

He loved you, so deeply. Willing to follow you into this unknown, and unfamiliar territory. Watching you as you guide him through parenthood. Day by day and hour by hour you were determined to make this family stronger. The Fra name would not be one of coldness and violence. But a family the other lord and ladies could aspire to be.

This change would be hard but not unwelcome by lord Fra.

A/n: I’m still learning to write fanfic’s! Also please excuse grammar mistakes on this one! Thank you!

[belqva]

₊˚⊹౨ DAYLIGHT (O.W.K.) ৎ ₊˚⊹

warnings: angst. angst. and even more angst because i’m just morbid like that? it takes place post rots / mentions of order 66 if you consider that a warning lol

summary: Two Jedi survivors confront their shared guilt, grief, and unspoken love, finding solace and redemption in each other after ten years of loss and isolation.

pairing: obi-wan kenobi x reader

word count: 3.0k (ooops…)

a/n: first off all I had to get this off my chest even if it flops idc because I literally cannot stop thinking about it and I just need to put it out into the world, so please enjoy as much as I did creating it 🫶🏻 — p.s. there is so much anakin content on here (not that i’m complaining) so some much needed obi-wan appreciation is finally here <333

It had been exactly ten years since that fateful night on Mustafar—the night that shattered the galaxy and left you standing amidst the wreckage of everything you had ever known. The weight of loss had followed you like a shadow ever since, but even now, after a decade, the grief felt as fresh as the day it had all come crashing down.

The Republic had fallen. The Jedi had fallen. You had fallen.

As a Jedi Knight, you had once fought beside Obi-Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker, brothers-in-arms during the Clone Wars. But more than that, you had known them as friends, as family. You had shared countless missions, stood side by side in battle, trusted each other with your lives. There was always a bond between you and Obi-Wan, something deeper than the friendship you both acknowledged—a connection that remained unspoken, held back by the Jedi Code. You had fought beside him for years, and through it all, you had felt something more than just camaraderie.

But when the war ended in tragedy, that unspoken connection had been buried beneath the ashes of the galaxy. Padmé Amidala was dead, Anakin had become Darth Vader, and Obi-Wan had disappeared. The Jedi were hunted, executed, and scattered to the far corners of the galaxy.

You were lucky. When Order 66 was given, you were on a neutral planet far in the Outer Rim, away from the battlefield. There were no clone troopers, no soldiers to execute the terrible command. But as the news of the Jedi massacre spread, you ran. You shut yourself off from the Force, hiding it deep within you, trying to suppress the very thing that had been your life.

And for what? The galaxy had become a graveyard for those who believed in hope.

You had fled to Alderaan, the only place you could think of, seeking refuge with Bail Organa, a man you had trusted throughout the war. He had welcomed you without question, and when you learned the full truth—of Anakin’s fall, of Padmé’s death, of the birth of the twins—it had shattered what remained of your spirit. You saw Leia for the first time then, a tiny baby, unaware of the weight her existence carried. The sight of her had brought you to tears, her innocence a stark contrast to the darkness that surrounded her birth.

And it was there that you learned the impossible. Obi-Wan was alive. But he had gone into hiding, retreating to a desolate world, unreachable, untouchable. Bail wouldn’t tell you where. He couldn’t. Perhaps Obi-Wan believed you were dead, like the others.

That thought weighed heavily on your mind for years. Every night, it haunted you—what had become of him? Was he truly gone, lost to the same despair that had consumed so many others?

For a decade, you stayed on Alderaan, trying to build a life in the ruins of your past. But the Force, which had once been a comfort, now felt like a burden you couldn’t bear. You severed yourself from it, and in doing so, lost a part of who you were. Days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and soon ten years had passed. Watching Leia grow, watching the galaxy continue without you, made you feel like a relic from another time. Everyone else had moved on, but you couldn’t. You couldn’t let go.

And so, you made a decision. You couldn’t continue like this. The weight of the past was suffocating, and there was only one person in the galaxy who could understand—only one person who might still carry the same scars you did.

You didn’t tell Bail when you left. You couldn’t. You just packed what little you needed, including your lightsaber—though it felt strange to carry it after so many years—and set off for Tatooine. It was the only place that made sense. The place where it had all begun. The place where you might find the one person who still gave you hope.

When you arrived on the barren, desert planet, the twin suns beating down mercilessly, you felt the desolation sink into your bones. Tatooine was a world of sand and silence, and it reflected the emptiness you had felt for years. You asked around discreetly, trying not to draw too much attention to yourself. The locals were suspicious of outsiders, and the planet was far from safe. But after days of searching, you heard rumors of a strange man who lived far from the towns, a man who kept to himself and only came into town for work.

It had to be him.

With nothing but a tattered cloak and your old, worn-out boots, you set off on foot into the desert. The journey was grueling, the heat unbearable, but you pressed on, driven by something deeper than determination. It took two days of walking, resting only when you could no longer move, but finally, you reached the place the locals had spoken of—a small, stone cave nestled into the cliffs, almost invisible in the harsh light of the suns.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you approached. The cave looked abandoned, but something inside you—some instinct or long-buried connection—told you otherwise. You felt it, deep down. You didn’t need the Force to know. He was there.

As you drew closer, a voice called out, sharp and commanding. “Visitors are not welcome here! Go away!”

That voice. You froze, your breath catching in your throat. It was older, wearier, but it was unmistakably him. After so many years of silence, hearing his voice was like a punch to the gut. Tears welled up in your eyes, and you almost collapsed from the sheer emotion of it.

“Is this how you welcome an old friend?” you called back, your voice trembling with emotion. A broken laugh escaped you as tears streamed down your cheeks.

There was a long pause. Then, from the shadows of the cave, a figure emerged. Slowly, he stepped into the light, and you felt your breath hitch in your throat.

Obi-Wan.

But this was not the man you had once known. The years had aged him in ways you couldn’t have imagined. His face was lined with deep creases of sorrow and exhaustion, his once-vibrant hair now streaked with gray. His clothes were rough, worn, nothing like the robes of the Jedi you remembered. He looked like a man who had lived ten lifetimes in the span of a decade.

But it was his eyes that caught you. They were filled with shock, with disbelief, as if he couldn’t quite believe you were standing there before him.

“I thought you were dead,” he whispered, his voice raw, the words barely more than a breath.

You nearly broke at the sound of those words. You had imagined so many scenarios, but hearing the pain in his voice was unbearable. “No, Obi-Wan,” you said, stepping closer, your voice trembling. “I’m alive. I made it. We both made it.”

For a moment, he just stared at you, his eyes searching your face as if trying to convince himself that you were real. And then, without warning, he pulled you into a tight embrace, his arms wrapping around you as if he might never let go. The force of it knocked the breath from your lungs, but you didn’t care. You buried your face in his shoulder, clutching at him as if he were the only thing keeping you anchored to the galaxy.

For the first time in ten years, you felt whole.

His grip on you tightened, and you felt his fingers thread through your hair, as if he were afraid you might vanish. You held on just as fiercely, your fingers clutching the fabric of his worn cloak, afraid that if you let go, this moment would slip away like a dream.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered against your hair, his voice thick with emotion. “For everything.”

You pulled back just enough to look at him, your hands still gripping his arms. “Obi-Wan, it’s not your fault. None of it.”

He shook his head, his expression pained. “I failed. We both did.”

“No,” you said firmly. “We survived. And that’s enough.”

The weight of his words hung between you like a heavy cloud, but you refused to let them pull you down. You had both been living with this burden for so long, but now—standing here, in each other’s presence—it was different. There was a sense of shared pain, shared guilt, but also the faintest glimmer of something else. Hope.

Obi-Wan finally released you, stepping back just slightly, though his hand lingered on your arm as if he was still afraid you might disappear.

“You… You shouldn’t have come,” he murmured, his voice shaky. “It’s too dangerous.”

“I didn’t have anywhere else to go,” you admitted, your voice soft but steady. “I couldn’t stay on Alderaan. I couldn’t keep pretending everything was fine.”

He looked away, his jaw tightening. “But you were safe there. Away from all of this.”

“Safe?” You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “I haven’t felt safe in ten years, Obi-Wan. Not since… not since that day.”

At that, he flinched, his eyes closing for a brief moment, as though the memory of Mustafar, of Anakin’s fall, was still as fresh for him as it was for you.

“We’ve both lost everything,” you continued, your voice cracking. “Everything we believed in. Everyone we cared about. But we’re still here, Obi-Wan. Somehow, we’re still here.

He opened his eyes again, looking at you with a mixture of sadness and something deeper—something that had always been there, just beneath the surface.

“And what good has it done?” he asked quietly. “We’ve survived, yes, but at what cost? The galaxy has fallen into darkness. The Jedi are gone. Anakin…” His voice broke at the mention of his former apprentice, and he turned away, his shoulders tense with the weight of it all.

You stepped closer, placing a hand gently on his arm. “It wasn’t your fault,” you whispered, knowing full well how hollow those words sounded, knowing that he had probably told himself the same thing countless times and failed to believe it. “You did everything you could.”

He didn’t respond at first. He just stood there, his eyes fixed on some distant point in the desert, lost in memories you couldn’t touch. But then, after what felt like an eternity, he spoke again, his voice barely audible.

“I trained him,” he said, his words laced with bitterness and regret. “I watched him grow. I should have seen the signs. I should have stopped him before…”

“You couldn’t have known,” you said firmly. “None of us could have.”

But he shook his head, his expression tortured. “I should have. I should have been better.”

You wanted to argue with him, to tell him that he was wrong, that he had been the best mentor, the best Jedi anyone could ask for. But you knew it wouldn’t make a difference. Obi-Wan had always carried the weight of responsibility on his shoulders, even when it wasn’t his to bear. It was part of who he was.

Instead, you reached out and gently took his hand, lacing your fingers with his. He looked down at the gesture, his brow furrowing slightly, as though the simple act of human connection was something foreign to him now.

“We can’t change the past,” you said softly. “But we’re not alone. Not anymore.”

For a long moment, he didn’t say anything. But then, slowly, almost reluctantly, he squeezed your hand in return. It was a small gesture, but it was enough to make your heart ache.

After a few moments of silence, you both sat down on the rocky ground outside the cave, the twin suns dipping below the horizon, casting long shadows across the desert. The air was cooling now, and the stars were beginning to emerge, scattered like pinpricks of light across the darkening sky.

You sat close to each other, your shoulders almost touching, the quiet between you filled with unspoken words. For a while, neither of you said anything. It was enough just to be here, together, after so many years of isolation and pain.

Finally, you broke the silence, your voice barely more than a whisper. “I spent so long wondering.. just thinking about you. If you were suffering just like me.”

“I thought about you too,” Obi-Wan admitted, his voice soft. “Every day.”

You turned to look at him, surprised by the raw honesty in his words. He met your gaze, and for the first time, you saw something in his eyes that you hadn’t seen in years—a flicker of vulnerability, of the man he used to be before the weight of the galaxy crushed him.

“I thought you were dead,” he confessed, his voice cracking slightly. “After the Purge, I thought… I thought I’d lost you, too. Like everyone else.”

You felt a lump form in your throat at his words. You had imagined so many scenarios over the years, but hearing the pain in his voice, knowing that he had thought you were gone, was almost too much to bear.

“I’m here,” you said softly, reaching out to gently touch his cheek. “I’m here, Obi-Wan.”

For a moment, he leaned into your touch, his eyes closing as if he were savoring the simple warmth of human contact. But then, just as quickly, he pulled away, the walls he had built around himself slamming back into place.

“You shouldn’t have come,” he said again, his voice harsher this time, though you could hear the conflict in his tone. “It’s not safe. For either of us.”

“I don’t care about safety,” you replied, your voice steady despite the tears threatening to spill over. “I care about you.”

He shook his head, standing up abruptly and walking a few paces away, his back to you. “This isn’t your fight anymore, Y/N. You don’t owe me anything.”

You stood up as well, anger and frustration bubbling to the surface. “How can you say that? After everything we’ve been through, how can you stand there and tell me that I don’t owe you anything?”

He didn’t turn around, but you could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “Because I don’t deserve it,” he said, his voice low, almost broken. “I don’t deserve your loyalty, or your friendship, or… or anything.”

You took a step toward him, your heart aching at the pain in his words. “Obi-Wan,” you said softly, “you’ve always been too hard on yourself. You’ve always carried the weight of the galaxy on your shoulders, and it’s killing you.”

He turned around then, his blue eyes filled with a storm of emotions—pain, guilt, fear, and something else, something that had always been there between you but had never been spoken aloud.

“I don’t know how to carry it anymore,” he whispered, his voice raw and vulnerable. “I don’t know how to keep going.”

Without thinking, you closed the distance between you, reaching out to gently cup his face in your hands. “Then let me carry it with you,” you whispered. “You don’t have to do this alone.”

For a moment, he just stared at you, his eyes searching your face as if he were trying to find something—an answer, a reason, a way forward. And then, slowly, almost hesitantly, he leaned forward, resting his forehead against yours.

“You were always stronger than me,” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin.

You smiled through your tears, your heart breaking and mending all at once. “We were always stronger together,” you said softly.

And then, finally, the walls came down.

“I will love in every galaxy,” you began, your voice trembling but sure. "In every universe that ever was or will be. In every lifetime we are destined to live. Even when the stars lose their way and disappear from the sky, when the oceans turn to dust, and the mountains bow to time— still, I will choose you. Even if you are but a hollow echo of the person you once were, a shadow of all that you used to be, I will see you, the heart of you, the soul of you, and love you with all that I am, with all that I will ever be. I will love you with a fire that burns through eternity. Until my last breath, and beyond that, when I become one with the stars, the winds, the very Force— evn then, my spirit will find yours, and I will love you in silence, in whispers carried on the edge of the cosmos. My existence is bound to yours, an eternal thread that stretches across time and space, every part of me yearns for you, craves to hold you close, and I won't let you slip away— not this time, not again. For no distance, no universe, no lifetime could keep me from you. I will love you, even when you don't believe in love, even when you forget how to love yourself. My heart is yours, wholly, eternally, unshakably.”

As the words poured from your heart, Obi-Wan closed his eyes, his hands trembling as they gripped your waist. You felt the years of pain, of loneliness, of guilt melt away between you. You could feel the force of his emotions, raw and unfiltered, as if he had been holding them back for so long that now, in your presence, they couldn’t be contained anymore.

And when you finished, when the last of your confession hung in the air like a promise carved into the stars, he finally broke. He kissed you with a desperation that spoke of years of longing, of words left unspoken, of feelings buried too deep for too long.

In that moment, under the vast, starlit sky, there were no Jedi, no Sith, no war, no galaxy. There was just you and him—two souls who had found each other again after being lost for so long.

And in that moment, that was enough.

© COPYRIGHT BELQVA 2024

SHARING THIS, ANY OF MY OTHER WORKS OR A TRANSLATION OF THEM WITHOUT CONSENT ON THIS OR ANY OTHER PLATFORM IS STRICTLY FORBIDDEN !!!

THE PLOT OF STAR WARS OR ANY OF THE CHARACTERS, EXCEPT FOR THE ONES CREATED BY ME, DO NOT BELONG TO ME THIS IS JUST A WORK OF FANFICTION !!!

tags:

[dfortrafalgar]

HII

for requests, can you do law taking care of sick reader, hurt/comfort kind of thing that ends with fluff????

THAT'S IT AND DON'T FORGET TO TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF!!

Hi anon, thank you so much for your request!!!! a few months ago, i actually started this fic when i was ill with a pretty bad sinus infection, but then i just never finished what i wrote, so your request was actually the perfect thing to get me to finally finish that and share it with the world! i hope you enjoy it, thought it might not be as hurt/comfort as expected, so i hope that's alright <3

Doting

Law x Fem Reader

A nasty illness inflicting you brings out the warmth in Law.

Warnings: fairly detailed descriptions of gross sinus infection symptoms (cus i initially wrote this while actively dealing with one so its kinda visceral lol)

A light sleet gently tapped against the glass porthole as you weakly rolled your body over under the warm blankets that firmly surrounded you.  The sound was enough to quickly lull you back into the comfort of slumber, but your mind was already starting to run.  There would be no more falling asleep now.  A cold spot lay beside you, no surprise that Law got up before you did.  As you slowly entered the conscious world, your body was wracked with a cold shiver, a sensation deep within your marrow that seemed to bounce off of every cell.  You became acutely aware of a hard stone in the back of your throat that made swallowing a heavy burden.  Inhaling through your nose was met with nothing but a clogged nasal cavity, the crackling of mucus that wouldn’t move bouncing around your weary skull.  You attempted to push yourself up on your hands, but your muscles trembled feebly and you collapsed back down into the plush mattress with a tired groan.

No doubt about it, you were sick.

You angled your head to look toward the small wooden bedside table that Law used for his analogue alarm clock.  Your blinking eyes, slowly adjusting to the dreary gray light of the cold, snowy day outside, focused on a small piece of notebook paper placed on the table, under a paper cup of water and two pills.  You reached an arm over, carefully pushing the cup and the pills out of the way so you could grab the paper.  You shifted slightly on your side for a better reading view, cringing uncomfortably as you felt the pressure in your sinuses move around with every adjustment.

Good morning, love. You were breathing strange when I woke up so I did a scan on you- you have an acute sinus infection.  I left you a pain killer and a vitamin C capsule, please take them as soon as you wake up.  We docked at an island for a supply run, so I will be back around noon to take care of you.  If you need anything, Bepo stayed behind on the ship.  I love you. – Law

Your illness had no bearing on the way your heart fluttered with boundless affection for your boyfriend.  His note was analytical, but you couldn’t help but appreciate his professional physician side as well as his tender, intimate personality you saw behind closed doors.  It was just like him to notice something as minimal as your breathing while you slept, it gave you a sense of security you didn’t think you needed, but were beyond happy you had.

You once again attempted to push yourself up on your arms, just enough to reach over for the two pills, throwing them into your mouth and swallowing a gulp of the room-temperature water from the paper cup.  Your throat convulsed from the pain of swallowing, and you needed to force your esophagus to move the pills where they needed to go, but once they were down you laid your head back onto your pillow, closing your eyes tightly as the pressure within your sinuses began to ebb its way into your attention with your waking body.  You had felt fine when you went to sleep the night before, but now you were wracked with aches, chills, and pain in your face.  Just your luck, truly.

At least it was a cold, snowy day.  You didn’t feel like you would be missing out on anything too important.

You slowly shuffled upwards on the bed, now sitting up against the metal bedframe and holding the bed sheets against your frigid shoulders.  You had a tendency to sleep in tank tops and shorts due to the heavy insulation the metal walls of the Polar Tang provided, but that made very little difference in your feverish state.  Even the thought of the blankets revealing any centimeter of bare skin made your teeth chatter, but you knew you had to get up.  You felt gross, the back of your mouth coated with a foul-tasting funk from your blocked head, and you craved nothing more than the refreshing taste of the mint toothpaste you shared with Law.

Though, if you were ill, it might be best to open a different bottle… and use a different toothbrush.

You gazed around the small bedroom that you shared with Law, a comparatively tiny room aboard the submarine, composed of very little except for his bed, a tiny desk (much smaller than the one in his medical ward), a small bookshelf, and a wardrobe.  Law’s outlandish, feathery coats took up a lot of room, but they were comfortable and outrageously warm.  Your eyes formed the most efficient path you could take to don yourself in warmer attire as quickly as possible.  Taking a deep inhale through your mouth, which scratched your sore throat enough to make you suppress a heavy cough, you pushed the blankets off of you, swung your bare feet over the side of the bed, and plopped across the steel-panel floor towards the wardrobe.

The soles of your feet sent shivers up your entire body as you pulled out a ratty pair of sweatpants, one of Law’s oversized sweatshirts, and one of his feather coats.  You yanked on the clothing as quickly as your shaking limbs would allow before finally offering your feet relief from the cold floor by sliding them into a pair of fur-lined slippers.  Your trembling fingers pulled the coat tighter around your body as the relentless, feverish chills endlessly consumed your entire body.  You weakly pushed open the heavy metal door into one of the narrow labyrinthian halls of the Polar Tang before following a familiar route towards the galley.

Rounding a corner, you spotted Hakugan on the floor in front of an open electrical panel, a small box of tools by his side.  His mask was pushed upward, revealing his face so he could better focus on his work, but when he heard you enter the vicinity he made quick work of pulling the white plastic back over his face.  He fully turned his head to look at you through the black slots of his mask as you meekly approached.

“Good morning, yeesh you look terrible,” he muttered.

“‘Morning… I feel terrible.”  Your voice left your larynx with an airy, hoarse crackle that left a stinging sensation in its wake.  “Law said I have a sinus infection.”

Hakugan hummed, a sound slightly muffled by the barrier in front of his face, and turned his head forward to continue whatever he was previously occupied with on the floor.  “We have some apple juice in the fridge, that’ll fix you up in no time!”

You chuckled at the statement, which wasn’t much of a laugh and was more of a congested, donkey-like groan.  “Thanks, Hakun, I appreciate it.”  Your friendly nickname for your crewmate made the man smile, judging only by the slight way his jaw moved under his mask.  You continued down the hallway towards the galley, pushing open the door to the sight of Uni and Bepo swabbing the floors, counters, dining table, and every other surface with regular hand contact.

Uni looked up towards you from his diligent hand-washing of the surface of the dining table before groaning.  “Now we’re gonna have to wash everything again ‘cuz you’re sick!”

You frowned.  “You want me to starve?”

Bepo quickly stepped between you two, putting his thick paw on your shoulder and ushering you towards the fridge.  “Feed a cold, starve a fever,” he quoted.  “That’s what my mama used to say when I’d get sick.”

“I guess I should starve then,” you responded bluntly, feeling the hairs of your arms rise with goosebumps as another chill waved through you.

“Nonsense, you need strength to get better!” Bepo had immediately assumed his comforting, caring demeanor and pulled over a folding chair for you to sit on.  “Do you want anything for breakfast?  I can make you some eggs and toast, or some oatmeal, or some fresh fruit!”

You smiled warmly towards the bear, finding solace in his uplifting personality.  “Some fruit sounds nice.”

“You stay right there, I’ll make you a bowl.”  The mink turned his back to you and began rummaging around for a cutting board and a knife to prepare you a small bowl of fruit to take back to your room.  

Uni had left his washcloth on the table and paced over to where you sat, keeping his distance but still leaning forward to talk.  “How are you feeling?”

You flashed a smile in his direction, followed by a hearty and mucusy sniff.  “Sick.”

The much taller man chuckled beneath the cloth that covered his mouth.  “Yeah, no surprise there.”

“What does Law normally do when one of you gets sick?”

Uni’s long fingers drummed against the countertop.  “He lets us suffer, really.  If he used his devil fruit to keep everyone healthy all the time, then our immune systems wouldn’t develop.  At least, that’s what he tells us.”

You gazed at the floor.  “I guess that makes sense.”

“He’s got plenty of remedies to make the symptoms easier, though.  Did he give you one of those vitamin C pills?”

You nodded.  “He left one on the nightstand when I woke up.”

Uni also nodded affirmatively.  “Those things work like magic, I’m convinced.”

Behind your conversation, Bepo was laser-focused on creating the healthiest fruit salad for your consumption, rife with healthy vitamins to kickstart your immune system faster than a pill could do.  He turned in your direction with a bowl in his hands, a shiny metal fork sticking out of it for you to use.  “Ta-da~!” he cheered.

You carefully took the bowl into your shaking hands.  “Thank you, Bepo!”

“Of course, anything for you!”  You could almost see prideful sparkles floating around the mink’s head.  “There’s tangerines, some strawberries, blueberries, some diced watermelon, grapes, and some chopped peaches.  The tangerines are from the Straw Hats actually, they’re super delicious!”

Holding the bowl firmly in your grasp, you stood from your chair and carefully pulled Law’s coat higher on your shoulders.  “I’m already feeling better, thank you guys.”

The two crewmates waved you off as you began your fatigued trek back to the captain’s cabin.  You passed by Hakugan once again, who uttered a tired-sounding, “Get better soon,” in your direction, which you happily thanked him for.

Twisting the hatch of the cabin door, you heaved the barrier open and stepped inside, closing it behind you.  You placed the bowl of fruit onto the small desk to free your hands, allowing you to shrug off the feathered jacket and drape it carefully off the wooden desk chair.  You faced the small bookshelf, eyes picking between Law’s assortment of extra medical texts, personal journals, and comic books, before finally pulling out a novel you had started some months prior.  Book in hand, you grabbed your bowl of fruit, kicked off your slippers, and scampered back into bed, pulling the covers up to your shoulders and once again enveloping your shivering form in a barrier of serene warmth.  Your shaky hand grabbed the handle of the metal fork, stabbing into a piece of watermelon and placing the fruit into your sore mouth.  You flipped through the book, tired eyes barely absorbing any of the words as you focused solely on chewing each bite of fruit you took.  You very quickly began to nod off yet again, finally subdued by the subtle hum of the submarine’s engines, the tapping weather outside, and the words of your novel.

You placed the bowl of fruit, now half eaten, on the bed stand and let your book fall to the ground as you rolled over onto your side and let yourself fall back into the clutches of slumber, at least until your beloved returned aboard.

—

A harsh, wet sneeze jostled you violently from your slumber.  You sat up with a jolt, one hand covering your face to contain your snot, which made you cringe at the sensation.  You glanced over toward the clock on the nightstand which read 11:30 AM.  You groaned.  How long had you been out?  It couldn’t have been longer than an hour and a half at the most.  You swung your legs over the side of the bed and shuffled into your slippers once again, making your way to the submarine’s bathroom.  You felt unbelievably gross, between the hand on your face holding your dripping mucus in your nose, your feverish cold sweats, and your overall malaise.  You couldn’t remember the last time you had been this sick.

You knocked on the door to the bathroom, per routine.  There was only one shower stall and bathtub, so every Heart Pirate kept to a strict bathing routine.  To have you slip in for a quick, steamy shower at this hour was outside of that norm, but with many of the crew gone on the supply run, you didn’t think you’d run into any issues.  You entered the bathroom, locking the door behind you and making your way towards the metal sink bowl, running warm water and washing off your hand.  You grabbed a paper towel which you used to wipe your face (and subsequently blew your nose once again) before you began to disrobe from your smelly, sweaty clothes.  The steam from the shower would hopefully loosen the compacted mucus in your sinuses, so you turned on the shower faucet and stuck your hand under the tap to make sure it was warming up to your liking.  You grabbed a towel from the nearby bathroom linen closet, placing it on the sink so you could grab it easily when you were done.

The hot water immediately soothed your cold sweats, and the steam entering your lungs felt euphoric compared to your congestion.  You stood under the stream of water letting the drops run down your body, taking in as much of the warmth as you could.  You idly reached for the bottle of body wash that was kept on the edge of the tub, squeezing some of the soap into your hand and washing the parts of your body that felt the worst.

You didn’t know how much time had passed since you stepped into the bath, but you started to feel strange under the flow of hot water and clouds of steam surrounding your head.  Your eyes began to blur, your vision swaying back and forth in repetitive motions.  Your fingertips felt tingly and numb, and a nauseous sensation filled your abdomen and reverberated into the back of your throat where it left a cold, sour taste.  Without thinking, and without turning the water off, you sat down under the running faucet and leaned your head on the side of the bath, closing your eyes.

—

A cold towel was placed against the back of your neck, once again making you jolt upward.  What time was it?  What day was it?  Why were you naked in the bathtub?  Did you turn the water off?

“Hey, look at me.”

Your eyes darted from the shower tap to the porcelain tub wall to the hand that waved three fingers in front of your face and gestured for your attention.  You lazily gazed forward, your weary expression meeting steely golden eyes that were narrowed with profound concern.  His other hand was pressed against the back of your neck, where a cold washcloth was pressed against your damp skin.

“You had a hot flash.”

“Huh?”

Law shook his head, but not out of disappointment.  Rather, he was incredibly worried.  With pursed lips, he carefully helped you to your feet and out of the tub.  Once your feet met the cold metal floor, you sank to your knees with a weary groan.  Law grabbed the towel you had placed on the sink and threw it around your shoulders, beginning to dry you off as best he could without disturbing you too much.  You hung your head limply, letting your boyfriend work the water off of you without protest.  The cold compress on your neck began to warm with your body heat, and you felt it slide down a tad toward your shoulder blades before falling to the floor with a wet plop.

“Look at me,” Law said once more, voice firm and asserting, yet calm.  Your eyes flicked up toward him.  “I’m going to pick you up, alright?”

You simply nodded your head, barely a thought to make any move otherwise.  Law’s hands wrapped the towel around your body under your arms, carefully holding it in place in the front by your breasts.  His arms snaked under yours, hoisting you up like a heavy toddler, before he awkwardly bent down and placed his forearm under your knees, hauling you off your feet and against his chest.  Your head fell into his pectoral, taking as much of a deep, snotty inhale as you could, feeling your eyes close at the comforting sensation of his shirt against your face.  A faint ‘Shambles’ was heard, along with the weak magnetic sensation that you felt every time you were teleported with Law’s ability, and you were suddenly met with the comfort of your bed for what felt like the millionth time that morning.

Your towel slipped slightly, and Law quickly put it back into place before walking to the wardrobe and picking out new, clean clothes for you to wear.  He worked quickly, dressing you, wrapping your hair, wiping your face, and applying another cold compress onto the back of your neck while helping you sit upright.

The deepest part of your nasal cavity tickled uncomfortably.  You let out a gargantuan sneeze while Law’s back was turned, making him jump and turn back toward you.

A large blob of snot dangled from your nose.  You made zero attempt to do anything about it this time.  One might compare your current state to that of a sad, wet dog.

“You’re more sick now than you were this morning.”  Law used a tissue to wipe your face.  If you had any piece of mind, you would be humiliated at your juvenile state.  “I’m sorry I was away for so long.”

You were slowly coming to your senses after your hot flash in the shower, just in time for your boyfriend to ease an oral thermometer under your tongue.  He held your mouth closed with his fingers, muttering a quiet, “Hold it there,” then retreated across the bedroom to dispose of the tissue in his hands.  He squeezed a generous helping of sanitizing soap onto his hands, rubbing it as far up as his forearms.  He turned back to you right when the thermometer came back with its final reading.  Gently pulling the device from your mouth, he held it to his eyes which grimaced at the sight.

“What’s it say?” you asked, feebly.

“102.2.  You’re definitely fighting off a bacterial infection.  I’m assuming bacterial rhinosinusitis, caused by Streptococcus pneumoniae, judging by the color of your mucus.”

You hung your head.  “That’s so fucking gross, Law.”

He chuckled, placing the thermometer on a paper towel on the desk to be cleaned later.  He sat at the edge of the bed, reaching a hand over to gently rub the top of your head.  “I’m sorry, it’s the doctor in me coming out.”

You couldn’t help the smile that crawled onto your face.  “It’s okay.  I just don’t like sneezing out hurricanes worth of boogers.”

“I don’t blame you, it’s not fun.”  His hand trailed from the crest of your head down toward your cheek, gently stroking beneath your eye with his tattooed thumb.

“Is there anything at all you can do?  Uni told me you just make everyone suffer to build their immune systems.”  Your voice was groggy, but you were pretty much completely lucid once again.  Your eyes darted toward the nightstand.  Your bowl of fruit was gone, replaced with two glasses, one with water and one with apple juice.  Alongside the drinks were three bottles of medication and your book which you had neglected after falling asleep earlier.

Law hummed under his breath.  “Well, I do prefer that everyone work through illness on their own with the help of standard medication, yes.  It’s how I make sure everyones’ immune systems are working as they should.  Any more sick than an average fever, then I intervene.”

You attempted to inhale through your nose, pulling up snot deeper into your sinuses and exhaling a congested breath.  “Can you intervene with me?”  You tried your best to give your man the puppy eyes you knew he couldn’t refuse.  This time, however, he stifled a chuckle at your expression.  Puffy, scorching hot cheeks, bloodshot eyes, and a nose rubbed raw from constant sniffing.  Your lips were beginning to become chapped with all the mouth breathing you had to do.

Law turned away from you, bringing a hand to his mouth with a badly covered snort.

“Lawwww,” you whined.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry my love,” he turned back toward you, a mischievous smile on his face, though his eyebrows were angled with sympathy.  “I really do wish there was something I could do to alleviate your symptoms quicker, but I’d rather not get invasive.  Simple remedies can make you more comfortable, but the antibiotics will be doing most of the work.”

You hunched your shoulders and leaned back against your pillows, sniffling once more with a pout on your lips.  “I guess I understand…”

Law replied to your weary tone by pressing a tender kiss to the top of your head.  “Because you’re not contagious, however, I can spend the rest of the day with you… if you want.”

Your eyes, albeit puffy, lit up like fireworks at his suggestion.  “Really?  You can?  You don’t have, like, any work to do or anything?”

“Well, I do…” he muttered, scratching his cheek with one of his fingers.  “But I’ve come to learn recently that I can put off working when someone who I care about needs me.”

You could hardly respond to his fond words, instead choosing to drop your heavy, congested head onto his shoulder as he moved over the mattress and pulled you into his chest.

“Just tell me to move if you get too hot or uncomfortable,” your beloved whispered, stroking the back of your head with his inked hand.

A soft, weary hum of acknowledgement was the only sound you could muster as the feeling of his warmth circling your cold, feverish body brought you the first sense of true serenity you had experienced since first waking up.  While you couldn’t smell him due to your blocked sinuses, his lingering presence alone was enough to lull you into yet another much-needed slumber.

—

Law exceeded the definition of ‘pampering’ when it came to caring for your ill state.  When it was revealed to you that he very rarely treated the rest of the crew with the same level of domestic, loving care, you tossed your lover a pointed, disapproving gaze.  He simply did what he had to do as a doctor and a captain, but you were special to him, far more than just a regular crew mate.  (If that wasn’t obvious already, with the way his kisses always seemed to burn your skin and his hands knew every part of your body.)

But in the days following your first onset of symptoms, Law hadn’t left your side, even after the Polar Tang submerged yet again deep below the dark blue ocean, cruising to its next destination.  Law moved some of his work materials from the medical room to the floor and small desk of your bedroom, half of his brain focused on his studies while the other half kept a close watch on your slumbering form in the bed next to him.  The antibiotics were quick to shut down the illness, and although they did come with a few less-than-pleasant side effects, you were thankful for how rapidly the regimen of pills slowly loosened the mucus in your nose, the pounding in your head, and the tightness in your chest and throat.

Perhaps he might have been a bit too attentive.  Shachi and Penguin tossed lighthearted jeers in their friend’s direction as he followed you into the shower for the third day in a row, keen on making sure you didn’t faint under a stream of too-hot water again.  While you found it humorous that he wouldn’t leave your side, you were also beyond thankful to have someone so focused and dedicated to ensuring your wellbeing.  Law was truly one of a kind.

And when your first 24 hours without symptoms passed and you were deemed officially in the clear after a long week of recovery, you were rewarded with a long-overdue kiss on the lips from your doting man.

You, as well as the entire crew, were given strict instructions to incorporate Vitamin C capsules in your daily food intake to prevent more severe infections from cropping up, but with the way you were taken care of by your bespeckled boyfriend, a small part of you wouldn’t mind getting sick again.

[xxspringmelodyxx]

Why Her and Not Me?

Gojo Satoru x F!Reader x Geto Suguru (Angst) part V

Hello my lovely readers! Here is part V! I also want to let you all know that I will be making multiple endings for this story because all of you deserve to be happy, so I will do just that🫶🏽 As for this part, I hope you all enjoy it! <333

If you want the other parts, they are in my masterlist :))))

As Toru wandered aimlessly down the quiet streets, his footsteps echoed hollowly against the pavement. Each step felt heavier than the last, weighed down by the burden of his own heartache. His mind was a whirlwind of emotions, his thoughts consumed by memories of you and the pain of your absence.

With each passing moment, the weight of your absence pressed down on him like a suffocating blanket, suffusing his every breath with a sense of longing and despair. He had tried to distract himself, to bury his feelings beneath a facade of indifference, but the truth was, he couldn’t escape the emptiness that gnawed at him from within. It was as if a part of him was missing, lost in the void that had opened up between you.

Toru barely slept, barely ate, barely did anything other than wander the streets in a daze, lost in a fog of sadness and regret. He knew he should take better care of himself, that he owed it to himself to try and move on, but the thought of you lingered in his mind like a ghost, haunting him at every turn.

Every corner he turned, every street he walked, seemed to taunt him with memories of happier times, of moments shared and laughter shared. But now, those memories felt like nothing more than cruel illusions, mocking him with their fleeting sweetness.

His heart felt heavy in his chest, a leaden weight that threatened to drag him down into the depths of despair. He had never felt so lost, so adrift, as he did in that moment, with the realization of just how much he missed you crashing over him like a tidal wave.

He wanted nothing more than to see you, to hear your voice, to feel your touch, but he knew that was impossible. You were out there somewhere, living your life without him, and the thought filled him with a profound sense of loneliness and regret.

And as he trudged on through the empty streets, his aura radiated a palpable aura of sadness and longing, a silent plea for the universe to bring you back to him.

——

Toru loved you, the truth was undeniable: his heart belonged to you, and you alone. He couldn’t continue to deceive himself, couldn’t continue to pretend that everything was okay when it clearly wasn’t. And so, with a heavy heart and a sense of resignation, Toru made the final decision to end things with Osaka.

Their relationship had once been filled with laughter and joy, but now it felt like nothing more than a charade, a hollow imitation of the love and passion he felt for you. He couldn’t bear the thought of leading Osaka on any longer, couldn’t bear the guilt of knowing that he was betraying her with every passing day.

And so, one fateful afternoon, Toru found himself sitting across from Osaka, his heart heavy with sorrow as he tried to find the words to explain why he couldn’t be with her anymore. She looked at him with confusion and hurt in her eyes, her brow furrowed in disbelief as she struggled to comprehend what he was saying.

—flashback—

As Toru sat across from Osaka in the bustling cafe, his heart weighed down by the heavy burden of the truth he was about to reveal, he couldn't help but notice the sadness in her eyes. It was as if she already knew what he was going to say, as if she had seen the signs and understood the depths of his feelings long before he had even admitted them to himself.

"I'm sorry, Osaka," Toru began, his voice barely above a whisper. "I... I can't do this anymore. I can't continue to pretend that everything is okay when it clearly isn't. I... I have feelings for someone else, and I can't ignore them any longer."

Osaka's eyes widened in understanding, her lips trembling slightly as she fought to hold back her emotions. "Is it... is it because of her?" she asked softly, her voice barely audible over the din of the crowded cafe.

Toru nodded, his heart aching with regret. "Yes," he admitted, his voice barely more than a choked whisper. "I've tried to deny it, tried to push aside my feelings, but... but I can't. I love her, Osaka. I've finally come to realize that everything that made me happy…everything that made me love life…it was all because of her… and I can't keep pretending that I don’t want her."

Tears welled up in Osaka's eyes, but she managed to nod, a small, sad smile playing at the corners of her lips. "I know," she whispered. "I've seen the way you look at her, the way your eyes light up whenever she's around. And as much as it hurts, I... I understand."

Toru's heart clenched with guilt at the pain he saw in Osaka's eyes, the knowledge that he was causing her so much hurt and heartache nearly overwhelming him. But amidst the sorrow and regret, there was a sense of relief, a weight lifting from his shoulders as he finally spoke the truth he had been hiding for so long.

"I'm so sorry, Osaka," he murmured, reaching out to take her hand in his. "I never meant to hurt you, but I... I can't keep pretending that my feelings for you are enough. You deserve someone who can give you their whole heart, and I... I can't do that."

Osaka squeezed his hand gently, her gaze soft and understanding. "I know," she whispered. "And all I want is for you to be happy, Toru. Even if it's not with me."

And in that moment, Toru felt a sense of gratitude wash over him, a deep appreciation for the kindness and understanding that Osaka had shown him. He knew that he would never forget her, never forget the love and support she had given him during their time together.

As Osaka got up to leave, her shoulders hunched with grief but her head held high with dignity, Toru couldn't help but feel a sense of awe at the strength and resilience she possessed. And as he watched her walk away, he knew that he would always be grateful for her understanding and kindness, even though his heart belonged elsewhere.

—end of flashback—

That happened almost three weeks ago, and here he was, still down as ever because he still hasn’t gotten a chance to speak with you. As he rounded a corner, his gaze fell upon a familiar figure sitting alone on a bench in the park. It was you, your silhouette illuminated by the soft glow of the streetlights, and for a moment, Toru’s heart leaped in his chest.

Without a second thought, he changed direction and made his way towards you, his steps quickening with a sense of urgency. He needed to see you, to talk to you, to finally get some answers to the questions that had been plaguing him for months now.

Relief washed over him at the sight of you, but it quickly turned to dismay as he couldn’t help but notice the way your shoulders tensed, as if bracing for impact. His heart clenched at the sight, the realization that you were actively avoiding him hitting him like a ton of bricks. He had hoped that seeing you again would ease the ache in his chest, but instead, it only seemed to exacerbate it.

His footsteps faltered for a moment before he mustered back the courage to approach you. Each step felt like a heavy weight dragging him closer to the inevitable confrontation he had been dreading. He cleared his throat nervously, his heart pounding in his chest as he finally reached your side.

“Y/n,” he called out softly, his voice trembling with emotion. “It’s… it’s been so long since we’ve talked. I’ve missed you.”

You glanced up briefly, your eyes flitting over him before quickly returning to the ground. You instantly began to feel your heart race. You cursed yourself mentally, hoping that all of those feelings you had for him were gone once and for all, but to your surprise, they weren’t.

“Has it? I didn’t even notice.” You spoke plainly, going on your phone. Even you knew that was a low blow.

Your reaction was almost imperceptible, a slight shift in posture that spoke volumes. Toru’s heart sank at your words, his mind racing with a million different questions and doubts. What had he done wrong? Why were you treating him like this? Had he somehow pushed you away without realizing it?

“Y/n,” he repeated, his voice pleading, “please, I need to know what’s been going on with you. I miss you so much, and it’s killing me not knowing why you’ve been avoiding me.”

But you remained stubbornly silent, refusing to meet his gaze or acknowledge his presence. Toru’s frustration boiled beneath the surface, his patience wearing thin as he struggled to contain his emotions.

“Y/n, come on,” he begged, his voice cracking with emotion. “I can’t take this anymore. I need to know why you’ve been ignoring me. What did I do wrong? What did I do to deserve this?”

You flinched at his words, the guilt gnawing at your conscience as you struggled to find the right words. But before you could respond, Toru pressed on, his voice growing more desperate with each passing moment.

“I thought we were friends, Y/n,” he continued, his voice trembling with emotion. “I thought we meant something to each other. Maybe…even more than that… But if I was wrong, if I’ve just been fooling myself this whole time, then please, just tell me. Tell me the truth, even if it hurts. Because obviously, you’ve been ignoring me for the last several months and I’m getting tired of it!”

Tears welled up in your eyes as you met Toru’s gaze, the pain and confusion written plainly across his face. You opened your mouth to speak, to tell him everything, but the words caught in your throat, choked back by the weight of your own fears.

Toru’s eyes searched yours, pleading for some semblance of an answer, but you turned away, unable to bear the intensity of his gaze any longer. And in that moment of vulnerability, you felt a surge of anger rise up within you, a resentment born from years of unrequited love and silent suffering. After all this time, he still doesn’t know about how you felt. How much you loved him. How much he hurt you that day. And how much it continued to hurt every time you saw him with Osaka.

“I’m sorry, Toru,” you spoke, your voice barely above a whisper. “I can’t do this right now. I need some time alone.”

But Toru refused to let you off that easily, his frustration boiling over as he grabbed your arm, forcing you to face him. “No, Y/n,” he insisted, his voice tinged with desperation. “We need to talk about this. I can’t just let you walk away like this, not when it’s tearing me apart inside.”

You tried to pull away, to free yourself from his grasp, but Toru held on tight, his grip unyielding as he searched your eyes for some sign of understanding.

”Let me go, Satoru. Now.” You spoke to him, your voice completely monotone and full of venom.

Toru’s heart cracked at the sound of his name rolling off your tongue with such detachment. It was as if you were a stranger, a cold wind blowing through the warm familiarity you two once shared.

“Y/n, please,” Toru pleaded, his voice barely above a whisper. “Don’t shut me out like this. I can’t bear it.”

But you remained resolute, your gaze fixed on the ground as if the earth held the answers to all your troubles. Toru’s heart ached at the sight, the pain of your rejection like a physical blow to his chest.

“Please, just talk to me,” Toru implored, his voice trembling with emotion. “Tell me what I did wrong. Tell me why you’ve been avoiding me.”

Your silence was deafening, a wall of ice erected between you and Toru that seemed impossible to breach. But before he could do anything further, you spoke again, your voice cutting through the silence like a knife. “Let me go, or else.”

Toru recoiled as if struck, the pain in your words lancing through him like a blade. He had never heard you address him so formally, so coldly, and it sent a shiver down his spine. He let go of your hand, seeing you begin to walk away. That is when he snapped.

“I…I don’t understand,” Toru stammered, his voice rising as his frustration began to take hold of his emotions. “What did I do to deserve this? What did I do to make you hate me so much?” He yelled, tears beginning to fall down his face.

Suddenly, you stopped in your tracks, your heart beginning to break as well. The tears welled up in your eyes as you met Toru’s gaze, the pain and anguish written plainly across your face.

Toru’s heart clenched at the sight of your tears, each drop a dagger in his already wounded heart. He watched helplessly as you approached him, your finger trembling as you pointed it accusingly at him.

“Y-you wanna know why I’ve been acting this way? Why I’ve been ignoring you this whole fucking time?!” you yelled, your voice raw with emotion.

Toru’s breath caught in his throat as he waited for your answer, his heart pounding with anticipation and dread.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself as the weight of your words hung heavy in the air between you. “It’s because of you, Toru and well…me and my stupid feelings,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “Because of what you said to me that day…about loving Osaka.”

Toru’s eyes widened in surprise, a flicker of understanding dawning in their depths. He opened his mouth to speak, but you held up a trembling hand, silencing him before he could interrupt.

“I know you probably didn’t mean to hurt me when you told me you loved Osaka,” you continued, your words tumbling out in a rush. “But it… it broke my heart, Toru. It shattered me into a million pieces, and I didn’t know how to put myself back together again.”

Toru listened in stunned silence as you poured out your heart, each word a dagger to his own soul. He had never realized the depth of your feelings for him, the pain you had been silently carrying all this time.

You swallowed hard, the lump in your throat threatening to choke off your words. How could you possibly explain the depth of your feelings for Toru, the longing and heartache that had consumed you for so long? How could you make him understand the pain of watching him love someone else, knowing that he would never return your affections?

“But It’s about more than just what happened with Osaka,” you finally admitted, your voice trembling with emotion. “It’s about how much I loved you, Toru. For so long, I’ve loved you with every fiber of my being. There wasn’t a day that went by where I didn’t think of you, where I didn’t want to be with you.”

You continued.

“That’s why I would always make you your favorite desserts. I knew you loved them and so I made them to make you feel loved…to make you feel happy…to hopefully help you understand just how much I cared for and loved you…but you never got the idea.” Your heart was breaking more and more with each word you spoke. “You never once sat back and wondered why I did all of that for you. Of course I did it because I enjoy it…but it made it even more enjoyable knowing that it was all for you. You were the reason I looked forward to each new day. The reason as to what made everything better. And it… it hurts so much to know that you don’t feel the same way about me. And what’s worse is that…I still love you…even though I’ve tried to force those feelings away…after months of telling myself I don’t love you anymore, convincing myself of those words…I knew it was nothing but a lie.” You finished, still looking at him, seeing his widened eyes.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you looked up at him, the floodgates of your emotions bursting open with a force you couldn’t contain. You felt exposed and vulnerable, laid bare before Toru.

”Y/n…I-“

Gently, he squeezed your hand, silently conveying his remorse and his determination to make things right. He knew he had a long road ahead of him, but he was willing to do whatever it took to earn back your trust and your love.

“I-I never knew,” Toru choked out, his voice thick with emotion. “I never realized…” he stammered, his voice choking with emotion. “I never meant to hurt you, I swear. I never wanted to cause you pain.”

You shook your head, tears streaming down your cheeks unchecked. “I know, Toru. I know you didn’t mean to,” you said softly. “But the truth is, you did. And I’ve spent so long trying to come to terms with that, trying to move on and forget about you, but I just… I can’t.”

But you shook your head, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. “But It doesn’t matter now, Toru,” you said, your voice tinged with sadness and resignation. “What’s done is done. You are with Osaka…and there is nothing I can do about it.”

“I-I broke up with Osaka,” Toru interrupted, his voice loud and clear.

You felt your heart skip a beat as Toru’s words hung in the air, the weight of his confession hitting you on the head. You blinked, trying to process the sudden shift in the conversation, the unexpected turn of events leaving you feeling disoriented and confused.

“What do you mean?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, your heart racing in your chest. “Why would you break up with Osaka?”

As Toru’s voice wavered with emotion, you could sense the weight of his words hanging heavy in the air, each syllable laden with meaning and significance. He took a deep breath, steeling himself to articulate the whirlwind of thoughts and feelings that had consumed him in recent months.

“It was after you stopped talking to me,” Toru confessed, his voice barely above a whisper, his eyes searching yours for understanding. “I couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, I couldn’t do anything…I was a mess, Y/n. And I couldn’t figure out why until I realized…it was because of you. I realized that I needed you.”

You felt a pang of guilt twist in your chest at his words, the realization that your actions had caused him so much pain weighing heavily on your conscience. But even as you grappled with your own emotions, you couldn’t help but hang on to his every word, desperate to understand the depth of his feelings.

“I kept replaying everything in my mind, every moment we’ve shared together,” Toru continued, his voice growing stronger with each passing word. “And it hit me like a bus. I’m in love with you, Y/n. I’m so in love with you that it hurts. Everywhere I turn, it always brings up a memory of us together.”

The raw honesty in Toru’s confession washed over you, leaving you reeling in its wake. You had never imagined that he could feel that way about you, never dared to entertain the possibility that your feelings for him might be reciprocated.

“I tried to hide my feelings for you while I was with Osaka…to pretend that everything was fine….but I can’t keep pretending anymore, Y/n. I can’t keep hiding how I feel.”

As Toru poured his heart out to you, baring his soul in a way you had never seen before, you felt a surge of conflicting emotions wash over you. Part of you wanted to throw yourself into his arms, to finally acknowledge the love that had been simmering beneath the surface for so long. But another part of you hesitated, still grappling with the scars of past heartbreaks, unsure if you were ready to take that leap of faith again.

You felt a lump form in your throat as Toru’s words washed over you, the enormity of what he was saying sinking in.

“I love you so much,Y/n… and I am so sorry that it took me this long to figure it out” He started, his hands becoming clammy.

Toru reached out tentatively, his hand hovering in the air between you as if unsure whether to touch you or not. “Please, Y/n,” he pleaded, his voice breaking with emotion. “Give me a chance to make things right. I’ll do anything, I swear.”

You looked up at him, your eyes filled with a mixture of pain and longing. “I don’t know if I can, Toru. You really hurt me, even if you didn’t mean to.” you admitted, your voice barely audible above the soft hum of the evening breeze.

“Plus…Suguru and I have been getting close…and I…I think I’m falling for him as well. I can’t explain it, but there’s something about him that draws me to him, something I can’t ignore. So not only do I still have feelings for you…but I also have feelings for him…and I’m just so lost and confused. I don’t know what to do anymore.”

The weight of your confession hung heavy in the air, the silence stretching between you like a chasm.

When you finally mentioned Suguru, Toru’s heart clenched with a mixture of jealousy and resignation. He had suspected as much, had seen the way you looked at Suguru when you thought no one was watching, the subtle shifts in your demeanor whenever he was around. But hearing you say the words out loud, admitting to falling for another, felt like a blow to his chest.

But he pushed back those feelings as he heard and saw your current state. He felt a surge of guilt wash over him as he saw you. This wasn’t about him right now; it was about you and the pain he had caused you. He couldn’t bear the thought of being the source of your hurt, and the realization weighed heavily on his heart.

He refused to give up hope. He knew that he had to earn your forgiveness, that it wouldn’t come easily or quickly. But he was willing to do whatever it took to make things right between you, to prove to you that he was worthy of your love.

“However,” you started, still looking into his eyes.

“I know that I can’t keep ignoring you like this. And…I have been missing you for some time as well. So…how about we just start back at square one and see where that takes us?”

Toru listened intently, his heart pounding with anticipation as you spoke. He understood the gravity of your words, the weight of the pain he had caused you. But as you suggested starting anew, a spark of hope ignited within him, lighting up the darkness that had clouded his heart.

He nodded, a sense of determination coursing through him. "I would like that…a lot actually," he replied, his voice soft yet resolute. "Let's start fresh, take it one step at a time."

As the words left his lips, a sense of relief washed over you. Despite the hurt and the uncertainty, you couldn't ignore the flicker of hope that blossomed within you. Maybe, just maybe, there was a chance for the two of you to find your way back to each other. To love and cherish one another and be one.

With a tentative smile, you reached out and squeezed Toru's hand, feeling the warmth and strength it offered, missing how good it felt. As you two walked side by side, the weight of the past lifting from your shoulders, you felt a renewed sense of optimism fill your heart. Maybe this wasn't the end of your story with Toru, but rather the beginning of a new chapter, one filled with hope, forgiveness, and the promise of a brighter and happier future.

_____________

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[lev1hei1chou]

Faded

Nanami x reader Genre: Angst Words: 1.2k Synopsis: Breaking up with Nanami PART 2 ALTERNATIVE HAPPY ENDING Masterlist

The moon hung low in the night sky, emitting a soft glow over Tokyo. Nanami Kento sat alone in his apartment, the dim light accentuating the fatigue etched on his face. The room was filled with a heavy silence, broken only by the occasional sound of a distant car passing by.

You had been a part of Nanami's life for as long as he could remember – a blessing in the unpredictable world of curses. Your laughter echoed through the memories he held dear, a melody that had once filled the empty spaces in his heart.

However, time had a way of untangling even the most tightly woven threads of happiness. Fate had cruelly chosen to separate the two of you, leaving Nanami with a void that nothing could fill.

The scent of your favorite tea wafted through the apartment, a painful reminder of mornings spent together. Nanami mechanically prepared the tea, his movements precise but lacking the warmth that once accompanied them. As the bitter aroma filled the room, he found himself lost in the maze of memories.

It had begun with a subtle distance, an unspoken ache that settled between you and Nanami. The demands of his duty as a jujutsu sorcerer had slowly taken a toll on your relationship. Late-night missions, dangerous curses, and the constant threat of death had become a looming presence, and acted as a major source of your fear. It overshadowed the moments of happiness that you shared with your lover.

Nanami tried his best to shield you from the darkness that consumed his days, but the burden of his responsibilities became an unstoppable barrier. The lines on his face deepened with each passing mission, his exhaustion etched into every crease. You felt the strain too, the worry etching lines on your forehead.

One evening, after yet another close call, Nanami found you sitting in the dimly lit kitchen. The flickering light cast shadows on your face, emphasizing the sadness in your eyes.

"I can't do this anymore, Kento," you whispered, your voice slightly audible.

His tired eyes met yours, a silent cry for understanding. The weight of unspoken words hung in the air as you continued, "I love you, but I can't keep watching you walk into danger. I can't bear the thought of losing you."

Nanami's heart sank, the gravity of your words hitting him like a tidal wave. He wanted to reason, to convince you that he would find a way to make it work, but the tiredness in your eyes mirrored his own. The painful decision was made, and the threads that once bound you together began to untangle.

The present brought Nanami back to reality. He sat alone at the small table, staring at the untouched mug of tea before him. The room felt empty, devoid of the warmth that once used to be radiated from your very presence. He wondered if you ever thought about him, if the memories haunted your nights as they did his.

Nanami's phone buzzed on the table, a major interruption to the heavy silence. He glanced at the screen, and for a moment, hope flickered in his eyes. The hope, however, quick to vanish as he read the message – a routine mission, another night alone.

The apartment echoed with the sound of his sigh as he rose from the table. His steps were heavy as he moved towards the closet, where your things had been carefully packed away. A box filled with residues of a love that once flourished – photos, letters, and trinkets that now felt like pieces of a broken dream.

As he looked through the memories, a photograph caught his eye. It captured a moment of pure happiness, the genuine smiles on both your faces frrozen in time. Nanami traced the outline of your face with his fingertips, a bittersweet smile playing on his lips.

Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months. Nanami continued his lone existence, the routine of his life a walk towards an uncertain future. He found comfort in the familiarity of his duties, the demands of the jujutsu world leaving little room for reflecting on the past.

Yet, the pain in his heart existed, a constant reminder of the void you left behind. He began to visit the places where you once spent time together, as if hoping to catch a glimpse of your presence. This, however, only intensified the loneliness.

One rainy evening, Nanami found himself standing outside a small cafe – a place that held precious memories. The soft sound of rain against the pavement mirrored the turmoil within him. He hesitated for a moment before stepping inside, the bell above the door chiming softly.

The air inside the cafe was thick with nostalgia. Nanami ordered a cup of your favorite coffee, the bitter aroma reminding him of the echoes of the past. As he sat in the quiet corner, he couldn't stop hoping that you would walk in at any moment, smiling as if nothing had happened.

The illusion shattered when the door swung open, revealing a stranger with an umbrella, seeking refuge from the rain. Nanami's heart sank as the realization washed over him – you were not coming back. The pain intensified and threatened to suffocate him.

Time passed, and Nanami continued to steer through the difficulties of his life. He became a master at hiding the pain, wearing a stoic mask that hid the storm of emotions within. The nights were the most hardest to deal with, the silence of his apartment reminding him of the haunting memories of laughter and whispered promises.

One fateful night, as he patrolled the streets, a familiar curse appeared from the shadows. The encounter was like usual – a battle against the supernatural forces that threatened to disrupt the balance of the world. The fight, however, took an unexpected turn.

The curse, sensing Nanami's inner uneasiness, manifested in a form that mirrored the ghost of his lost love. It moved with a haunting grace, its voice echoing the words you once said. Nanami's heart raced as he fought against the apparition of his past, the lines between reality and illusion blurring.

In the midst of the battle, the curse whispered words that cut through Nanami's defense like a blade. "You chose duty over love, and now love is nothing but a disappearing echo."

The words struck something within him, a painful remainder of the choices he made. The curse, fueled by his inner turmoil, became an embodiment of the grief in his soul.

As the battle went on, Nanami found himself overwhelmed by the curse's constant and relentless attacks. He fought not only against the curse but against the painful memories that threatened to consume him. The bitter taste of regret lingered on his tongue, the weight of lost possibilities pressing down on his shoulders.

Exhausted and battered, Nanami emerged victorious. The curse dissolved into the night, leaving him alone in the quiet aftermath. The rain had stopped, leaving behind a glistening view in the city.

Nanami stood in the emptiness of the street, his breath ragged and his gaze distant. The battle had not only been against a curse but was also against the demons that lived within him. The pain, once carefully tucked away, now surged to the surface.

Brushing it off, he slowly trudged along the road to reach his house that was once a home. He was ready to be consumed by the pain of loneliness again.

A/N: I like pain

[classyrunawaynightmare]

Sᴀɴᴛᴀ Bᴀʀʙᴀʀᴀ Eʟʟɪᴇ - "𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔, 𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚠𝚊𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞" ✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

ʷᵃʳⁿᶦⁿᵍˢ ⁻ ᵐᵉⁿᵗᶦᵒⁿ ᵒᶠ ᵗʳᵃᵘᵐᵃ, ᵇˡᵒᵒᵈ, ᵈᵉᵃᵗʰ.

It was a complicated situation... You insisted that you wanted to go with Ellie to find Abby, you've been dating since the night Joel went on that last patrol... And you've been supporting Ellie ever since, it's not easy dealing with a person whose trauma has become something daily. Life on the farm wasn't easy, it was difficult to see Ellie relax, that always came back no matter how long she tried to forget, all it took was a trigger to bring those memories back, Joel on the floor bloody and lifeless. With each passing day, Ellie contemplated leaving everything behind and avenging Joel and when she actually did it you went with her, you couldn't bear the thought that your girlfriend could being in the middle of nowhere fighting alone for something that had no guarantee of working. How would you make sure she actually found Abby? And if she was safe?

So you went with her, helping her at every moment, even if she denied you and treated you badly, you knew that it was all a result of the pain she was feeling and you forgave her for that, you love her, it doesn't matter if she says you're a burden for messing up and warning those runners, you knew that as soon as she finished her revenge you would have that funny and gentle Ellie again, the one you loved... but... were you really sure about that?

And there you were, treating her injuries again after she got separated from you after a fight and got trapped, the only thing she was focused was on "Abby", "Abby", "Abby", "Abby".....

She was obsessed and you couldn't do anything about it, you just watched from a distance while she had her "hallucinations", you didn't know if it was because of her injuries, or because of the summer weather, or because she was really going crazy... In any case, you hoped that it would pass soon, you had been through so much together until now and you couldn't bear the thought of leaving her, even if every day that passed she was being more and more despicable... every unnecessary death to get to Abby, this thought was in your head constantly... not that you were better, you also sacrificed a lot to be here, by her side.... the only place you want to be.

Ellie tried to hold back her groan of pain when you disinfected the wound. She looked extremely tired and it made your heart sink, to see your girlfriend so exhausted and neglecting her needs, all you would like to do is hug her and tell her everything would be okay but she has been so distant, you didn't know how to approach her without making her move away.

She was so hurt, her only relief for a brief moment was your touch on a cold night, you tending her wounds or the sound of your sweet voice when she was frustrated again. She knew that it was often one-sided, she knew she wasn't a good girlfriend, she knew she failed you but she tried, and tried... but she couldn't, the bitter taste of anger over everything being taken out on you for no reason at all, She tried to ignore the guilt she felt because of this but failed miserably... you were so sweet to her... even with all the fights she would be lost without you, she owed you the world.

The sun was already setting, you were sheltering in an abandoned house, after you treated her injuries the two of you were lying in silence... it was akward... It was strange that you felt this way about your girlfriend but it was a reality, you looked at her for a moment, contemplating the sight of her face... you admired every detail, getting lost in her freckles... moments like this made you miss how things were with Jackson, how she was a completely different person than she was now. You blame yourself for those thoughts, It wasn't her fault that life was shit but you couldn't help but miss her warmth, her loving words, her playful way... everything was gone.

So you were in this back and forth of melancholy in relation to each other, waiting for everything to go back to normal, you didn't need to exchange words to know what you both felt, the situation was obvious... you lost yourself in daydreams of the past, always having that funereal feeling of nostalgia. Now you looked at each other intensely, it was an exchange of looks that conveyed love between you, it was peaceful and hopeful, something there lit up and after a long time you were able to feel each other again...

You kissed softly and passionately, his hands Ellie traveling all over your body leaving traces of electricity... it was sincere and kind and in moments like that you remembered why you are here... and you just hope that soon this can happen every night of summer, autumn, winter and spring... you saw in her eyes a glimpse of a better future.

All your doubts would go away with the feeling of her lips on hers.

(If one day you go through a difficult situation with your partner never hesitate to start a conversation and be logical about it, for the sake of preserving a relationship that is not toxic. Thank you for the feedback on the last post! 💓)

[jupiter049]

After finally getting around to watching Kill The Moon I was very much surprised, pleasantly in fact.

While the abortion metaphor is 100% a valid reading you can make of the story, I don't buy it being the true conflict and message of the episode. Knowing that apparently Peter Harness didn't intend this to be an abortion metaphor, I can let it pass as what is probably a writer's political views subconsciously leaking into the script.

Judging the story literally and not metaphorically. It's about choosing if it's right/worth to kill an innocent being to save the lives of many.

This is literally the trolley problem.

Then you remember that this episode works as a sort of prelude for Mummy On The Orient Express and the true intentions of this episode come to light.

This is a story about having no "good choices", about taking risks when you aren't sure what's going to happen.

Clara is put way more in a bad light than what most people say. Clara is left speechless and with no counter arguments to what Lundwik argues and concedes to letting earth decide. When she finally pushes the button it was clearly a sudden and irrational move.

Clara outright says she didn't know what was going to happen, that she wasn't planning to press the button. Clara didn't make this choice because of knowing what was for the best, she did it because she couldn't bear the weight of intentionally killing an innocent being. She gambled, she took a leap of faith and it paid off.

Beyond the choice itself. Another big aspect of the episode is why The Doctor put Clara in this situation.

The Doctor is lonely. Everybody knows that. But even when companions are close to him, he still feels alone because there's nobody in the universe like him.

He can relate to some, but there's always a thing or two getting in the way (for example Time Lords being dead). So he craves, he strongly craves for someone like him. When The Doctor is asked why he wants to rehabilitate Missy a big reason he gives is the fact she is the only person somewhat similar to him.

The Doctor desires someone he can relate to so badly it makes him want to redeem the person who destroyed 1/4 of the universe.

And now in an adventure with her he finds a situation in which they have to decide if they are willing to stop the birth of a living being to save the lives of many? That sounds familiar.

Just like Nine brought Rose to the future so she could also experience what it's like seeing your planet explode and be the last member of your species, Twelve put Clara in this situation so she could experience what it's like to be the one who makes the big choices.

The Doctor all the time makes decisions that affect the lives of many. Decisions that most of the time he isn't sure if they will work. He risks it all every day. It brings him a lot of pain but he feels forced to do it because he thinks no one else can. He always has to save humanity because he thinks none of them could do what he does.

This... Sadly brings out the uncomfortable truth. Which is that The Doctor does look down upon humans. Don't get me wrong, he adores them, he would give it all to be like them. But he is aware that he considers himself superior to humanity, which is a side of him he (usually) tries to keep in check.

Humanity is for The Doctor what animals are for humanity. We love animals, we admire what they can do and even envy them in some areas, but we still don't consider them as capable, as intelligent as us.

This side of The Doctor can be seen as far back as the first episode of the revival. Calling humans stupid apes, and describing them as a species on it's first baby steps. Because of it, he wants them to be better, he knows how amazing they can and will be and wants them to achieve their potential.

What I'm getting at is that he feels like he is the only one who has to make the big choices, he feels alone taking that burden. But at the same time, he likes it, he enjoys taking these decisions, and he would be more than pleased to have someone right by his side taking them as well.

This is about nurturing Clara into becoming something greater. In his eyes, this means stop being a little human and grow to be the tiniest little bit similar to him.

All of this makes me remember that one moment in The End Of Time Part 2.

The Doctor said humans look like giants, he never said they look bigger than him.

[banjjakz]

Seven Days at Granny Orimoto's Flower Shop ; Yuuta x F!Reader

My name is Okkotsu Yuuta. I am a recent graduate of a martial arts vocational school. I just completed a year-long internship abroad in Africa. Due to my recent re-entry into Japan, I am still in the process of setting up my phone and internet. I apologize for the inconvenience and I am extremely sorry for the burden. As a supervisor and business, you may benefit from the set of skills that I have to offer. I can lift upwards of 25kg. I am neat and detail oriented. Due to past life experiences, I am a fast learner and quick to adapt to new surroundings. I am accustomed to taking orders and delivering results. It is my utmost goal to ensure the comfort and satisfaction of those around me. I am eager to be of service. Please think of me kindly.

Or: An odd boy shows up every night begging for a job offer. Did you mention that he gives you handwritten letters? Do you have to report a workplace romance if the only other employee is your boss, who is currently dying? Asking for a friend.

notes: commission for the lovely mielle! thank you very kindly for 1) commissioning me!!!!!! and 2) putting up with my compulsion to surpass any and all word count specifications

warnings: general off-putting vibes, casual discussions of child death, implied stalking (at the very least), unethical(…? maybe ethically gray?) necromancy, etc. y'all know what's about to go down

♡‬ read on ao3 ‪♡‬

Life as a florist is every bit the dream that you’d hoped it would be.

The thought of working from nine to five in some cubicle for the rest of your life was enough to drive you out of university before even completing the feeble attempt you’d half-assedly made at a degree. While the path to your current state of employment had not been linear, easy, or even recommended, you cannot imagine ending up anywhere else.

You’re lucky enough as it is that Granny Orimoto was willing to take you on – perhaps, at first, out of pity – as a shop-hand. That day, all those months, is still as clear as unmarred waters in your mind. What a pitiful image you must have made: underfed, poorly clothed, with roving, vacant eyes.

Nevertheless, you adjusted quickly and gratefully to your new place of employment. Within months, your sense of self and purpose in life had been restored, watered and nurtured underneath the guiding light of Granny Orimoto’s flower shop. Like a corpse risen again, your days were once more filled with hope and aspirations.

Eventually, Granny Orimoto began bestowing upon you more and more responsibilities. You tend to think of your daily tasks as privileges more than anything else. You’ve graduated far beyond merely ringing customers up on the till – at this point, you’re somewhat of a budding horticulturalist. Or, at least, that’s what you’d like to think on your good days.

Recently, Granny Orimoto has even begun to entrust you to manage the shop on your lonesome for several days out of the week. It used to be the case that she would require you to work only hours that coincided with her own availability, so that you might fall under her constant supervision. Of course, this was back when you could barely keep a plant alive. Nowadays, things are quite different.

Quite different, indeed.

On this slow, Monday evening, managerial status finds its way to you once more. Closing the shop used to feel weird, without Granny Orimoto there to lay into you about your posture, or your clumsiness, or your naturally shy, stuttering nature. Now, it’s starting to feel eerily more and more like business as usual.

When the bell above the front door rings, you don’t think too much of it – this town is a bit of a tourist trap, so there are quite a few out-of-towners who aren’t used to respecting closing times. Usually, you’re too nice to shoo them out, but the weight of the day bears heavily upon your apron-clad shoulders.

But when you spin around on your heel, the polite-yet-firm “we closed four minutes ago” withers on your tongue like dead leaves crumbling away upon the unrepentant, earthen ground.

The most disturbing thing is not that he’s exactly your type of handsome: tall, gaunt, malnourished, with a strange, lost look in his wideset eyes. It would be easier, somehow, if your immediate and arresting attraction to the gangly stranger was the most of your worries.

Perhaps what unnerves you so, is the fact that you are powerless to do anything but devote the entirety of your attention to the odd young man. The terra cotta pot once in your grasp has suddenly been placed on the nearest shelf. The gardener’s gloves on your hands have now been stripped away and flung carelessly to the ground, the delicate flesh of your fingers on display for the world to see.

“Are you hiring?” He asks. The lights flicker. Granny Orimoto should really stop fighting you about calling an electrician – they aren’t that expensive.

No, is what you should say, because you don’t have the authority to answer this question and also the thought of having to train someone else when you are just barely getting the hang of your newfound managerial status is a terrifying prospect.

And yet, what ends up leaving your mouth is:

“Yes.”

His black hair is overgrown and in dire need of a trim. The bangs are in a liminal state: too short to part, too long for comfort. It dangles limply in his eyes. Those eyes. Big and glassy and dark, like a dead doe gazing up, unseeingly, at the sky.

“Okay,” he says. “Is there an application that I could fill out?”

Is he not cold? The weather chills significantly at night, and his layers look rather thin. Or maybe that’s just the way the clothes hang off of him. “No, it’s alright. You can just – um, you’re good.”

“I’m…?”

“You’re good,” you repeat and then you have to fight for control over your own body, so that you can turn around and break eye contact before it actually kills you.  “When can you start? Do you have a phone number? Um, so we can get in touch with you about scheduling and training and verify your location and such and so forth.”

Okay, that last sentence was hastily tacked on. You’ll be the first to admit that much. But what kind of girl would you look like, asking a random stranger for his number out of the blue?

You hear more than you see him shuffle his feet, still lingering awkwardly in the doorway. “Um, no, sorry. I don’t have a phone.”

“E-mail?”

“Ah..no…would communication via letter be alright?”

What is his problem?

He shows up, four minutes past closing, poorly dressed and clearly in poor health, as well, to inquire about a job opening, and doesn’t even have a phone or any form of contact to provide other than handwritten correspondence?

Is this a prank? Are you being pranked, right now? You pause your fastidious, frustrated handling of today’s arranged bouquets just to surreptitiously scan your surroundings for any hidden cameras.

It’s like the man of your dreams has walked through the door. It’s almost too good to be true. You know you have eclectic tastes—and this is exactly why you’ve never had a boyfriend, before.

Because what living man could possibly compare to the fictional freakshows you stay up late at night reading about? Who would be worth fawning over, when you are already well equipped with a wealth of off-putting – and, quite frankly, disturbing – characters of ill-repute? Never has there been a living, breathing vessel capable of catching your jaded, heavy eyes.

Until now, that is.

“Sure,” you say, allowing the brain-rot to take control of your faculties. “Give me one second to write down our mailing information.”

But before you can cling desperately to another excuse to evade his magnetic presence, the strange boy speaks up, alluring you with the unsettlingly tranquil timbre of his voice: “That won’t be necessary. I can hand deliver the letters every day, around this time.”

You blink, sizing him up once more. Any normal human being would find this situation incredibly odd and even worth of a police report.

However, you’re comfortable in your own skin and are able to recognize that the screws you’ve knocked loose over time have, for better or worse, permanently altered your threshold for “red” or “green” flag recognition. For all you care, the flag could be purple. You aren’t thinking about flags right now. You’re thinking about his murky bangs, dark and deep, a rich obsidian, metastasizing over the smooth expanse of his alabaster forehead like a natural disaster.

“Okay. I’ll be waiting at this time every night, then.”

For the first time this evening, his gaunt face split into a tender grin, pink lips parting like spliced flesh. Somehow, he’s able to make the act of smiling something gory, something haunting. Your eyes are glued to the bone-white of his teeth. It’s like watching a car crash. You want, desperately, to look away. You cannot.

“I’m glad,” says the strange boy. “I’ll be here every night, right on time.”

A soft breeze stirs outside, just restless enough to tickle teasingly at the windchimes which dangle from the shop’s awning. Usually, the barrier of the front door dulls the melody. Tonight, you can hear the bells loud and clear.

Before you can think to demand (beg) that he reveal additional identifying information about himself – like, say, his name – the boy has all but disappeared from sight. Incredulously, you whirl around on your heel, scanning every visible inch of the shop for any possible clue as to where he went. But your searching is all for naught. It seems that he is, both in presence and absence, a complete mystery to you.

Well. There are certainly worse things that have happened to you. At least you got to chat with a cute, creepy guy for your trouble.

;

The next day, Granny Orimoto abstains from work yet again. Her modest apartment sitting atop the flower shop has kept her out of sight for many days, now. You’re no stranger to her fits and bursts of ill health, but you cannot recall the last time the brusque, full-hearted old lady has been bedridden for such a prolonged length of time.

You almost consider trying to drop by unannounced to bring her some soup and vitamins, but the thought dies immediately upon arrival. Memories of the last time you’d tried to caretake for her and were subsequently thrown out with indignant, irate gusto are enough to curb your momentary sympathy.

This means that you are effectively head of shop, once more. Over time, it gets easier to deal with the random accidents prone to any small, self-run business: leaks, clogs, jams, flickering lights, disappearing items, strange sounds at odd hours with an unlocatable source. All of it, you handle with def improvisational methods.

Even the spontaneously shattering bathroom mirror is no match for your handywoman capabilities! Really, Granny Orimoto should be lucky that it is you who happened to show up on her doorstep just as her health began to take a dive.

These are the kinds of thoughts buzzing around your skull as twilight descends upon the horizon like flies to a carcass. The death of the day is, as usual, a bloody affair: hues of bright vermillion spill across the sky, setting everything in the shop a brilliant, flagrant shade of fresh-burning red. The terracotta pots seem almost to be radiating with internal heat.

Night comes soon enough, bringing with it a brisk chill in the air. The wind rustles the windchimes, a forewarning of what is to come.

And sure enough, at 8:04 P.M., there he is, lingering in the doorway, daring to take not one step past the threshold, just as he’d done yesterday, that first night.

“Good evening.”

Clutched in his fingers is a wrinkled letter, wrapped in plain stationery. He offers it to you with both hands, politely.  

The space between the both of you evaporates in the fraction of a second it takes for you to cross the shop and greet him back, accepting the letter with greedy hands and a greedier heart. “Good evening. Thank you for the correspondence.”

“Thank you for receiving it,” he replies, scratching the back of his head in a stupidly endearing self-conscious gesture. “I know the manner of communication is a bit unconventional… sorry about that…”

“It’s okay.” And it really is. You, of all people, are no stranger to unforeseen and harrowing life circumstances. That the young man does not possess a phone or email address is not so uncommon, anyways – you’ve had time to reflect on the situation, and for all his off-putting looks and strangely formal manner of speaking, he could easily be a country mouse who has recently relocated to a more urban area. Who are you to judge?

“Shall I have a response waiting for you tomorrow night?”

He bows, then, for a bit longer and a bit deeper than what is normally appropriate for two virtual strangers. “I’d be grateful. Thank you for the trouble.”  

Once more, he evaporates seemingly into thin air, leaving behind not even the faintest trace of his existence. He appears to possess an uncanny ability to slip out of sight just as your eyes fall shut in the millisecond it takes to blink, to breathe.

Taken in stride with his dark-circled eyes and general aura of mysterious tragedy, the whole schtick is a little bit sexy, you have to admit. His vibe is that of a haunted family heirloom: beautiful, priceless, stained in generations of blood and cursed to doom those who dare to draw too near.

Your eagerness is almost feral as you tear apart the seal to the envelope in your hands, greedily pawing at the innards. What awaits you is a handwritten letter, complete with smudged pencil marks obscuring some of the more intricate kanji scribbled onto the page. Some of his radicals waver, lines bending or sprawling in odd and abnormal ways, as though he’d been shaking when we wrote it.

 As though he’d been nervous. So nervous, in fact, that upon handing you the thing, he had to immediately abscond from the premises without another word.

Cute.

To Whom it May Concern,

Thank you very kindly for your willingness to take me on as an apprentice to your shop. Please allow me to introduce myself.

My name is Okkotsu Yuuta. I am a recent graduate of a martial arts vocational school. I just completed a year-long internship abroad in Africa. Due to my recent re-entry into Japan, I am still in the process of setting up my phone and internet. I apologize for the inconvenience and I am extremely sorry for the burden.

As a supervisor and business, you may benefit from the set of skills that I have to offer. I can lift upwards of 25kg. I am neat and detail oriented. Due to past life experiences, I am a fast learner and quick to adapt to new surroundings. I am accustomed to taking orders and delivering results. It is my utmost goal to ensure the comfort and satisfaction of those around me. I am eager to be of service.

Please think of me kindly.

Upon reading the very last word of the very last line, you discover that your bottom lip has been bitten so severely that a fine trickle of blood is descending down your chin.

There is no resume or CV in sight – just this handwritten, strangle little letter in which he divulges some most interesting truths.

Is he playing mind games with you? “Accustomed to taking orders”? “Eager to be of service”? Is he trying to tell you something? Outside of the hiring process, that is.

The note itself is perfectly polite and proper. It’s you whose mind succumbs hedonistically to the gutter. Oh, for shame.

 At night, the shop tends to turn into a gnarly jungle of pots and leaves and vines and poorly-placed smatterings of soil; you wade through theses trenches, aided by no more than the moonlight attempting to feebly infiltrate through the shutters – as the lights are out, again. Should probably call someone about that.

In your frantic haste, it’s a miracle your hands aren’t sliced by a spare pair of shears lying forgotten on some counter or another. Before injury occurs, you’ve already located what you’ve been searching for: a usable pen and some clean, uncrumpled paper.

The matchbox in your back pocket proves useful as you strike up a flame and light a nearby candle, paying no mind to the potential danger of the wobbly column of fire in a room full of fauna.

Like a woman possessed, you feverishly scribble away at your reply. It takes you longer to draft this one particular letter than it had to complete your college entrance exams.

But it’s alright – the candle beside you burns throughout the night, neither the wick nor the wax diminishing even a wink.

Dear Okkotsu,

Your eagerness to work hard is clearly evident. Color me impressed.

As fate would have it, I am in dire need of some help with running the shop. The owner has been absent with illness for quite some time and the workload is starting to get unmanageable. The addition of a strong set of arms is more than welcome. Even when it was the two of us putzing around, we still wouldn’t have been able to do some of the heavier lifting.

I’m curious to hear more about your passion to serve. Was this instilled in you during your time at vocational school? What does “being of service” mean to you?

While we are ultimately a public-facing shop, the stream of customers is slow, and your daily tasks will often look like physical labor and horticultural activities. But, from your letter, it sounds like this will pose no object.

Overall, your enthusiasm is appreciated and your hard-working attitude is attractive to future employers.

You could start as early as tomorrow.

Please do respond at your convenience.

It was rather quickly with only a slight bit of panic running through your veins that you tacked on “to future employers.” Even while reading it back, you cringe a little bit. Too forward? Oh well. It’s written in ink and it’s much too late to go for hunting for another clean piece of paper in the shop’s opaque blackness.

Speaking of which… you really should call an electrician. And a plumber. And some sort of handy man, to help you clean up all the broken glass from the shattered bathroom mirror. And maybe it may also me a good idea to get in touch with a security footage company and inquire about their installation rates. It certainly can’t be normal; how many things go missing so frequently. Although you’ve spent most of your waking hours with an aging elderly woman up until very recently, you’re quite sure that dementia isn’t contagious.

Ah, well. These are all things to take care of tomorrow. Sighing, you tuck away the letter into your back pocket for safe keeping before you go about locking up.

You try not to think too hard about the lingering gaze you feel on the back of your neck. If anything, it feels better than being completely alone.

;

The fragrant scent of okayu fills your nose as you climb the stairs to reach Granny Orimoto’s apartment.

Usually, you would not dare to trespass inside her abode, despite it’s close proximity to the shop. She is a grouchy old lady who does not take kindly to meddling. And yet, you couldn’t ignore the seed of worry in the pit of your belly, which had blossomed over the course of the past few weeks into full-blown concern for her wellbeing. Besides her once-daily text message in the evening confirming the status of shop operations, you have not seen or heard from the old woman in what must be almost half a month at this point.

So, you’ve bitten back your pride and prepared a meal to personally deliver to her.

You are moderately concerned when there is no response to your three separate attempts at knocking on the door. Granny Orimoto hadn’t responded to any of your text messages, so you’d naively assumed she’d been asleep and hadn’t seen them. But is it possible to sleep through the ruckus that you’re creating?

The tension in your body only heightens when you try to the doorknob and realize, in shock and slight horror, that it’s open.

“Granny Orimoto?” You call out, haltingly yet loudly – loud enough to reach her wizened ears. “Granny, I’m sorry, I’ll be coming in now! Pardon the intrusion!”

Taking care not to jostle the still-hot bowl of rice porridge in your hands, you slip off your shoes at the Genkan and make your way inside of the apartment. Although you’ve only been here once before – and it had been an extremely brief stay before Granny Orimoto had shooed you off the premises – it still doesn’t feel all that unfamiliar to you.

It’s a traditional set-up, that much is for sure. Not much has changed, either. Same old floral blankets folded in various assortments and piles around the tiny room, same old plastic draining rack laid across the kitchen sink.

And, of course, there is that strange pair of guest slippers by the front door.

A bright, childish pink with the width and depth to accompany the foot of a young girl no older than six, these slippers had given you pause the first time you’d set foot in Granny Orimoto’s apartment. As far as you know, the old lady doesn’t have any living relatives with which she maintains contact. She spends every holiday alone, in her room, and refuses any offers of companionship between the two of you. You’ve always assumed something tragic must have happened, for a woman this advanced in age to have no one to visit or host during the New Year.

So why, then, does she keep a pair of children’s house slippers by the front door?

Although they are neatly placed and carefully aligned, the heels of the slippers face the direction of the household – as though they’ve been recently taken off and exchanged for outside shoes. Like someone has been here and left. Were they in that position when you stopped by before? Perhaps Granny Orimoto set them that way during her last cleaning.

Shaking yourself out of your reverie, you move past the entrance area and towards where you know the bedroom awaits. There is no overt stench of death and decay, so you aren’t afraid of walking in on her corpse. You’re, like, 85% sure that you could mentally recover from handling that situation, but it would be unfortunate and would likely mean an endless night for you and the poor EMTs who would be dispatched to the scene.

The bedroom door, too, is slightly ajar, and when you push it open all the way, you’re greeted by a sight that hits you squarely in the chest, knocking the wind from your lungs, stealing your voice, marring your eyes with shock and sympathy.

Granny Orimoto lies on her back, skin so pale that it is a near perfect match to the futon covers draped around her frail body. Even from this distance, you are able to clearly track the pathway of her veins as they course across her, the deep blues and greens standing out abnormally against the thin, alabaster flesh. Her hair, significantly grayer than the last time you’d seen her, has escaped from it’s usual, customary low-slung bun. You’ve never seen Granny Orimoto in any other kind of style – in fact, you’d begun to think – somewhat mischievously – that her hair had been surgically arranged to the nape of her neck.

But now, it sprawls around her skull in scraggly spirals, spilling across the pillow like leaking liquid. Thin and brittle, you’re sure that if she tried to gather it into a bun as she once had, it would split and break into a million fine pieces of ash.

“So, you’ve come.”

That hoarse voice snaps you out of your trance. You hadn’t even noticed that she was awake. One moment, you’d been gazing at her motionless body – and the next, you find her entirely unchanged except for the fact that her eyes are now open, peering at you. Unblinking. It’s disconcerting.

It looks like the effort pains her, to lift one hand and pat weakly at the comforter. “You came all the way here, silly girl. Might as well sit.”

You aren’t being kicked out?

Wow. She really must be dying.

Gingerly, you fold your legs beneath you and linger at the edge of the futon. “Granny, how are you feeling? I brought okayu. If you are feeling up to it, please eat. You must take care of your health.”

“Alright then,” says Granny Orimoto, mildly. “You’ll have to help me.”

“Of course.”

There is ultimately an insignificant amount of spillage down the front of her shirt, in the end. Still, you take it as an opportunity to encourage her to take a bath and change into fresh clothes, which you expect she has not done in far too long. This, too, requires your assistance. You don’t mind it at all. In fact, it brings you peace – to be able to care for the woman who had most probably saved your life by taking you in, all that time ago.

When it’s all said and done, Granny Orimoto lays back in the bed. The sheets could use some washing and the futon itself should surely be hung out in the sun to dry, but you recognize that this might be a bit too much excitement for her today. Having eaten and bathed, Granny Orimoto appears ready to return to her slumber.

You decide not to push your luck by overstaying your welcome. “Please rest well, Granny Orimoto. I will come back soon.”

It is when you are almost past the threshold of the bedroom door that you hear Granny’s whisper, faint as smoke and so soft it almost doesn’t sound like the stubborn, strong-willed woman you once knew:

“You remind me of my granddaughter.”

As though you’ve been struck by lightning, your body is immediately paralyzed, muscles helpless to do anything but twitch in confusion, overstimulation. “Oh…? I hope she is well…”

“She’s dead,” says Granny Orimoto. “The stench of death follows you.”

Ironic, coming from a woman who is quite obviously preparing to approach the far shore herself. “I see.”

“Whatever is hanging around you, get it taken care of. You’ll stink up the shop and the plants will wither.”

“Yes, Granny.”

“Are you taking care of my zinnias?”

“Yes, Granny.”

“Better be. How can you own a flower shop if you can’t take care of zinnias…”

You want to whip around and ask her what the hell she means by that, but the rumbling of her soft snores fill the space before you can get another word in edgewise.

As you make your way downstairs, Granny’s words continue to marinate in your mind – and not just her implication that the shop would be left to you. That she thought it fit to tell you that you remind her of her dead granddaughter was certainly an event that occurred in your life. But what exactly had she been on about, telling you that you smell like death?

In absentminded thought, your hand fiddles around in your jacket pocket with the latest letter from Okkotsu. You can’t stop thinking about his response to your last letter.

To You, Whom it Concerns,

Are you taking care? The seasons are changing during this time, so I hope your health is faring well.

I’m glad that my enthusiasm comes across as clearly as my physical capabilities.  Sometimes I struggle to convey my intentions and inner thoughts. It seems like we can understand each other well, even while communicating through letters, which makes me happy.

To me, being of service means unobstructed and clear-minded dedication of the self, body and mind, to another’s fulfillment. Not dissimilar to pure love. This “pure” element is important to me. In fact, I believe total service is a form of pure love. Would you agree?

Maybe this is a bit strange to say, and you might hate me for it, but you remind me of a girl I once knew. She is long gone now. It has been nice to see some of her, again. Of course, it has been even nicer to get to know you.

Regretfully, I cannot begin formal employment just yet. The country re-entry procedures are taking longer than expected and things are a bit complicated right now. It is burdensome, but if you could please kindly allow for some additional time I would be very grateful. I’m sorry to trouble you.

In the meantime, it’s fun to chat together, like this. I’d be happy if we could continue.

Take care not to catch a cold.

The first time you’d read it practically had you squealing into your hands like a schoolgirl. Pure love? Expressing concern for your health? Expressing his desire to continue exchanging letters, even if he can’t formally start the training process?

At this rate, you’re on track towards a confession.

Which, of course, is the ultimate goal. You could never forgive yourself for letting the physical manifestation of all your wildest fantasies slip away. No, you’ve got to reel him in. You’ve got to ensnare him in a web of infatuation, so convoluted and intense that he won’t be able to find his way out. You’ve already decided that he is yours. It’s only a matter of time before things fall into place.

As has become customary, Okkotsu drops by the shop at precisely 8:04 p.m. and not one moment sooner or later. You’ve grown to anticipate the tinkling of the windchimes which herald his otherwise soundless arrival. Like an apparition, his visage manifests in the front door.

There’s something different about tonight: uncertain, he chances a foot past the threshold. “Could I trouble you to come inside?”

Oh. Oh! Are you finally past the stage of contactless letter exchange? You could cry tears of joy. “Please come in.”

“Pardon the intrusion…”

When he breaks past the entry area, it’s as though a wave of heat pulses throughout not just your own body, but the entire shop, as well. A light sweat breaks out at the crest of your brow. Is this seasonally appropriate? You aren’t sure if there is any season wherein a heatwave past sundown is normal.

Okkotsu looks at you like a lost puppy, floundering at what to do, what to say next. You yourself are no less awkward, but you take on the burden of breaking the silence first:

“It’s funny, you mentioned in your letter that I remind you of a girl you once knew. Today, my boss said that I remind her of her dead granddaughter. Wouldn’t happen to be the same girl, huh?”

You’re trying for lighthearted, but the joke falls flat when Okkotsu pales, white as a ghost.

Damage control, damage control! “Oh, I’m – I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“No, no, it’s alright,” he cuts you off, raising a hand. “I should’ve been forthright from the beginning. You aren’t too far off from the truth.”

Huh?

Okkotsu continues, “When I was a little boy, Mrs. Orimoto’s granddaughter and I were best friends. Her name was Rika. When she was six, Rika died in a car accident. I was with her at the time and failed to do anything to stop it from happening, or to save her. I’ve always been very sorry to Mrs. Orimoto, who raised Rika from a young age. By working at her shop, I hoped to repay some of that debt…”

You blink once, twice. Time seems to fall apart and reconstruct itself in the space it takes you to conjure up a response. What can you possibly say, to a story like that?

“You don’t, er, have to say anything,” mutters Okkotsu, as though he’s read your mind. “I know it’s heavy. But that’s the truth…”

“Okkotsu,” you say, voice tinny and faraway to your own ears. “You have a good heart.”

His downcast face shoots upwards, wide eyes seeking out your own with a desperate sheen to their dark, bottomless depths. “Huh…?”

“I mean it,” you press on, stepping closer as you do. He doesn’t even flinch or waver. You know this, because your senses are acutely aware of every fiber of his being. “Not many people would be that brave, or honor that sense of duty. You’re an admirable man. Has anyone ever told you that before?”

It seems you’ll be staying well past closing tonight to mop up the puddle that Okkotsu is about to melt into. His ears burn such a bright red that they almost glow in the dim lighting of the shop.

“I- I--!”

“So that’s the depth of your service,” you muse, your toes stopping just shy of his own, “or your ‘pure love’?”

Okkotsu’s eyes flutter shut. The sound of his gulp echoes like a gunshot. “Ah… er, miss manager, I—”

“Call me by my name. I’ve written it to you for a reason.”

Obeying your direct command, he feebly whispers your name, invoking you like he’s scared of what he’s about to summon. It sets a live wire alight at the base of your spine. Sparks fly throughout your body and it’s all you can do not to pounce on him then and there in this very shop, sleeping Granny upstairs be damned.

“Good. It seems you really are skilled at taking direction.”

His eyes are still closed when you nods, face flushed. Cute. You can’t help but want to tease him more, push him further. “Good job.”

His head all but hangs, now, as he resolutely refuses to make eye contact with you. In front of him, his hands are clasped suspiciously in front of his crotch – a detail which you take in ravenously, hungrily.

Curbing the overwhelming desire to do more, you settle with pushing your sealed envelope into his firm, solid chest with both hands, letting your fingernails press lightly into the muscle. “Here’s today’s letter. Read it and respond well.”

“Yes, I understand,” he says, eyes still shut, head still hung.

It requires you to stand on your tiptoes, when you try to lean into his ear and whisper: “You deserve a chance to make things right. Let me help you with this.”

You let him go, then, because you’re sure he’s about ready to burst at the seams. The last thing you throw his way is yet another bit of praise, because you’re a little bit awful: “I admire your idea of pure love, Okkotsu.”

Before tonight, you’ve never seen a grown man walk straight into a windowpane. Okkotsu reels back, nods and bows to you in acknowledgement before hightailing it out of the shop so fast that, as usual, you fail to actually see him go through the motions of stepping out and leaving. He’s always in such a rush. An odd one, he is.

Good thing “odd” just your type.

From that night onwards, Okkotsu starts making himself more available outside of his usual 8:04 p.m. haunting. Now, he’ll drop by early enough in the afternoons for his shadow to be visible against the door. Still, he resolutely avoids any times when current customers are present. You tease him, lightly, for this, asking how he plans to work partially as a sales attendant if he is afraid to interact with the customer base.

His response?

“I want to work here for two reasons,” he’d stated simply. “For you, and for Rika.”

Normal women would probably find an issue with their ideal man likening them to his dead childhood sweetheart. Fortunately, you are not normal. It’s flattering, even.

Clearly, Rika was another manifestation of his pure love. That you can even approach that category, let alone be mentioned in the same breath as her, is, to you, a vibrant green flag. You must be doing something right here.

So you continue intertwining yourself deeper and deeper with Okkotsu Yuuta: the letters are a constant in both of your daily lives, as well as his visits become more frequent. As an interesting development, he’s started to bring you homecooked food. Usually, it is you who does the caregiving. The first time he shows up with an obento made specially for you – complete with a heart made out of specially cut seaweed set atop the fresh rice – you almost start crying.

Admittedly, it’s all moving very fast. Hasn’t it only been four days, now, since he’d first darkened your doorway, pitifully asking for a job with no form of communication? And now, here he is, feeding you the food he’d prepared for you to enjoy as you go about your closing shift.

“Would you ever want to go out?” You blurt, and then pause, mortified at the overtly forward implication to your words. “Like! To a restaurant! Or a café! You always bring me stuff. Let me treat you.”

“Hmmm…”

Okkotsu’s wide, dark eyes roll upwards in thought. “But I really like staying here. I like eating here. No one else gets to see your pleased, comfortable face while eating except me. I don’t think I can share that. Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you respond, dizzy. “You don’t have to.”

This is the right answer. Despite his soft, youthful features, the ginger grin he offers you is undercut by the ominous glint in his intense gaze. “I don’t have to share?” He gathers some pickled plum in the chopsticks, bringing them to your open, waiting mouth. “It’s all for me?”

“I am,” you say, and accept the bitter, delicious fruit on the tip of your tongue. It is pungent. It is sweet. It is overwhelming. You almost aren’t able to swallow.

Time spent with Okkotsu makes life seem so fantastical that it almost blinds you to the world of the living. That night, you cannot find it within yourself to leave the shop and go home after closing, instead opting to chat with this gaunt, ghoulish boy until you are startled awake in the morning by your phone’s automatic alarm.

When you come to, you discover that you’d all but passed out behind the front desk, where the two of you had sat, talking, for hours into the night. Okkotsu is nowhere to be found, but in his absence is a crisply folded piece of paper lying innocently upon the desk. Hastily, you scrub at your eyes and smack your lips, trying to wake yourself up as much as is possible before you unfurl the letter and dive into its contents.

To You, Whom it Concerns,

Do you have any idea how difficult it is to be apart from you?

If I could have, I would have stayed with you all throughout the night. I’m sorry to have left you by yourself. But you aren’t really alone. If you ever feel lonely, in the shop, please remember that I’m always there with you. Watching over you. Can you feel me?

Thanks for listening to me last night. It was a heavy story to tell, but now that I’ve confessed it, I feel so much lighter. And you accept me! Words can’t express how I feel, so please allow me to keep showing you.

Also, since Mrs. Orimoto isn’t well these days, can I ask that you don’t share with her that I’m here? The shock may worsen her condition. When she is no longer bedridden, I will tell her myself that I wish to remain and work in the shop. You shouldn’t be caught in the middle of my situation.

As always, I can’t wait to see you again. I miss you so much already, and I haven’t even left the shop yet. I’m writing this as I watch you sleep. Did you know that you snore a little bit? It’s cute.

Please think of me often.

On the one hand, you want to bury your face in your hands and scream and cry and maybe roll around and die a little bit. A love note! It’s a proper love note, this time. The thought makes your insides feel as though they’re being set alight with a bright, brilliant, inextinguishable flame.

On the other hand, Okkotsu’s mention of Granny Orimoto has brought to mind the fact that you haven’t heard from her in what is now two days. Usually, she’ll send you a message or two at the end of every day, making sure that things are in order and that you haven’t burned down the shop yet. But the last time you’d spoken to her had been when you brought over the okayu to soothe her sickly stomach…

Inexplicably, a chill overtakes your body.

Operating on autopilot, you pull yourself together – running a hand through your hair, smoothing your wrinkled clothes – and make your way out of the shop, to the external set of stairs running along the west wall.

With haste, you climb the steps, nearly tripping over yourself to reach the front door which has been left, once again, unlocked. The sense of wrongness occupying your faculties only heightens when you realize this must mean that Granny Orimoto has not been up out of bed since you’d last visited.

When you stop to toe off your shoes at the genkan, you notice that the bright pink pair of children’s house slippers are nowhere to be found, absent from their perpetual perch by the front door, as though someone – or something – has stepped inside.

Mind whirling a mile a minute, you push into the apartment and immediately reel back at the offensive scent of pure, unadulterated rot.

Oh.

Oh, no.

It could be the spoiled ingredients in the fridge, you think, desperately, as you hustle towards the bedroom. It could be anything. Anything but what it is you’re most afraid of.

Dazed, confused, scared, and still freshly woken up, your clumsy limbs somehow manage to collide with one of the low-sitting tables filling the living space. The abundance of knick-knacks and keepsakes cluttering the surface clatter in indignation, making an obscene ruckus as they fall over and to the floor. Upon closer inspection, you realize, to your horror, that it is an altar which you’d disturbed.

The only things left unshaken by your blundering blight are two framed photos: one of which displays the portrait of a young girl, no older than six, with long, dark hair and a serene smile. She seems to peer at you through the barriers of the picture frame, through the barrier of time. Her gaze hooks into your soul and invites you to step closer, to look harder. The longer you stare, the higher the gooseflesh on your skin raises in alarm. It’s an uphill battle to slide your gaze over to the picture beside her, which displays the likeness of a young boy close to her in age – presumably unrelated to her, given their distinct features, and yet, he is placed next to her on what is surely a memorial altar meant to honor and house the deceased.

While the personal effects and other supplicating items have all been disrupted and thrown off by your collision, the incense in front of the two picture frames still burns brightly, steadfastly. Oddly, it does nothing to quell the horrid stench of decay in the apartment. If anything, the altar seems to be exasperating the smell, which brings involuntary tears to your eyes and a pucker to your lips.

It's less so that the stench itself is what drives you to such a reaction; rather, the sensation invading your olfactory senses fills you with an abominable concoction of violent emotions: rage, pity, sorrow, envy, despair. You are drawn follow the source of these feelings, and your feet lead you to the bedroom, hands trembling underneath the sheer weight of all that you are experiencing as they push the slightly ajar door all the way open.

A gasp escapes you, unbidden. There, in that same, white futon adorned with layers and layers of her signature floral blankets, lies the corpse of Granny Orimoto. You can tell she’s dead because her skin has started to sag and bloat in strange and inhuman ways. This is the least surprising thing before your eyes.

Next to Granny sits a little girl – the spitting image of the girl in the portrait you’d glimpsed mere moments ago. Her gaze had once been trained steadfastly on Granny’s body, but now she looks up at you, unblinking, all-seeing.

“Hello,” says the girl, with a little girl’s voice.

“Hi,” you respond. “Do you live here?”

“Yes,” says the girl. “This is my granny.”

You remind me of my granddaughter.

She’s dead.

Granny Orimoto’s parting words to you echo in your head, rattling your brain, fizzling your consciousness.

“It’s nice to meet you, Rika. Granny Orimoto told me about you.”

Slowly, cautiously, as though you are approaching a spooked animal (ironic, given the fact that it is you who is shaking like a leaf), you crouch down and kneel on the floor, sitting on your haunches in a polite manner, mirroring the girl before you. Granny Orimoto’s body is the only thing separating you as you both sit, face to face, hands clasped in your laps, peering curiously at one another.

“I know,” says Rika. “Yuuta told you about me, too.”

Of course she would know about the conversations you and Yuuta have. This also might as well happen. At this point, after all you’ve just witnessed – first, the fresh corpse of your former employer, and now, the physical manifestation of a girl who died over ten years ago – there is very little left that could happen which would truly shock you out of your wits.

“Yes, he did. Have you been hanging out in the shop? Have you been lonely?”

The girl sticks out her bottom lip. “Yeah. You guys didn’t pay attention to me. Even when I was really loud, or turned the lights off, or broke the mirror. Sorry for breaking the mirror. I was mad.”

“It’s okay to be mad, but we mustn’t break things, or hurt others. I’m sorry for not noticing you sooner. Do you like plants and gardening? Like your granny?”

Rika nods. “Mhm, yeah. But Granny never lets me into the shop. Granny says all I do is mess things up. Granny says I’m no good. Granny says people died because of me. Did you know my dad is dead, too?”

“I’m sorry,” you say.

“It’s okay,” says Rika. “I wanted him to die.”

You blink. “Did you want Granny Orimoto to die, too?”

She takes a moment to contemplate before answering. “Granny had to die if I was going to play with Yuuta again.”

“What do you mean?” You ask, desperate to understand. When she begins to explain, you lean forward, forgetful of the fact that it is an old woman’s corpse which lies beneath you.

“Granny has already lived for so long. I wanted to come back. I died before my seventh birthday. Yuuta and I were supposed to spend it together. Yuuta never forgot about me. Yuuta talks to me every day. Yuuta went to Africa. Have you ever been to Africa? I went with Yuuta because he made a shrine for me there. Now Yuuta is back in Japan. Yuuta promised that we would play together again. Yuuta said he needed some time to prepare things. Yuuta is good at things like that – Yuuta can fight and do magic. Yuuta does jujutsu. Do you know jujutsu?”

“I know it,” you tell her.

“Yeah, Yuuta has powers. Yuuta knows a lot about dying and things like that. So, anyways, Yuuta said he would use his powers to help me come back so we can play together again. Yuuta said that me and granny have to switch places. I said ‘OK, Yuuta!’ and then Yuuta said he needed seven days. What day is it today?”

Somehow, you know the answer, even without looking at your phone’s calendar. “Monday.”

“Oh, so it’s been seven days. Yay! We can play together again. Do you want to play with us, too?”

“I would like to play together, yes.”

Abruptly, Rika unfurls from her graceful little seated position and makes her way over to you, crawling over Granny Orimoto’s corpse. You try not to think too hard about the graphic squelching that occurs underneath the childish palms of Rika’s tiny hands.

“Yay! Let’s go downstairs. Maybe Yuuta will be there.”

You don’t have the heart to tell her that Yuuta only swings by when the sun is out of sight. Her arms raise, clearly indicating that she’d like to be carried, and you are content to oblige her, as you scoop her up in your arms and make good on her direction. You exit Granny Orimoto’s apartment with Rika in your arms, her little feet dangling from your hip. The bright pink pair of slippers almost fall off as you make your way down the stairs, and you take care to remind her to make sure not to lose them.

When you get back to the shop, you must admit that you were mistaken in thinking Yuuta would not be there. As though he’d been anticipating this – which, you realize, he absolutely was, as this marks seven days from the first time he’d set foot in the shop – Yuuta stands by the front desk, wringing his hands before him nervously, sweat visible at his temples.

The both of you lock eyes, and he smiles, warm and fuzzy and entirely ill-fitting for the increasingly absurd scenario in which you find yourself. But you have little time to interrogate him about what the hell is going on – for Rika leaps from your arms and hits the ground running, screaming at the top of her little lungs, Yuuta!! Yuuta!!!, excited and so full of life, in only the way that children can scream in pure joy. Pure love.

He crouches and readily meets her, scooping the little girl up in his arms and sweeping her into the air, spinning round and round with Rika in his arms. Rika-chan!! Rika-chan!!! he cries – literally cries, that is, as you cannot help but spot the stray tear or two running down the swells of his flushed cheeks.

It is right as you are starting to feel a bit voyeuristic that Yuuta slows to a stop and finds your eyes once more. He comes to you, then, with Rika still perched on his hip, a chafingly tender smile splitting his face into two.

“I knew it was you,” he whispers with charged intensity, voice potent with unspoken feeling. “I knew you were special. I’ve always known. You never judge me. You always listen. You accepted me. And you accepted Rika, too.”

Have you? Accepted them, that is.

You shock yourself when you realize that you really have accepted all that’s transpired. Granny Orimoto saved your life when she’d taken you in and, for that, you must always be grateful. But from what Rika shared with you about how she’d been treated as a small child, and from what you’ve observed from Yuuta’s generally traumatized disposition and extreme reluctance to come face-to-face with the old woman, you realize, now, that there is a reason why Granny Orimoto had no living family to speak to or rely on when she was in her final days.

Whether or not her death had something to do with Yuuta’s apparent preternatural abilities (you remind yourself to ask about that later), it remains clear that she’d been in ill health long before you’d arrived at the flower shop. With no one to talk to. No one to care for her. You’d always felt pity. But, now, you realize that it may have been a situation of her own doing.

How could you argue with the living, breathing testament to that fact, who stand before you in fresh-faced, smiling glee?

“Of course I accept you both,” you say, earnestly, and mean it. “Rika is too cute not to love!” The young girl giggles, bashfully burying her face in Yuuta’s neck.

“And what about me?” Yuuta’s brows are quirked, his smile dipping into something a bit more cutting, a touch more heated than his simple joy from moments ago. “Am I cute enough to love, too?”

The answer is simple and requires no effort on your part: “I love you, Yuuta.”

You had more to say after that, but it proves a bit challenging to monologue your undying devotion to this man while said man is currently enveloping your mouth inside of his own. He kisses like a black hole: devouring, dark, impossibly comprehensive, and providing you without hope for possible escape.

He really is your type.

;

After those first seven days, Yuuta finally begins training at the shop. And Rika joins in, as well.

The three of you make an odd, adorable little family unit. After Yuuta had taken care of cleaning and renovating the apartment space upstairs, the three of you moved in without further delay. Your days are filled with home-cooking, raising Rika, maintaining the shop, and working alongside the man who has quickly made himself to be your life partner in every endeavor.

In fact, so much of your life is consumed with this newfound domesticity that there is little reason for you to leave the shop in the first place. Whenever you stray too far outside, you are prone to headaches, dizziness, fatigue, and even fever. It’s best to stay where is familiar, you reason. And Yuuta’s cooking is too good for you to want to eat anywhere else. He makes sure you eat three times a day, at least, and insists you finish your plate every time. Perhaps this is why you can’t stand life outside of this four, cozy walls – where else could you possibly find contentment such as this?

The business is re-named to “Rika’s Flower Shop,” which all three of you find quite agreeable given the current state of affairs. More customers than ever flow in, attracted by the colorful designs hand-painted by Rika herself on the building exterior. You generate enough revenue for additional renovations to be made on the shop. There is enough room in the budget to hire some part-time shop hands – local university students in the area looking to support themselves.

Everything is coming to fruition. For once, you truly feel as though life is blossoming.

And you can attribute all of it, every last bit of happiness, to them: Granny Orimoto, Rika, and Yuuta. The happiness is so overwhelming that you don’t ever want to leave their side, not even to run to the konbini, or to visit the post office. Why would you need to leave, when everything you’ve ever wanted is right here?

You have a family, a home, a life. You’ll remain in this shop with your loves until the day you grow as old and sickly as Granny Orimoto, and you’ll likely die upstairs, lying next to Yuuta, the both of you wrinkled and gray, curled together atop the futon, exactly where Granny had wheezed her last, bitter breath.

You wonder if Rika was there to watch it happen. You wonder if Rika will be there to see the both of you off, too.

You hope so. You really, really hope so.

You’re sure death will be every bit the dream you’re hoping it will be.

[prose-among-the-trees]

I feel the need finally to bring up introjects in a way that’s going to be a hot take, because good god am I sick of having things that I have experienced physically be told to me by those who haven’t.

I respect whatever an introject remembers or identifies with from their source, and I’d like to say this straight off because this is important. I know of alters and parts for whom source is integral to their identity, specifically the way it relates to day to day trauma and how that intermingles.

That being said, please, as an introject who has had something happen or occur or has some sort of disability from source, do not try to tell me what it is like because I have already experienced it physically.

You got scars in whatever media you were sourced from? Lovely, but as someone who is forced to bear that burden of looking deformed when those scars can be visible every single day, do not try to tell me what that is like.

You have physical disabilities that were gained or you were born with in whatever media you introjected from? Perfect, but as someone who cannot function without my heart being assisted by pacemaker, do not tell me what it’s like to struggle as though I’ve not gone through it and as though I do not continue to bear that weight.

You as an introject are of a certain race in source and remember knowing about the food you consumed of that culture? Do not try to correct me, as someone of that culture, on what I identify with and hold.

You have memories of sexual assault from the media you were sourced from? Do not dare presume you can speak over those who have experienced that bodily.

Source memories, pseudo memories, exo memories, whatever you’d like to call them, are individual to your trauma and your struggle as someone with osdd or did. I understand that.

However, your source does not give you the right to talk over, to one up, or God forbid to “educate” those who have dealt with or experienced those issues on how to live with them.

I spoke to an introject today who had scars in their source and identifies with them as an alter. When I spoke up about my own, I was told that I needed to speak someplace where I would not upset others. Because my scars are not desirable or battle caused, I cannot discuss my own experiences.

This in essence is a lot of the issue I have with fictive heavy online systems on places like discord or even tumblr. These memories, these source associations, which I know are indicative of their own trauma in some way, somehow surpass the validity of someone who has actually experienced the struggle physically because it’s more presentable and more desirable.

It’s not all of them, but it’s enough of them that the fictive heavy/introject heavy syscord systems now have that reputation, and it makes interacting so frustrating.

I should not have to explain why claiming an experience you haven’t physically gone through as though you have because you’re an introject is bad. I shouldn’t have to explain that speaking over individuals who deal with these things physically is actively silencing minority groups.

Again let me note that I have full respect for introjects who identify with memories that did not happen to their body. The only thing I ask is that I’m not spoken over in favor of more desirable or digestible experiences that they claim are just as impactful as me living with the things I do.

I know systems who have these memories and respect others who have experienced them physically. For those of you who fall into this category, thank you. You know who you are.

For those of you who believe in things like alter race, separate disabilities being just as valid as experiencing them physically (to the point that you’re trying to educate bodily disabled people/systems)- please listen to those who are frustrated and angry. Please understand why trying to speak over and educate that group of people or any group of people as though you’ve gone through it physically is damaging.

I understand your memories reflect your trauma, likely indirectly for some of you, and I empathize with that.

Please take the time to be respectful to the voices of the groups that have been silenced and spoken over in favor of an introject’s take on something purely source related.

The people of color with osdd or did that have been speaking up about others claiming their races as alters have been laughed off or told that they’re overreacting. They are not. Keep fighting the good fight guys. You’re fantastic in every way. As someone who isn’t in that position, I want to uplift your voices and the things that need to be said. You’ve got my support all the way.

In the past I’ve let other systems try to explain why alter race exists and why their ‘alters of color’ are just as valid as actual people of color. I believed them.

An alter who has the memory or individual source created experience of being oppressed but has not been that way bodily cannot claim to struggle in the same way.

If you got this far reading, thanks. I’m glad I was able to share this with someone.

Be safe.

[whore-era]

college!Ellie comforting anxious fem GF with lots of kisses and back rubs?

a/n: i feel like this headcanon was so bad but i did my best <3 hope u enjoy <3333

college!ellie headcanon: comforting anxious gf

you were swamped. final exams were approaching, a 10 page research essay was due in 3 days, internships to apply to in time for the summer, laundry barely started — everything was piling up.

you felt as if the weight of the world was on your shoulders, and you had to keep yourself afloat. but you could feel it, you were about to crash.

the tab was still open, your research paper halfway done, and you were overwhelmed with anxiety. failing to hold back the immense emotion, you burst into tears, sobbing into the sleeves of your hoodie.

you just weren't sure if you had the power to keep pushing through these last couple weeks, you were drained out dry. weeping into your hoodie, you hear your phone ring.

sliding the button to answer, you press your phone to your ear. "h-hello?" you attempt to dry your face, concealing any evidence that you were just crying minutes before. "babe, i'm on my way over. just wanted to see if you wanted me to pick something up for you," ellie's voice come through the speaker, still unaware of your current state.

"uhhhh, i'm fine, els," you croak, "you don't h-have to come over right now. you must be busy and stuff and i don't wanna get in the way." there's a shakiness in your voice, and you hope to god ellie doesn't notice. she goes quiet for a second, "hmm. okay. fine." you let out a breath of relief, "call you later then, sweet girl," she coos, "i love you." "i love you, ellie." click

putting your phone down and burying your face in your hands, you let out a breath, allowing a few tears to fall down your face. it made you feel bad burdening ellie with your issues — she had her own stuff going on. the last thing she needed to worry about was you.

it wasn't long before you heard a couple knocks on your door. you furrowed your brows, knowing you weren't expecting anyone. still, you walked over and opened the door of your dorm, face-to-face with a big, brown teddy bear. ellie's face poked out from the corner of the bear's head. "we could tell you were bear-y sad, so we wanted to check in on you." you threw your arms around her, squishing the bear in the process. she let out a chuckle, pulling away to see your face, surprised to see your eyes filling with tears.

"hey, hey, hey," she whispers, "c'mon, let's get inside first." gently guiding you inside your dorm, she closes the door behind her. "what's been goin' on, sweet girl? talk to me."

"jus-just been feelin' so— overwhelmed," you breathe out, "f-finals, my p-paper, freaking i-internships—" tears begin to spill, "i don't k-know i-if i can h-han-handle it." you weep into her jacket, and she soothingly rubbed your back, letting you cry.

once you calm down a bit, ellie pulls away a little and cups your face in her hands. "what do you need from me, baby?" she asks, "anything at all, you name it. i'll get it."

"i just— i just want you to hold me."

you both climb into your tiny, twin bed. with her arm wrapped around you, you nestled into her side, inhaling her scent — cedar and mahogany teakwood. she rubbed slow and small circles on your back, calming your nerves.

"i don't know if i'm stuck out for this," you murmur, "college is jus' a lot. don't know if this is what i'm meant to do." you look up at her with big and glossy eyes. "hey," she whispers, "you are one of the smartest people i know, and you are so fucking hard working, always putting in 100 into everything you do."

a tear trails down your face and ellie continues. "you can do anything you out your pretty mind to do, anything, baby," she coos, "you're meant to do this." ellie leans down to press a kiss on your forehead, "and if you're still unsure about school and all, then that's okay too. you can choose something else you wanna do, and i'll be here, rooting for you every step of the way."

you heart warms up in your chest, feeling fuzzy. "thank you," you dote, "i'm so lucky to have you, els." ellie smiles down at you, leaning in to kiss you tenderly.

"always, sweet girl," ellie wraps her arm tighter around you, "now, come here. relax a lil' more, yeah?" you nod and cuddle back into her warmth, and she presses another reassuring kiss on top of your head.

[saksukei]

gojo satoru and his sadness

masterlist | getou version | it's so difficult to just see your beloved going through stuff and not tell you.

it's a well known fact that gojo satoru doesn't take help from anyone. no, not from you who is his best friend, not from his students and definitely not from his teacher. he thinks it's his burden to bear, to be so powerful and yet so alone.

he doesn't think too much about it. no, gojo avoids his thoughts at all times, otherwise he knows he's gonna slip into the spiral that he's been escaping. and he can't afford too. not yet anyway, when there's so much on the line, so many people to save, so many curses to fight.

so when he sits there in silence, you're scared. because the day gojo satoru falls silent, will be the day you feel like your heart will collapse.

“toru, is everything okay?” you ask, as you sit on the floor in front of him.

“of course,” satoru responds, a smile on his face, but you can't miss the sadness in his voice. he's always been so good with keeping up appearances, hasn't he?

so you do something out of the ordinary. something you've never done before.

you lean forward and slowly but gently pull off his blindfold. for once, satoru lets you. he doesn't stop you, neither does he pull away, until your eyes finally meet his cerulean ones.

“you know not everyone has the right to do this,” he mutters, his face inches from yours.

“if i’m so special, then why do you hide your sadness from me?” you retort, slight anger lacing your voice, as you tossed his blindfold to the side.

and he's caught off guard. he knows you read him well, a little too well in fact. god, why did you always know what to say? and so he does the thing he's been holding himself back from, the one that that could perhaps ruin the friendship you both have. but it's either now or never.

he presses his lips against yours, his strong and firm hands landing on your waist, his tongue exploring the cavern of your mouth as you put your arms around his neck.

and all satoru can think off about how he's been so stupid. why does he even bother hiding it from you of all people? you're the only one he's ever sought after, the only one he wants and the only one he's capable of loving. you taste like every divine thing that's ever existed to him. if he gets to do this more often, he might just start forgetting why he was ever sad in the first place.

you finally break the kiss off to breathe, chests heaving, as your eyes meet his.

“was that an apology?” you ask, a playful edge to your voice, as you stay in the same position.

“more like a promise,” he replies, as he begins to lean in again. “i won't ever hide my sadness from you again.”