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darlingdarkly · 6 months

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Fates Worse Than Death Part 2

Deimos x f!reader Noncon Enemies to lovers

4.1k Words

CW: light violence against women, noncon elements, dubcon elements, really light blood, foul language, mature themes (this is a pretty light chapter, mostly setup, future chapters will be heavier)

Part: 1, 3

His quarters turned out to be a spacious suite at what you assumed was the top floor of the compound. Wherever it was had you make two lefts, a right, had you stumbling up two flights of stairs, across some sort of sky deck, which the guards made you cross with your head practically between your knees (which was very uncomfortable and probably unnecessary considering you knew the coordinates of the base to have arrived to infiltrate it in the first place) and then up four more flights.

You repeated this combination of directions in your mind three times over trying to program your brain to make the information stick. When you enacted your escape plan it would be imperative to have some familiarity with the layout of the building.

When they pushed you in the room with a hard shove that would have hurt if not for the soft carpet pile underfoot, they locked the door behind them and the hairs on the back of your neck stood on end. You began to feel very much like a cornered animal and without your captor here to supervise them you knew any kind of behavior was on the table.

And just as you had expected they closed in on you. The one on the right, a thickset mountain of a man, immediately kicked you in the ribs, the steel toe of his boot felt like it bypassed your skin and flesh to grind directly into your rib cage, making you curl in on yourself on that side. The man on your left, a way shorter but much stockier man took that opportunity to seize your arm, his hands like iron manacles as he wrenched you back to your feet roughly.

You lashed out at the one who’d kicked you, catching him off guard and making good contact with the soft spongy paunch of his throat and knocking the wind from him as he doubled over. You laughed until the man at your side bunched the fabric of your shirt in one fist and rapidly pulled you towards him, the prominent shelf of his brow making contact with the bridge of your nose, making you scream in pain and squinch your eyes as they began to water uncontrollably, giving him advantage to maneuver you as he pleased.

Before you could recover you were pushed onto a thin, firm surface that you recognized immediately as a standard cot. He pulled old fashioned leather restraints across your body at several points, locking you down and securing your arms to your sides as you kicked and struggled as hard as you could. Short and stocky leaned down and whispered harshly in your ear.

“Relax, princess. Or I’ll drive my fist into your temple and tell the boss you bumped it on the ride up here. Just knocked you clean the fuck out.” He must’ve been bluffing and had clear instructions not to harm you too badly as you continued to struggle in your binds and no such blow ever came to be. You felt his hands on your head before he slid something down over your crown and overtop your eyes. The room became a pitch black tomb as the cool silk blocked out your sight.

He yanked your head forward and you felt him fiddling with the strap on the back of the mask and cinching it as tight as it’d go, in turn the mask over your eyes pulled flush against your closed lids even despite the raised eye molding meant to prevent precisely that. The result was an unbudgeable soft blinder that no amount of tossing or turning, though even that was a task in and of itself, would remove. He removed his hands from you and your head fell back against the cot. You heard him grunt at the other soldier before the door clicked shut followed by an elongated period of silence.

After a moment you completely relax your body, willing it to loosen the clench you’d put on as short and stocky began to restrain you, sinking as deep into the dip of the cot as the fabric would allow. You found it gave you about a half inch of clearance to wiggle. Shifting your head from side to side you found your mask was secured too tight to your head to try and slip it off, there was no pillow on the cot to try and catch the band on and even if there was as soon as Deimos came in he’d just put it back on and possibly duct tape it to your face or some other such cruel method to ensure it’d stay put.

For now the half inch of wiggle room would have to do but you wouldn’t act upon it now, in fact you re-bulked to try and conceal the gap you’d created. No point in giving yourself away early but after he’d fallen asleep, then and only then would you see what you were working with. It wasn’t long after that you heard the door open and your breath caught in your throat.

The thumps of his boots, as pretentious as they were intimidating, sounded through the space, indicating his presence but you knew it was a purposeful noise, he could’ve been silent if he’d wanted to. Having had your fill of thrills for the evening you tried your damndest to keep still and pretend to be asleep or passed out.

His footsteps receded until they were faint and then gone and you wondered just how big the room you were occupying really was. You’d wished you’d gotten a better look around before being blindfolded but there was no use in wishing for things beyond your control. He was gone for no more than a few minutes before you heard him re-enter your general area. You heard a drawer slide open and then thumps of armor and clothing falling to the floor. The next time he moved he was much quieter due to the fact he’d shucked his boots and it wasn’t until you felt the cot dip a bit that you realized he was beside you.

“Don’t bother, I know you’re awake, I gave the boys very specific instructions.” You're unsure whether it’s the ache in your ribs or perhaps the dull throb that accompanies the swelling of your nose, or maybe just your whole compiled circumstance brought on by the events of the evening that brought you here that makes you quick to anger. You’ve never been known for being level headed or patient but after the night you had you were feeling particularly irritable.

“Fuck you! Let me go!” You spat at him from your restraints, as futile in your struggles and outcries as a rat in a cage. It was infuriating to know the man who’d captured you, violated you and wrenched you of your freedom was just inches away, armor free and yours for the killing but tied down as you were he might as well have been over the moon for all the good it did you and even if you had been able to get your paws around his throat he’d probably end up overpowering you and killing you instead, probably resuscitate you and still end up keeping you just out of spite.

With the way people talked about him you were just waiting for his fangs to show and the claws to come out, a six foot tall inhuman monster in all he was capable of if the stories were true, you could hardly imagine the horrors under the mask. It was hard to ever believe he’d been one of you at one time, another operator working under rainbow, you wondered if you’d ever hear the full story.

“My, my. You’re bleeding sugarcane.” Your felt fingers swipe the trickle of blood off your upper lip and flinched at the feeling. “Stop flinching. I take very good care of what’s mine.” You couldn’t help but laugh at that. “Ohhh yeah, cause kicking me in the ribs and then head butting me before tying me down to this shitty cot is just the tits, right? Fucking five star place you’re running here you piece of shit.”

He tisked at you disapprovingly. “Still such a nasty mouth. That’s ok though. I’ll let it slide considering the circumstances, but you’ll learn to curb that, unless you like the little taste you had earlier, which I’m pretty sure we both know you had a fair amount of fun with, even despite the circumstances.”

He lifted your shirt just slightly to get a look at your ribs and saw they were already taking on a pinkish red hue that would ripen over time from yellow to brown to purple and then fade altogether, besides the discoloration and initial discomfort you would be fine. But that fact didn’t stop the flash of anger that flared in his chest that he quickly quelled, he kept his cards close to his chest.

“I’m sorry the accommodations are so inadequate, it’s all we could do on such short notice, if you had perhaps dropped us a line and let us know you were coming then better arrangements could have been made. I’d offer to let you sleep in my bed with me but I think I’d like to see the sun at least one more day.”

“As for the boys, I’m sorry they have no table manners, God knows I’ve tried to instill some in them. But they’re hammers, and to hammers everything just looks like nails.” His voice held the tone of a man disappointed but not surprised and he dropped the fabric of your shirt but not before getting an eyeful of the swell of your breast.

“If you’re going to be staying I should know some things. For starters, your name.” And he sat there genuinely expecting you to answer him, when none came he let out a gentle sigh. “Alright, then at least tell me if you have any allergies, any medications I should know about? Inhalers, insulin… birth control?”He paused after that and you surprised him with an answer.

“No.” you lied. You had no allergies and weren’t on any medications but you did just have an IUD procedure two months prior, thank fuck for small miracles. “Ahhh, so she can speak politely afterall.”

His cocksure attitude did not help your irritability but as you felt his thumb grip your chin and tip your head back, the sensation of his lips on your neck sure did. You felt him dip down and press searing hot kisses up the column of your throat, first just the press of lips. On the underside of your jaw, parting his lips just slightly and letting his tongue caress your skin. And just below your ear, nipping the skin with his teeth and sucking on the flesh he’d pulled in.

It made you keen in your binds, involuntarily arching to give him more access, a surrender he took eagerly as he spoke tauntingly against it in hushed tones. “You can curse and scream and struggle, but we both know you love this.”

Behind your mask your brow furrowed and you fought against the new arousal pooling low in your belly. You felt his lips leave your throat before his warm minty breath fanned over you, his lips just inches from yours. Conflicted and disgusted with yourself you turned your head away from him to resist and he chuckled darkly above you, relenting and pulling back.

“Baby steps, then.” You feel his weight leave the cot and his footsteps as they fall away before he’s pulling back the sheets and you hear a creak as he lays down for the evening. “Good night, sugarcane. See you bright and early.”

You don’t see as the lights go out and the room darkens, for you the lights went out long ago, the only difference being the silence that encompasses you and the wellspring of your own thoughts that plague your mind and refuses you of sleep. It’s not long before you hear his light snoring, mocking in its consistency.

You’ve forgotten all about that half inch clearance of wiggle room, forgotten all escape plans and all hope and all will. It’s him you think about as you lay awake, the stories you’ve heard and all the contrasting information you’ve received upon coming face to face with the man.

“He doesn’t take prisoners” yet here you are captured. “His fangs to show and claws to come out” But could those careful hands that checked your wounds and tipped back your chin really sprout claws? Could those lips that kissed your skin so delicately and with such gentle fervor conceal fangs? “Six foot tall inhuman monster” Somewhere in the drift you fell into a deep dreamless sleep.

You awoke to the blare of “Reveille” groggy and dis-oriented. Instincts kicked in as you tried to quickly spring up out of the cot and then memory followed soon after as you were acutely unable to. You groaned and lolled your head to the side in his direction, you heard the creak of his bed springs and were able to faintly detect his footsteps as he shuffled into the bathroom and closed the door. Much later he exited and rummaged around in various drawers before the boom of his boots began to get louder as he neared you.

You were blinded by strong sunlight as he pulled the sleeping mask off your face, eyes instinctively squinching as you pulled at your restraints to try and shield your eyes. “Morning, sugarcane.”

“Fuck me, Reveille? Really?” He chuckled down at you through the obsidian lenses of his mask. “Call me old fashioned. I bet you’re hungry.” Your stomach grumbled in turn, bypassing the tight lipped stubbornness of your brain and answering for itself. “Good. You should shower before we eat, are you going to be good and let me unbind you or am I going to have to fight you and bathe you myself?”

You considered it but decided this could be just the opportunity you were looking for. “No, I’ll be good.” And you are good as he undoes the leather straps that’ve been holding you down all night, you’re even good as he escorts you to the bathroom. That stops when he follows you in and closes the door behind him. “What are you doing?”

“Don’t mind me, go ahead.” Your eyebrows raise and your fists clench. “Uh uh. Go.” His head tilts and you wonder if he’s as expressive with his body language without the mask as he is donning it. “Not happening, sugarcane. You’re lucky you get a bathroom to shower in and I’m not hosing you down outside.”

“I'm not stripping until you leave.” It may have been just a white tee, your lower half exposed for as long as you’ve been conscious to know him but it was the last of your dignity. He strides forward and closes you in against the counter, caging you against it with his strong frame. “Wanna bet?”

You scowl up at him and push him back. “Fine.” You pull the tee off your body and stand straight and tall before him in naked glory. You slide the frosted door back on its track and step into the basin, giving him a glare as he shamelessly ogles you from beyond the mask before sliding it shut behind you.

You turn the tap on and it sputters. “Mind the water it’s-“ A strong jet of ice cold water blasts you from the head and you squeal in shock and surprise. “Fuck!”

“-cold to start with.” He chuckles as he watches you through the glass draw back from the cold stream to the far wall. “Where’s your tenacity, soldier?”

“Oh I’ll fucking show you some tenacity, asshole!” After a moment the water heats and you find you can stand underneath it finally. You wash quickly, you had hoped to gain access to something you could use to aid your escape while you were in here, but you hadn’t realized he meant to literally watch you bathe. There were no razors in the shower and even if there were there was no place to stow it.

You resign defeat and turn off the tap, staring through the frosted glass as he pulls a towel from a cabinet before sliding open the glass a few inches so he can hand it to you. You dry off and wrap the towel around you before stepping out. He hands you a pair of clean fatigues and find they actually almost fit. After pulling your hair up you follow him out the door and down the hall. You’re very surprised he’s not keeping you in his quarters the whole time or blindfolding you for transport but he seems not to care about you becoming familiar with your surroundings, a choice you hope to make him regret.

You head down the stairs as his shadow and cross the sky deck, head on a swivel this time as no one forced your head between your knees. It looks much different in the light but still just like any other standard military institution. The walls are high and guarded, there’s soldiers below, various platoons of them enthralled in varying activities. You see some doing P.T in the courtyard, some heading out beyond the walls of the base, even hear the distant ring of gunfire and the ping of targets being struck.

The building you enter on the other end of the sky deck is less modern than the one you’d left, walls of thickly painted cinder block surround you on all sides, the hallways are narrower and not just because they’re packed with soldiers coming and going. He turns through a pair of double doors into a huge mess hall already bustling with life. You follow him around the perimeter of the room and listen as soldiers stop eating to greet him, it’s clear he commands great respect amongst them as they stare after him, throwing cautionary malign stares towards you, word travels fast on base.

You sit across the table from him, the only table in the big room not built to set twelve people, it’s obviously meant for him and a few higher ups exclusively and you, a prisoner, seen sat at the table with him has a hushed murmur flitting like a fine mist over the room. He pays it no mind as a soldier brings up two trays and silently sets them in front of each of you. He digs in and you thoroughly examine yours for spit before doing the same.

He strikes up conversation like it’s a date instead of your first meal in captivity. “How’d you sleep?” You don't know how to answer that, wonder if you should even answer it at all but there’s really no point in not, so you do but don’t ask him the same. “Fine.”

You eat and it must please him to see it. “You really were hungry.” Maybe too stunned to say anything other than the obvious but while it does alleviate one worry it simultaneously sparks another as those who don’t immediately refuse food usually have a reason for doing so, to keep up their strength and bide time under good graces for eventual escape. He tucks the thought in the back of his mind as you both clean your plates and set out to start the day.

He leads you to his office and has you sit across from him as he starts out with the folders in his in box. Carefully reviewing each and signing them where needed before placing them into the out box to be returned. “I can run those out for you, get them back where they need to be.” And he looks up at you with a smile a mile wide you can’t see but do get to hear as he speaks. “Oh yeah, gonna be a doll for me, sugarcane? Turn yourself into my little secretary? Wouldn’t that be nice.”

“Why are you doing this?” He doesn’t even look up at you as he skims another document. “Doing what?”

“Being so reckless with me, carting me around like some little pet and not a prisoner of war. Or have you already forgotten how we met?” He stops and regards you for a moment, eyeing up your intentions before responding. “You wanna know the truth?”

You lean forward, all ears. “You know something I don’t. You know one, or some of my soldiers, better than I do and I wanna know what you know. You’ve already proved to be unaffected by normal interrogation and if I can’t make you tell me what I want to know then I’m going to have to keep you close until you do. And that means carting you around like my little pet, as you so aptly put it.” His honesty makes you slump a little, he really did mean to bore you to death, have you right by his side 24/7 through his boring day to day.

“Don’t look at me like that. We can still have some fun.” You feel his boot slide forward to play footsie with yours under the desk and you sneer and pull it back in disgust. “Be good and I’ll let you lick my stamps for me.” He laughs and you lean back in the chair, not looking forward to the day ahead.

After an hour he rises from the desk and you lift from your bored stupor to watch as he walks around the desk and past you to the door. You get up to go with him but without turning he stops you. “Stay.” Without so much as another word he leaves and at first you’re too stunned to do much else but stare after him in shock but it quickly wears off and you move swiftly around the other side of the desk.

You rummage over the tabletop and through the immediate drawers, hoping for something, anything to aid you, a letter opener would be godsent but you’d take a damn tac if you could find a way to smuggle it from the room. You find a little catch all full of paperclips and a brilliant smile breaks open on your face. Quickly slipping it into your shoe you sit back down, content. A few minutes later he comes back and you try your hardest to look beyond bored.

He drops a set of clothes into your lap and you stare down at them curiously. “What are these?” He leans against the desk. “You’re new clothes, had them special made, you’ll wear them from now on.”

You examine them, shifting the fabric in your arms. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing now?”

“What’s wrong is they’re not your clothes.” He gestures to the ones in your lap. “Those are.” He stands straight and has you get up and follow him down the hall to a bathroom. “Change.” You wonder if he’ll make you do it while he watches but he seems content enough to just leave the door open and turn away while you do it. Acting quickly to avoid suspicion, you carefully step out of your shoes so as not to disturb your treasure and change. The new set of duds is a way tighter fit, a one piece jumpsuit that clings to you like a second skin, you’ve worn looser wetsuits. The collar fits snuggly and stiff around your neck and no amount of tugging at it does anything to loosen it.

Dressed but a bit unhappy with the new get up you put your shoes back on and step out for him to examine. He hums in approval, unable to resist reaching out and gliding a gloved hand down your hip. “Much better.”

You don’t even skip a beat. “Thanks, I hate it.” He doesn’t either. “Too bad. You don’t have a choice, or have you forgotten how we met already?”

You’ll give him credit, he’s quick and he’s cocky but not obnoxiously so and that’s just the right mix usually but he’s literally the enemy so later after the days done and you find yourself thanking god to be back in his suite after what had to be the most boring day on earth, you know when he tells you he’s got to leave base for a few days and you’ll be staying behind that it’s your last opportunity for escape.

As the lights go out for the second night you begin to mentally prepare.

#dead dove do not eat #dead dove fic #tw noncon #twdubcon #deimos x reader #r6s deimos #r6s deimos x you #r6s deimos smut #deimos #rainbow six siege #R6S #r6s x reader #tw dark content #tw dark themes

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chaoxfix · 2 years

Note

Prompt knuckles learns sonic is more competent at living ina jungle than he first imagined

edited the crap out of this one today lol itll look different now

When Knuckles wakes up, he feels one degree away from being boiled alive.

It’s an exaggeration, but only barely. The only reason he knows he’s not in a pot being boiled echidna stew is the amount of fluff around him. It can only mean that he’s being cuddled by something soft, with an awful lot of poofy fur. Ugh. Did feral animals find the Master Emerald shrine again? Just because he’s warm does not mean he’s free real estate-!

Knuckles is about to get up and shoo the animals off when he finally blinks his eyes open and finds his vision full of yellow ears, the color only muted by the darkness around him.

And realizes, suddenly, that he recognizes this kid. Kid as in kit, kit as in fox kit. What the hell is Tails doing out here, and why are they cuddling, and most importantly, how is Tails so heavy?

Knuckles clumsily reaches up to shake the kid awake, but his hand gets snatched away before it can connect.

That only makes him more confused – but less so, when tired green eyes blink down at him, half glowing in the dark.

Sonic holds tightly to Knuckles’s wrist, keeping him from shaking Tails awake. “Whoa, where's the fire, pal? No need to wake him. What's wrong?"

Knuckles wants to reply that it's hot enough to be a fire in here, but his tongue feels oddly heavy. He scrunches his face up; all he wants is to know where he is and what's going on.

Sonic gives him an odd look. "Chatty. Alright, Knucklehead. We’re sleeping in shifts, and it’s Tails’s turn to sleep, so don't wake him, 'kay?” he says, and Knuckles just stares. “Welcome back, by the way. You were knocked out so hard I thought you'd never wake up.”

Knuckles squints at him.

“Why’s it so hot?” Knuckles finally asks, and it comes out wrong from his mouth, clumsy and dry.

Sonic frowns at him, brows angling oddly. He reaches for Knuckles’s head, where it feels strangely tender. “Well,” he says, saying nothing about Knuckles’s injury, “We’re cuddling for warmth, so I’d argue that’s a good thing.”

“Says you. You’re on the top – meanwhile I’m echidna flambee.”

“Hi, echidna flambee, I’m Sonic the Hedgehog,” Sonic says. Knuckles groans, even though it hurts his throat. “And FYI, it’s actually pretty chilly up here, you just got lucky to be so insulated with the ground.”

Knuckles blinks slowly. “Insulated?”

“We made most of a burrow. It’s a little too airy for my tastes, but there’s three of us, so it had to be pretty big, and I couldn’t totally curl up, so-”

Knuckles realizes that his head is actually killing him, now that Sonic’s talking. He decides once and for all that he actually hates his friend’s voice and every single pitch he reaches, even at this quiet, nighttime hush. Knuckles squeezes his eyes shut, but it doesn’t block out the sound. He suddenly misses when Sonic wasn't so chatty, back when they were kids.

“Uh,” Sonic says, oblivious. “You okay? Something hurt?”

Knuckles grunts. Pretends his head doesn’t feel like it’s about to split open. “You two are lying on top of me, and Tails’s elbow is digging into my ribs. I wouldn’t call myself hurt, but you’re not exactly comfortable.”

“Oh, good, I thought something was actually wrong-”

“I want out from under here.”

Sonic huffs. “In a bit, okay? Tails is still asleep, and I’m on guard. We’ve got to stay warm, but I can try to add another air channel for you to get a bit more of a breeze-”

“Trust me, staying warm is not the issue here. Just switch with me if you’re so cold,” Knuckles snaps. “I can be on guard instead.”

“Uh, no,” Sonic says. “No way.”

“No-?”

“No.” Sonic, grudgingly, takes on a more honest tone. “Listen, okay? You got hurt. You haven’t stayed awake and aware for long. And if you move much more, you’re going to wake Tails. I’m doing a good job protecting you guys right now, and I don’t need to sleep yet. So close your eyes, think cool, breezy thoughts, and go back to sleep. Unless something’s bleeding again, you’re just gonna have to deal.”

Knuckles growls. But Sonic puts a finger over his mouth, then pulls it away and tsks.

“Come off it. Be mad at me, whatever, but do it quieter. It’s not Tails’s fault, so don't wake him up over this." When Knuckles looks unmoved, Sonic rolls his eyes. "Don’t tell me there’s never been a way-too-hot day in Angel Island that you didn’t just choose to sleep through in the shade,” Sonic says. “So just do that. The dangerous stuff will be gone soon, and then we can try to move again.”

Knuckles narrows his eyes. Then, reluctantly asks, “...What dangerous stuff?”

“We’re in the jungle,” Sonic says. “All the nocturnal stuff out here wants a snack. So the best way we can stay safe is burrowing, and making sure the only airflow is coming from the top.”

“...And what’s stopping them from finding us and digging us out-?”

“Spikes.” Sonic grins. “Why do you think I’m on top, knucklehead?”

Knuckles clicks his tongue at the nickname. “Jerk.”

“Bigger jerk,” Sonic says. He grins down at Knuckles, meeting purple eyes in the dark. Both sets glow just a little in the limited reflected light, both originating from nocturnal species – though the shine on their eyes is nothing to Tails. Then, finally, Sonic relents. “...If you’re really that hot, you might just be thirsty. There’s some water in the bag by Tails’s hip.”

Knuckles nods his head, just a little. Then, awkwardly roots around for it, finally finding a small satchel with some water bottles.

“Might take some teamwork,” Sonic says. “You up for a challenge? I can help-”

“Go to hell,” Knuckles says. But when he can’t quite get the cap off with one hand, Sonic holds it steady, and doesn’t even tease him that much – not until Knuckles needs help waterfalling it into his mouth. They manage to avoid Tails’s head, but not much else.

“Save some for Tails,” Sonic says, when Knuckles doesn’t stop halfway. “We’ll find more fresh water as soon as dawn hits and we can get outta here, but he might get thirsty before that.”

“And you?”

“Can’t really drink from this angle,” Sonic says – the only one of them facing downward. He smiles like it’s no big thing. “Relax. I’ve gone wayyy longer without water. I won’t be thirsty for a long while.”

Knuckles finds that hard to believe – but upon further review, not as hard as he thinks. Sonic very rarely has to drink much water, even after lengthy runs. Huh. The only exceptions are after exploring hot places for too long, but even then, Sonic only looks annoyed – not panting as bad as Tails does, or fanning himself like Amy. Sonic probably makes up for not carrying around water by always having some at meals, Knuckles thinks.

(And never drinking dehydrants, like coffee – though that’s probably more that Sonic would vibrate out of this plane of existence if he had caffeine.)

“Take it easy on the wilderness-explorer stuff,” Knuckles finally says. “You’ve got nothing to prove. It’s not like you’re feral.”

“What, a guy’s gotta be feral to know how to survive out in the elements?" He smirks. "What does that make you, up in your island?”

Knuckles glowers. “An actual wilderness explorer expert. Unlike you.”

“Unlike me?”

“Yeah. You’re such a city boy,” Knuckles says. “A million billboards have your face on them down in Station Square.”

“I don’t even have a house. And you think I’m a city boy?” There’s actual offense in his tone – surprised offense, like Knuckles has said something truly off-the-wall. “Good to know. What'd you think, I was just some kid who ran away from home to fight Eggman?”

Knuckles, admittedly, had never thought about it much.

“Yeah,” he says. “Sure. Why not. Why wouldn’t you be?”

Sonic stares at him, expression totally blank. “So I’m just- some guy?”

“Yeah?” Knuckles shrugs. “Duh. Of course you’re just some guy.”

For some reason, that phrase seems to break Sonic. He blinks at Knuckles for a very long time – clearly surprised, and a little put off. Then, out of nowhere, he laughs. Then, he punches Knuckles’s shoulder. “Yeah, alright. You got me. I’m just some guy. Ran away from home and never looked back, that’s me.”

Knuckles gets the feeling that this is somehow untrue. Sonic’s grin tells him enough.

But it also tells him that Sonic doesn’t mind him getting it wrong.

Knuckles punches his arm right back. “Don’t think you’re special, city boy. The only one with a magical destiny is me. Anything you know about surviving in the wild-”

“Yup. Learned it in a book,” Sonic chirps.

Knuckles huffs. “You read wilderness survival books?” Because the image of Sonic curled up somewhere with a book is… Not entirely unbelievable, Knuckles realizes. But not one he would’ve immediately associated with Sonic. Which he thinks – maybe that’s the point?

“Audio books,” Sonic says, not allowing him to confirm that little mental picture. Instead of a stationary, still Sonic – one that no one has ever been able to reconcile with the real deal – it lets him paint a picture of Sonic racing through the world with a story keeping pace with him. “You know. For when I’m running.”

Whatever fiction Sonic is building – or not building, because maybe there are grains of truth here, since he’s certainly seen Sonic with headphones in while running – Knuckles decides to feed into it. To believe it until there’s a reason not to.

Because if there is something bigger at play with Sonic’s history–

Well. If Sonic wanted anyone to know, he’d have told them. And that’s enough for Knuckles to decide not to pry.

For the same reason, Knuckles thinks, that Sonic isn’t prying about where Knuckles learned all his wilderness survival skills. Maybe for Sonic, the answer isn’t ‘parents who died when he was young, but still old enough to learn how to keep himself safe.’ But Knuckles doesn’t really need to know the answer. Doesn’t think Sonic wants to share something that might change how others look at him.

“Like you listen to anything but rock,” Knuckles says.

Sonic grins. “Sure, sure – but you haven’t lived until you’ve listened to the Chaotix try a podcast.”

“...What’s a podcast?”

“Oh, buddy. When we get outta this burrow, just you wait.” Sonic laughs again, then punches his shoulder. “You should go back to sleep though, dawn’s not for another few hours – and if I have to describe the last episode and how Vector tried to explain NFTs to Mighty and Ray, who’ve been off the grid for the last four years–”

“NFTs?”

Sonic chokes on a laugh. “–Like I was saying. If I had to explain it, I’d laugh too hard and wake Tails.”

Tails, for his part, grumpily elbows Sonic in the stomach.

“Heh. Whoops. Sorry, buddy,” Sonic says, and lightly rubs the little fox’s ears, right in that sweet spot all canines have. “Go back to sleep.”

“Great, you’re putting him back to sleep,” Knuckles gripes, though not quietly enough to force Tails to wake. “Stop that. We were supposed to switch places if he woke up.”

“Nope, I told you not to wake him and that I had things handled up here.”

"I never agreed to that. And after all that fuss, your laughter was what woke him anyway. If we switch places I'll be a much more responsible guard, if you're so worried about him sleeping.”

“Nah, he's fine,” Sonic says, and there’s an unabashedly fond look on his face as he continues putting the little fox back to sleep. “Now seriously, close your eyes and take a nap. We’re fine here, it’s just another few hours til dawn.”

Knuckles grumbles under his breath. But his head still hurts, and it’s hot, but not so unpleasantly hot now that he’s had some cool water – and fine, he’ll admit it. It feels strangely safe to sleep here, underground, with a friend watching over him. He wonders if the Master Emerald feels this safe when he watches over it.

Wonders for a second how common this was for Sonic and Tails on their adventures. Wonders, just for a moment, if the little fox might have more insight on where Sonic came from, if he’s not a city boy.

Then he falls asleep, and doesn’t bother with that line of thinking when he wakes up.

His friends are his friends – what matters more than refilling their water in the morning and finishing their adventure? What matters more than trashing Eggman’s base and high-fiving at the end?

(Knuckles thinks he might be hanging around Sonic too much with that last one, but he minds a surprisingly little amount.)

#chaoxfix

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green-kat331 · 1 year

Text

My Friend Spider-man

Pt 4: "Our Friend Spider-Man"

(Spider-man x reader)

Pt1/ Pt2 / Pt3

Warnings:None

Your meetings are continuous. Strange and unexpected but still continuous.

Never too long, probably about two to three hours, but enough to feel closer to him by the end. For some reason he just kept returning, standing on your balcony with a stupid flashy pose. If he felt generous he would bring you lunch and a piece of information for your paper… but 90% of the time he is clowning around like he’s not a literal famous superhero. No, now he’s a guy in a funny costume that shows up at your apartment to hang out and tells you about random subjects, like what the weather is like on the other side of the city (he says there’s a difference, but you’re not convinced) or about how he found pigeons wearing a scarf. Stuff that you can’t even use in the report, he made it his mission to make this paper as difficult as possible for you.

And yet, you keep that door unlocked waiting for him to arrive if he so wishes. You didn’t tell Peter about Spiderman’s visits, You don’t know why. He would’ve kept it a secret, you are confident in that fact… but you want to keep it to yourself—like your own little secret.

Now you are sitting beside the suited hero eating a hotdog he got you from a vendor 40 blocks away. He claims them as ‘the best dogs in New York.’

You sat next to each other with your feet dangling down off the balcony platform. Staring at the many buildings of New York. Making small talk and laughing with each other…

“You wanna know something funny Spidey?” you ask taking a bite from the hot dog.

“Hmph?” He muffles out cheeks stuffed with half of his hot dog.

You chuckle as you chew and swallow. “I hate Spiders.”

He places a gloved hand over his heart in mock offense topping it off with an exaggerated gasp after the rest of his hot dog made it down his throat.

“Gasp!! NO!!…”

“Yeah…”

“Can’t you make an exception for me?” He pleaded leaning towards you.

You laugh at his dramatics crumpling the wrapper paper and throwing it behind you, into your room to clean up later. You hum as you think

“Hmm, I’ll have to think about it.” You smirk kicking your feet. Spiderman lets out a relieved sigh.

After a few minutes of silence, you lay on the ground and use your hands as a pillow for your head. You look up at both the sky and the underneath of your neighbor’s balcony. It was cloudy, as you expected for mid-day New York. You hear shuffling and turn your head to see that Spiderman has adopted the same position as you.

You see his broad chest rise and fall with each breath he took and he had pulled his mask back down to cover his face completely again.

“Do you think this is the right choice for me?” You ask suddenly, you didn’t even know what or why you were asking it until it came out of your mouth.

“You’re asking the guy that wears spandex to swing off of buildings and fights goblins all day,” He says in a joking manner. Unamused you jab his ribs making him twitch with a small yelp.

“I’m being serious here Spider!”

“So am I! You’re really gonna take life advice from someone whose main focus is keeping a city safe from zoo animals and other weird stuff like that?” at this, you sit up to turn towards him “Oh come on, Give yourself some credit, it doesn’t hurt to ask.” You say then lay back down on your back and huff. Spiderman sighs “Honestly, I don’t know why you doubt yourself sometimes…the paper is going fine, Jamison’s not gonna like any positive stuff about me being put out in papers either way so I would call it a win that you even convinced him.” You nod your head at his words then stop.

You think back to any moment that you might’ve shown The hero your report. None come to mind.

“How the hell do you know how the paper’s going?” You ask turning your head towards him with furrowed eyebrows. The only person you’ve told the updates to is Peter.

He paused…Realizing his mistake he looks away

“I… Uh- might’ve taken a slight glance at it… while you left the room.” He admits. You shove his shoulder “You need to wait! The paper comes out at the end of this week! You can’t wait two days?”

“I needed to make sure it was as accurate as it could be,” Spider says defending himself

“No– No.” You begin and sit up to face him with your whole body

“You. will be waiting for the papers like everyone else, Weekly. No sneak peeks or quick glances at the rough draft,” you say sternly, he puts his hands up in defense “Okay…okay… but what if you write something that’s not exactly the truth?”

“Well, then that will just have to be between you, and I won’t it?”

He chuckles a bit at your comment. “It sure seems like a lot of things are staying just between us, huh?” you take a moment… Spiderman had been returning to your apartment balcony for days now… it was starting to feel like he hung out with you not as an interviewee but as a friend. “Yeah…they’ll just have to believe me then…either way I'm not worried about getting anything wrong. After all... I do have the most direct source of information on Spider-man”

This makes him laugh out It was an airy youthful chuckle it lifted a little of your worry.

“Yeah. you are right about that..”

I smile as I watch him laugh, then I looked down at my lap “I umm…I haven’t told Peter…about us.” You confess rubbing the back of your neck.

He looked at you with a tilted head “Do you want to tell him?”

You kick your feet as you think “I don’t know, I mean how am I even supposed to tell him that a superhero just casually hangs out with me almost every day.” you say thoughtfully “Honestly you’re hanging out with me more than Peter has recently…I’m not blaming him though, He’s a busy guy.” You see Spider-man looking down thoughtfully “But don’t worry about it okay? That just means that we’ll get more time to spend together... Just you and me.” You say trying to lighten the mood back up.

“Yeah just you and me,” He says gently, you couldn’t see his face but you could tell he was smiling behind the mask.

–The next day later–

TOMORROW!

The paper comes out tomorrow! You need to get your report to Jameson as soon as possible!

As quickly as you could, you leap out of bed, patting down your hair. You grab a random shirt and pair of pants and do whatever you needed to in the bathroom. While brushing your teeth you receive a message from Peter

Peter: Good luck today!!

You: THX!!! <3

You don’t even say bye to Mikey before grabbing your report and running out of your apartment you run through the streets to make it to Jameson’s office on time maybe even a little early.

…

“YOU'RE LATE!” He shouts As you rush through his office doors, knowing that if you were late he wouldn’t publish your report.

“No, I'm not.” You argue back, holding the papers in your hands

“Uh, yes you are,” He says sassily holding his arm out to look at his watch.

“Nuh Uh” You argue back again with a smug smile. Before shouting back at you he looks at his watch closer to see you were actually 5 minutes early. “You’re early, I don't support try-hards.” He states standing up to walk out of his office. Your shoulders slump and you follow him out. “Oh come on Mr.Jamison…that’s not fair.”

“Fair? I’m not here for fair. I’m here for sweet sweet capitalism.” Jameson announces proudly, you roll your eyes at him still following as he walks through the many people who want to get their papers finished as soon as possible. A printer walked up to him asking him for tomorrow's front page. He rolls his eyes and snatches the report from your hands and hands it to the printer. “And the headline?” The printer asks. Jameson holds his hand out “How about ‘Deceived Citizen Reports on Spider-man Even Though He’s A Menace’”

“I’m not deceived, Jameson.” You state sternly

“That’s too long sir,” The printer says and Jameson brushes him off and continues to stomp away. The printer and you stand together. He holds your report in his hands and then looks at you. “You wrote this right?” You nod

“do you have a name for it?” you think really hard for something interesting and cool to pop into your mind but only one thing made it out of your mouth.

“Uh.. how about ‘Our Friend Spider-Man’?” You suggest to the printer with a nervous expression. He stands there for a moment and stares at you. Then he smiles “At least you’re not calling him a menace.” He laughs which makes you chuckle. You look around and see Peter who waves when you spot him, you wave him over.

After a brief conversation, Peter gives the printer his photo the one where Spider-man was holding those people in his battle with Doc Oct. The printer thanked you and walked away leaving you with Peter, After a few moments you fake faint into his arms.

“Oh I have been so utterly exhausted and sorrow-filled without my best friend who is always busy~” You say dramatically teasing Peter who looks down at you with a smirk “-and the only way to make it up to me is a milkshake from the diner~” You continue peaking one eye open at him. “One milkshake it is, (____).” He says walking with you out of the Daily Bugle building and down the streets of New York.

—

“‘Our Friend Spider-Man’

The citizens of New York are all well aware by now of the masked red and blue vigilante swinging through our city. Whether that be because of a video on the internet, seeing his mask on the front page of all your newspapers, or because of a personal situation where the masked man saved your day. Ever since his first debut, people have been wondering one single question. ‘Who, is Spider-man?’ and though the question refers to the man behind the mask I sought to find out more. Not what does his face look like necessarily but what type of person he is. A man that has transformed from a wonder, full of mystery, fear, and caution to a casual part of our daily lives, one that many of us welcome with open arms. Though his intentions have been put under many questions and his unwillingness to associate with law enforcement caused his reputation to become infamous. many would agree that he is an important and special part of why we live fearless and proud. From a brief interview with the masked hero, I was surprised to learn that he was not born with his powers. Instead, he was given them from an unspecified source and it took him months to years to become fully accustomed to his newfound powers. He was not born a powerful hero. In fact, he used to be exactly like us, an average man living a regular life. He is humble and humorous able to make the best out of a dire situation, comforting the afraid and angering the evil. Spider-man isn’t someone who sits back and waits for things to happen for him. Instead, he makes a valiant effort to strive for greatness. He protects to protect and fights to protect and honor those closest to him. Whoever those people may be–”

“Can you stop reading it!? it’s so embarrassing when you’re here!” you shout throwing your shoe at the hero who dodged it effortlessly and used his webs to retrieve it for you.

“Oh come on it’s not like it’s your diary, I'm just reading the papers,” Spider-man says teasingly, folding the newspaper and hopping off the rail to walk into your room. You sat at your desk with your head planted on the table blushing heavily at him reading your report out loud.

He stood behind you and put the newspaper on your desk. You lift your head and see the photo Peter took printed on the front. You sigh and turned around to look at him. “Well…I guess that's it then right? I Gotta say it was nice seeing a different perspective to the famous Spider-man…” I say looking up at the hero.

“What do ya mean by that?” He asks pacing around your room curiously. With a magazine in his hands

“Well…since my report’s complete it means you're done hanging out with me, right?” You ask almost sadly. Spider-man looks at you with a look of surprise he puts your magazine down and walks to your balcony looking at the view with his hands on his hips. Then he turns back to you and webs your chair to bring you closer to him making you yelp in surprise and grip your seat tighter.

He laughs at your reaction “Nah, I think I’ll hang out with you just a little more.” He says through chuckles, You look up at him with wide eyes and slowly you begin to smile.

“Really?” You ask standing up from your seat. Spider-man jumps and stands on your balcony rail. “Yeah, sure.” He answers nonchalantly then falls backwards off your balcony. You quickly rush to the rail and look down. You don’t see him falling when you look, instead, you feel a tap on your head and when you look up you’re face to mask with the hero who hung upside down. You laugh and back away from him. And he goes back to crouching on the rail.

“So how about it,(_____)? Willing to have Spider-man as a hang-out buddy?” he asks holding his gloved hand out for you.

You smile and put your hand in his. “Sure. why not,” you say, and his head tilts before he shoots a web and raises himself and you off the balcony and into the New York Sky.

A/N: Hey guys, sorry for not updating in a while, but I'm back with some new found inspiration (bc of Across the Spider verse AAHHH!!!) Any ways I hope you enjoyed the chapter and are looking forward to more <3 -Kat

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edwardianblouse · 3 months

Text

Lily

All that summer, we lay like dogs in the long grass, waiting for something to happen. That day, Lily and I had been hunting for a mythical beast said to prowl the moorlands near where we lived. All the lodgers who blew in and out of her house had seen it, Lily said, she’d made them spit-shake on it, and she believed anyone who exchanged bodily functions with her.

We spent most of that summer talking about the beast and boys and what we would do when we were famous actresses. We searched pictures of Dartmoor sheep killings on the internet, zooming in on their open, filmy eyes. We read news articles about a satanic cult slaughtering farm animals in the area. We jumped into sparkling rivers and stuck out our thumbs down tree-tunnelled roads, hitching for rides. Lily did all the talking. At thirteen, her green eyes glittered with a confidence I rarely saw in girls our age. I longed to be like her. I longed to be grown-up and full of secrets. Existing in a world where impossible things could happen to me. Where I could make things happen. Instead, I sat at the back of cars, wiping my clammy hands on clothes my mum picked out for me.

The legend goes a large dark beast skulks the heather-topped moors in Devon, where I grew up, killing livestock and roaring into the night. There have been hundreds of sightings. In the 1800’s, it was believed to be a spectral pack of hellhounds that rode out with the devil. In 1978, a circus owner claimed to have freed three of her pumas on Dartmoor. There are still reports of sightings to this day. I google them in my lunch break, staring at blurry phone images of furry, featureless shapes. Lily and I are now strangers. And I did grow up and become a woman with secrets. Impossible things have happened to me and I can make things happen. Back then, the latter felt like a luxury. Lately I’ve been trying to remember that.

I admit I am not the person I hoped I’d be when I was younger. They never tell you that the ache of letting go of a life you will never live, of a person you will never become, can be as winding as heartbreak. Late at night, film reels flicker in my head showing the imagined woman, an effigy of everything I am not. The imagined woman follows things through to completion and makes her parents proud, she is a better friend, partner, sister, dinner party guest; she earns better money and has thicker, prettier skin. She is disciplined, consistent, happy. The imagined woman is as elusive as the mythical beast I once searched for all those summers ago. I have a deep desire for her to be real and yet disbelieve in her all the same.

Last year I turned thirty. The number felt like an anchor, tethering me to Earth, to the child who’d come this far, and the mirror reflection of the woman I am. I may not be the person I hoped I’d be when I was younger. But that’s okay because I’m starting to outgrow the two-dimensional figment trapped in my mind. Like shedding baby teeth to make way for something stronger, deep-rooted, these days I have loftier ambitions: to be a good person, to have a good day. I take comfort in tomorrow, that you can always be just one day away from something wonderful happening. I find myself exchanging smiles with strangers. I laugh til my ribs hurt. I cry at films and no longer avoid mirrors. My unfinished projects are a testament to trying. I have friends who know what I'm thinking before I open my mouth. If that’s not magic, then what is? Maybe things are going to be okay.

Late that afternoon, Lily sat up suddenly. ‘Do you hear that?’

The sun was slipping in the South. Lily’s head was in the last of the sunshine, catching in her hair like a cloud of light. I saw her shadowed face shift, but I couldn’t make out what expression she was wearing. My own face twisted in terror.

There was a loud rustling coming from the forest. Close, getting closer. I strained my ears. There was the bone-snap of twigs, the thunder of steps.

‘Definitely an animal,’ Lily whispered in nervous excitement, ‘a large one.’

We huddled closer, hands met wrists, sticky and sweet with sun cream and blackberries. I couldn’t look. I buried my face into Lily’s neck like a child. I thought of my parents. Of jagged teeth. Fairy tales.

‘Oh.’ Lily’s shoulders slumped. I peeked out through strands of her dark hair. A cluster of cheery, red-cheeked hikers emerged from the forest. One of them waved.

‘Damn,’ Lily said, with a little huff. Then shrugged. ‘Oh well.’ She untangled herself from me and stood up, brushing dirt off her jean shorts. In the fading light, a hand reached out to me.

‘Tomorrow?’

Tomorrow.

#writing #england #devon #dartmoor #folklore #lily #writers on tumblr #writeblr #coming of age #writerscommunity #writers and poets #female writers #booklr #writing a book #new writter #new writers on tumblr #new writer boost #new writing project #creative writing

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holyshitbeesaa · 7 months

Text

Story I wrote while bored at work

>be me

>biologist

>get sent to study creatures found in previously undiscovered parts of a cave in Yellowstone national park

>not allowed to bring them to the surface, so I am sent in with a team of professional cavers

>reach cave

>can’t find the creatures. Only mushrooms

>hear screaming deeper in the cave

>cavers think it’s another caver that’s gotten stuck.

>am made to wait back, while the others scout the area ahead

>I wait

>the screaming stopped a while ago.

>I yell out for the other two cavers

>”everything is fine. But we found the creatures”

>*sigh of relief*

>I start moving further through the cave

>I almost slip of a steep ledge

>I hear the voice from right below me

>”you are okay. It’s just a three foot drop.”

>my headlamp isn’t showing the bottom

>the other cavers have been in caves like this before

>I should trust them

>I drop down

>I hit the bottom after 7 seconds

>I can’t move my ankle

>my ribs hurt

>I can’t breathe correctly

>I look up

>one of the cavers

>they’re not right

>they’re not trying to help me

>I am frozen.

>staring

>my headlamp goes out.

>damaged from the fall.

>eyes start to adjust to the dark.

>we’re too far down

>that shouldn’t be possible

>I keep staring

>silence

>their face has changed

>I don’t know how but it’s different

>I didn’t see the change

>it should be too dark to see anything

>it looks familiar now. I can’t tell how. It’s still too dark to make out specific details

>I shouldn’t be able to see at all

>had my eyes adjusted to whatever strands of light had been let through from the surface?

>how long have I been here?

>it keeps staring

>so do I

>I can recognise the face now.

>it’s mine

>it wasn’t before

>the change must have been so slow I didn’t notice it.

>it keeps staring

>I can’t bear to stare at my own face anymore

>I look away

>It steps forward

>I need to get out of here

>I grab onto the walls of the cave

>my ankle hurts

>it’s stiff

>it doesn’t feel broken

>it feels wrong

>bends wrong

>in the wrong place

>I can’t think about it

>keep climbing

>I reach the top

>10 seconds

>I run through the spot where I waited before.

>it seems smaller

>I can hear footsteps

>I don’t turn around

>I don’t want to know how close it is

>I keep running

>I know exactly where the entrance is. Even in the dark.

>I can smell where the air is coming from

>cave keeps getting smaller

>I have to get on all fours

>I can barely fit

>I was able to get through easily before

>it grabs my broken ankle

>I kick my leg back

>I feel something stab into the thing

>It screams

>my scream

>I don’t look back

>can’t look back

>not enough room

>keep crawling till I see a sliver of light.

>freedom

>I stumble out of the entrance

>I can barely see through the bright sunlight

>I something hits me

>dart?

>a net is thrown over me

>armoured men are here

>grabbing the net

>I am trying to scream for help

>trying to tell them I’m in danger

>something was in the cave

>we need to run now

>my voice is too hoarse

>deep

>it hurts

>had I been screaming?

>im tired.

>i try to warn them about the creature

>they won’t listen

>I close my eyes

>it’s night now.

>I can see through the window of this truck

>am chained in the back

>by my wrists

>my hands

>they’re longer

>darker

>my nails have stretched and hardened

>sharper now

>claws?

>I panic

>I scream for a mirror

>my voice doesn’t sound human

>why won’t they bring me a mirror

>why am I here

>why can’t a see myself

>why won’t anyone explain anything

>please help me

>help me at least see myself

>make sure I’m me

>I am me

>I am a person

>why are they treating me like this

>like an animal

>why won’t they let me see myself

>what’s wrong with me!?

>I pull on my restraints

>the iron pulls from the walls of the truck

>the shackles are on my wrists

>but I am loose

>the truck stops

>I barge on the back doors.

>they give way to the weight of my body

>I sprint away

>gunshots

>i keep running

>can’t hear the gunshots anymore

>I’m still tired

>I’m hungry

>I’m thirsty

>I can hear running water

>in the distance

>I run

>the forest is brighter than any night I’ve seen before

>the noise of prey in the trees are deafening

>I reach the creek

>I can see my reflection in the water

>I’ve changed

>mfw I don’t know if I’m human anymore

#short story #horror #greentext #monster

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leechiourdes · 2 years

Text

final words (for now)

(TW; graphic animal torture and death, graphic human torture)

It’s been five weeks, four days, three hours and twenty-one minutes since he arrived to town. He has been forcing us to remember how much time we’ve been suffering. He is forcing us to count every waking second. Not like he will let us sleep anyway.

Every week has been painful. Every day has been torture. Every single minute has been filled with the worst suffering I could possibly imagine. Every inch of my body hurts. It stings from all around. I haven’t sleeping in weeks. I’ll never sleep again.

He’s been torturing all of us, but is seems this week he’s taken a special interest in me. He slowly and mercilessly killed my pet white rabbit. He made her bleed from her eyes, nose, ears. The poor creature screamed for help, but I couldn’t move any part of my body. I couldn’t even blink my eyelids, I couldn’t do anything for her. I could only watch, as he dug his sharp, elongating fingers into her body, impaling her and tearing out whatever chunks she could find from inside her body.

He dropped her body to the floor, but she was still alive. It was impossible for her to still live under those circumstances; but he wants to make all the deaths that happen here as slow as possible, even when killing the animals. He kicked her around, crushing her with his foot. I could see her bones and ribs piercing her flesh, as she screamed and squeaked. I tried to yell out, to tell her that it’s going to be okay, to attack him, to do anything, but all I could think was “Please. No. Don’t do this to her. Please…”

Eventually, he picked up her corpse, now lifeless. He finally allowed her to die. He still didn’t let me move, though. I felt my eyes begin to water from the lack of blinking. I felt my arms begin to shake in exhaustion. I needed to blink. I needed to put my arms down. I needed to be able to move to do those things. But he wouldn’t allow me. He left the room, with her corpse in his hands, squishing it like a wet sponge.

Every now and again, he would come back into the room to change my pose. He’d put my arm down, then put it back up again. He would twist my head to one side, then twist it again to the other. He put my foot up forward, but then put it down again the next time. Eventually, I had both my arms up, with my head twisted to an angle I didn’t even know was possible for humans, and standing on only on leg. I was exhausted, I needed to rest. He kept me in that position for almost an hour. I could not rest. I can’t rest. I can’t rest. I can’t rest. I can’t rest I can’t rest I can’t rest I can’t

Eventually, I got hungry too. I knew that he knew because he would occasionally peek through the door, giggling like a psychopath. He kept me hungry and thirsty and exhausted for a whole day. Always peeking through the door, taunting me. I tried to be positive. I tried to convince myself that this would all be over soon. I prayed that someone, anyone would save me. That an angel would come down and help me. That everything would go back to normal.

I thought my prayers were answered when he decided to let me move again. I fell to the floor, my body relived that I could finally rest. I noticed he had a small platter of strawberry cake with him, a butter knife jammed through the top.

I hate strawberry cake, but at his point I was so hungry I shoveled the cake into my mouth with my hands. The sake was delicious, the most amazing tasting thing I had ever put into my mouth; until I felt a strange, round smooth thing in my mouth. I instantly spat out the cake.

There was the red eye that used to belong to her. It still had that horrified look, as he slowly bludgeoned her to death. It was my rabbit. Keila. I’m eating Keila.

I instantly spat out all the cake in my mouth. I looked up at him in pure terror. It was weird. He looked young, only 12, maybe 13 years old at the most. I was 27. Still, he was the one keeping out whole town hostage, torturing us, keeping us alive and awake to experience and witness all of it. I wanted to scream and yell and pick him up and throw him at the window. I wanted to beat him and toss him out of my house, after what he did to Keila. But he is a g̴̡͖͈̘̫͛͝o̶͈̯̺̤͂d̷͎̲̂ and I am an ï̶͓͍̻̣n̸̫̣̏̇e̴̩͉̻͓͚͌̀͒s̴͖̎͒͝ç̸̅̒͛̓͜͝t̴̜͉̫̗͛̋͑̐ͅ.

“You must be thirsty!” He laughed at me, his spit flying in my face. His voice was normal, like an ordinary kids’ voice. He produced a wine glass filled with a deep red liquid out of thin air, and I instantly knew that it was filled with my rabbit’s blood. He tossed the glass to me, shattering it and getting the blood all over my face and floor.

I began licking the blood off the floor. My tongue was being pierced by the glass shards and I cried out, trying to stop myself but I can’t I can’t I can’t I can’t I can’t

He would not allow me to stop.

The blood burned my taste and I could hear little Keila’s squeaks of pain ring in my ears. I couldn’t even beg for mercy; I couldn’t speak words. Nothing that came out of my mouth made any sense. I knew what I wanted to say, but it would just come out as gibberish.

As I cried and screamed he laughed. He laughed and laughed and laughed and laughed until all I could hear was laughing and those final screams of pain Keila made just before he crushed her. Everything was turning the same deep red color as the blood and soon I couldn’t see anything. I felt my senses go numb, with only my hearing left. But what point was it when I could only hear his laughing?

Laughing and laughing and laughing and laughing and laughing and laughing and laughing and laughing and laughing and laughing and laughing and laughing and laughing and laughing and laughing and laughing and laughing and laughing and laughing and laughing and laughing and laughing and laughing and laughing and laughing and laughing and laughing and

It was days. He finally let me go. I could see. I could move. I could feel and touch and taste and smell and

The blood and glass was still on the floor. So was the cake and butter knife. So was the spat out eyeball. I picked myself up and looked around. Once I knew he wasn’t in my room, I stood up and left.

He wasn’t upstairs, he wasn’t downstairs, he wasn’t in the basement. He wasn’t in my house. He left.

I went outside, hoping that he had left town. But still, there he was. Levitating above the town like a wicked storm going to destroy us all. Fires spread all throughout the community. People were running away from each other. Some were carrying their children. Some where carrying weapons. Ś̴̘o̵̳̊m̵͚͛ḙ̶͛ ̷̬́w̴̟͆e̷̲̓r̸̬̊ḛ̸͝ ̷͓͑c̸̝̋a̸̭͐r̸̢̓r̷̮̉ŷ̷͍ĩ̵̧ń̵̳g̶͚̈́ ̸̼̂w̷̞͆e̸̮͊ạ̴͐ṕ̵̧o̵̤̊n̶̟̔s̴̟̋ ̶̢͗ȁ̴̼n̵̮̈́d̸̞͋ ̴̱̾c̷̊ͅh̵̘͝ī̴̘l̵̳̄d̸͎̈́r̶͎̉e̴̟̋n̴̰͘.̷͚̃ ̸̡̌S̷̬͆o̴͎͌m̵̪̅e̴̤̔ ̴̮͆w̶̹͂e̷̢͠ṙ̸͇e̵͓̔ ̶̡͋p̵̙̔ö̴͕́į̷̂ň̸̩ẗ̶̙́ì̵̧n̶̮͒g̶̯̓ ̶̲̍t̸̻͗h̴͚̽e̸͎͝í̸̯r̷̪̓ ̶̙̍ẁ̷͍ė̵̙a̸͚͘p̶̖̃o̷̱͝n̴̩̚s̷̢̍ ̶͓͂â̵̬t̷͍́ ̷͚̄ẗ̵͖ḥ̴̅ë̵̡i̸͉̕r̵̛̟ ̸̹̂c̴͕̐h̶̭́i̵͎͂l̵͈̑d̸̝̐r̶̞͝e̵̖͠ň̶͇’̷̊͜s̵̮̄ ̸̫̾h̸͇͝e̵͍̍a̴̻͗d̴̨̉s̷̫̃.

The houses, once simple and easy to look out now had impossible architecture and geometry. The gardens, once beautiful were not dead and rotting, infested with insects and fungi. Leech-like creatures, 40 feet long wriggled around the town devouring everything that moved. The dirt under my feet screamed for help, as if it were living people, trapped, and tȟ̵̯ĕ̸̠y̵͇͗ ̴̗̈́a̵̢͒r̴̗̽ȇ̵̤ ̸̗̉l̷̘̑i̴̮̚v̶͙͂î̸̡n̷̘̉g̴͐͜ ̷̬̊p̴̩͒e̵̖̎o̸̳̕p̶͕̈l̷̘̈́e̶̯͛.̶͉͆ ̵͙͝T̸̠̈́ḥ̵̇ê̵ͅÿ̵̻́ ̶̯̇ả̴͈ŗ̷̊e̴͝ͅ ̴̹̂t̸͓̓r̷̘͆a̵̝͗p̵̭̽p̴͚̆e̵͐ͅd̶̗͘ ̸͖͘d̴̬̑ǫ̶͆w̶͖̚n̸̫͆ ̵͍̒t̷̺͋ḫ̸̅e̵͂͜r̷̦̔e̴̪̓.̸̡͑

The sky was a bright orange and the stars were ink black. The clouds turned purple and water turned green. R̵̞͠e̴̻͘á̶͚l̸̽ͅi̶͖͐t̶͖̒ý̴͕ ̴̨̆t̴̘̄u̴̮̿r̴̥̈n̶̙̾e̵̙͆d̵̤̊ ̶̛̰i̸̪͑n̸̪̒s̴̼̚i̵̟̍d̸͎̿e̸̺͝ ̷̧̀o̶̞͘ų̷̏t̶̼͠.̷̢́

We can’t leave. He’s keeping us trapped. He can’t call for help. All our cellphones turned into honey when he arrived here. We can’t go anywhere or do anything or say anything or think anything or

The sky has turned red. He’s going to kill us all. “Look up! Look how pretty the sky is!” and I do it. I can’t win against him. He forces all of our heads up, at the swirling dark clouds above the red sky.

I want to die. I want to disappear, I wish I was never born. I’ll die soon. I know I will. But it won’t end. It’s not that simple.

He is keeping us all alive. He wants us all alive. His takeover will never end. He will never end. He is a̵͕͑ ̵͘͜ḡ̸̺ó̷̢d̶͓͐.̵͑ͅ He is a d̷͉̍ḛ̴̏m̷͕̾ọ̵̀n̴̲̉. He is an ą̶͝n̷͠ͅg̵̡͠e̸͇͆l̶̙̓. He is a ṃ̷͋ȯ̵̜ň̷̰s̵͍̏t̴̺͐é̴̹r̴̗̎. He is a ḩ̷͗u̵̢͘m̷̢̛a̷̖̍n̶̹͒. He is a

A̵̝͆n̶̞͆d̸̝̀ ̵͚͗w̴̥̄e̷̬̋ ̴̤̈a̴̢̅ṛ̵̓è̵̜ ̷̞̉à̶͚l̶̨̇l̶͕̾ ̷̫͛i̷͍͆n̸͍͆ş̴͋ȅ̴̻c̵̻͑t̴̥̏ś̵̢.̷͍̔

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no-droids · 4 years

Text

Just the Translator

Part Ten of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 7.6K

Warnings: There is rough sex in this. THERE IS ROUGH SEX IN THIS. Do NOT read if that offends you. There is also more anal stuff—NO FUCKING (not yet). Uh, canon-typical violence, grumpy Din Djarin, some fluffy moments, Baby Yoda being a little troublemaker, bit of a cliffhanger ending BUT NOT TO WORRY PALS I ALREADY GOT QUITE A BIT OF THE NEXT PART WRITTEN

A/N: ***Please take a second to visit this googledoc, in it are useful links regarding the BLM protests and what we can do to help. Here is a separate link to where I originally addressed this and shared more thoughts***

***

Whelp. At least you’re in a good mood.

In contrast, Din and the kid have been causing problems all morning, the both of them. Like two… two annoying, middle-aged children competing to see which one is less mature.

The smaller of the two, and older (most likely) is bouncing with energy. Acting a complete fool. Ready and willing to launch out of his restricting little sphere at any second, a bright green bundle of energy that slept way too well last night and is just rubbing it in at this point. He was fine earlier—checking out of the inn, picking up some food at a local market, riding in the Crest as it navigated towards the most isolated sector on this planet—but the hike to this field has been like pulling teeth.

In fact, Din is currently wearing a singular gauntlet on his left hand for that very reason—so this child’s hyper ass could be contained within the hovering, reflective prison. He’s restless, though, continuing to act out. At one point you suggest just letting him walk to let some energy out like yesterday, even if he slows the group down with his tiny little legs. Once you let the little menace out on parole though, he just continues to veer off in his own direction and irritate his dad even further.

And, oh stars—his dad.

Din has barely said a word, only answering with short responses when directly prompted and spending most of his energy just silently stewing inside his own little grumpy teapot on his head. The helmet is the only other piece of armor he’s donning besides the lone vambrace, and you’re surprised steam hasn’t started whistling through the top of it with how frustrated he is, how many times you’ve seen him curl his hands with impatience. At first it was amusing, though you know better than to tease him about it right now. You keep your mouth shut and try your best to wrangle the kid, doing everything you can to be helpful while also steering clear of unintentionally exacerbating his silent irritation, knowing Din isn’t in the mood for jokes after being interrupted at a very crucial moment last night. The sun shines directly on the front of his helmet and blinds you with every single annoyed step, so you follow just far enough behind him and try to use his enormous refrigerator of a body to shield your eyes.

At first it was amusing. But then the baby catches sight of a gorgeously patterned butterfly floating through the field that he probably wants to snack on for breakfast, and he breaks off from your entourage once more with a quiet little coo that should strike pure terror into the hearts of small animals everywhere.

Immediately you’re turning to go get him—but then a large hand quickly snatches the front of your shirt before you can take a single step, pulling until you’re colliding with an unarmored chest with an oof.

A bare hand catches your jaw and tightens until you’re staring deep into the thin blade of his visor, before Din whispers rough through the modulator, “As soon as he falls asleep.”

That’s all he says. And then he’s releasing you and letting you stumble back towards his wayward son a whole lot less amused than you were before, and a whole lot more achy. The baby shenanigans are far less amusing too.

“You’re killing me here, kiddo,” you breathe after quickly catching up with him, having to bend in half to lead him back towards his impatient dad.

His hot, moody… incredibly well endowed dad, thick arms crossed tight over his chest as he waits for your return.

The monster’s hand lifts high above him as his three fingers cling to just one of yours, the baggy brown sack exposing his pudgy little green elbow as he follows next to you with a waddle. It’s slow going, but at some point he decides to pull himself up onto your wrist and you catch him, cradling him in your arms before quickly hurrying back to Din.

Thankfully he begins to calm down a little after that. As you three eventually find a spot in the endlessly breezy field to settle into, the kid clamors back into his shield while Din carelessly drops the dark bag of supplies he carried from the Crest into the tall grass. You twist your back to let some of the stiffness out, rotating your arms to encourage more movement as he approaches.

“Same thing as yesterday,” he gruffs when he’s in reach, patting his chest again with a bare hand. “Hard as you can.”

“My… My hands hurt,” you eventually admit, not wanting to frustrate him even more and hoping you would be able to work on blocking today instead, but Din just nods while you gently brush your thumb along your sore knuckles.

“That’ll happen until it doesn’t,” he tells you quietly, reaching out to touch your elbow in a quick, awkward gesture of comfort and then dropping his arm to his side. Short, but not unkind. “Push through. You can do it.”

You nod, knowing that’s probably the very best motivation you’ll get from him. His beliefs, condensed down to quick, stunted sentences, presented with such unwavering surety that they must be truths. Weirdly, it works wonders for you. Maybe it’s just the person it’s coming from.

You drop into stance and then slam your fist into his chest before he’s ready, and Din steps back on impact with a small grunt while you bite your lip to silence your own noise from the pain reverberating up your arm.

“Good,” he huffs nonetheless, rubbing the spot on his chest he’s historically designated as target practice. “Good. You’re… hitting harder than yesterday. That’s… fuck. Good.”

“Good?” You ask lowly, chancing a quick look over at the kid. Who blinks directly back at you, wide-eyed and staring purposefully from his crib. You deflate just a little bit at the sight of him still wide awake, and Din’s fists are clenched by his sides when you turn back to him.

He doesn’t say anything, but you can feel the pent up tightness in his body as you spend the next couple hours throwing more hits at him, different types. Left hooks, right hooks, crosses, jabs, elbow strikes, palm heels. He was absolutely right though—the more you make contact with him, the less you begin to feel the pain, until it eventually feels like nothing at all to you.

But then, at one point, you pull your hardened fist back, aimed and focused directly on that same spot on his chest once more—when suddenly his hand flashes up and he flicks his finger against the lower part of your open ribcage.

He barely puts any strength into it at all—it’s the pressure you’d use to tap someone on the shoulder if you were trying to get their attention, but for some reason the incredibly well-placed reminder throws you. A little fucking touch like that shouldn’t hurt nearly as much as it does, but you nearly tip sideways and have to catch your footing with how dizzy it makes you.

“That’s what’s called a liver shot,” Din tells you calmly, watching you wrap your hand around your ribcage and wince at the lingering pain through gritted teeth. “Keep your arm down like I told you. That’ll happen every time you wanna get lazy with me, little chicken wing.”

You hiss and shake your head a little bit, trying to clear the fog, and then purposefully tuck both arms tight to your sides. But then—

His hand flashes up again and taps the side of your face this time—not hard enough to hurt but enough to make you flinch on instinct and take a step back. “That arm stays up.”

Your quick huff of air is suppressed. Somewhat censored—it doesn’t duly portray the sharp flare of annoyance you experience. You do exactly what he says, however, and keep your arms in position in front of you.

But then you jerk back and sputter angrily when the tips of his fingers lightly connect with your cheek once more. “Stop that! My hands are up!”

“Then why’d you let me do it?” He asks, stepping up as you retreat to poke you square in your chest. “Stop letting me do it.”

He goes to tap your face again, but this time your forearm comes up to swat his away before he can make contact, and he seems pleased for the moment. Din steps back and hits his chest again. “Come on.”

He lets you get in just a few more blows before coming at you again. You smack his hand away and then go to throw another punch, but he’s quick. He cheats—goes for you twice in a row when you’re not expecting it, and taps the vulnerable spot on your side for the second time today. It hits you like a bullet and takes you a second to snap out of the abrupt shot of pain.

“Come on,” Din taunts once more, curling his mismatched fingers at you—one hand leathered and the other tan and bare. He sounds like he’s grinning under the helmet, starting to enjoy this way too fucking much. It makes your blood boil, makes you just stand there like an idiot for a few seconds and fume at his audacity.

Apparently you take too long getting pissed off at him. He comes at you first, going for your side again, but you shove his arm out of the way with a growl. Except his other arm flashes and you react instantly, ducking under the wide, careful swipe aimed for your cheek and then zeroing in on the same exact spot below his ribs he’s been torturing you with all day, the one left wide open while his arm misses its mark.

Except—yours isn’t a tap, or a flick. It’s a hard uppercut.

Air rushes through the modulator as he groans and stumbles sideways, gasping and trying to steady himself. Triumph surges through your veins as you watch him, shaking your hand out at your side to quickly encourage the numbness away, your knuckles not yet used to hitting bone. He clutches his side and shakes the helmet violently in an effort to regain himself, breathing hard through the filter and—

The visor instantly jerks to you and you’re already taking a step back on instinct, adrenaline roaring. He snaps upright as you continue to retreat—until you trip over yourself and plunge to the grass.

A reflection catches in your peripheral, and you whip your head to the side to see the kid completely passed out in his metallic cradle, eyes closed and mouth drooping a bit. The sight shoots pure exhilaration through you, but it’s nothing compared to the thrill of only seeing him there for a split second before chrome shields instantly slide shut over his head.

You look back to Din just in time to see him dropping his gloved hand back down to his side and taking quick steps towards you—and you react without thinking. You scramble over on your hands and knees and then launch forwards before you’re even halfway off the ground, finding your feet as you stumble into a run and hearing footsteps pick up behind you.

Maker, it’s been ages since you’ve run like this. You don’t even know why you’re running—you just do, it just feels like you should. Your body barrels through tall grass and your heart thunders faster than the sound of your pumping legs, louder than the wind whipping through your ears. You don’t know if he purposefully allows you to get this far or if you’re genuinely quick—

—nope. Nope, you’re not quick, because he suddenly bursts into a sprint behind you and gains way too much ground way too quickly. You try to break left as soon as you realize what’s happening, but he’s too fast and hooks an arm around your stomach just before you’re out of reach. Din yanks you back to his chest as he twists around and takes you both to the ground, his shoulder blades slamming down first and softening your landing with his whole body and a grunt, skidding you both to a halt in the endlessly wavy field.

The wind is knocked out of you regardless. You try and struggle off of him but the positioning makes it almost impossible—your abdominal muscles are no match for the strength of his arms wrapped around your stomach, keeping your body pinned tight to his as you wrestle to lift against him in the grass.

“Fight harder,” Din growls raggedly in your ear, and your pussy seizes with need when you feel how rock hard he is against your ass. It encourages you—you make a rough sound towards the sky and then lift against him with all your strength, and your elbow comes down hard into his ribcage. Air whooshes out of him and his arms loosen just slightly. You’re able to wiggle off him and start crawling away, but then he heaves over and snatches at your pant leg—

Which means you pull them down yourself as you keep clawing yourself forward by your arms, raw excitement coursing through your veins, the fabric pulling tight over your ass and then bunching around your thighs. You squeal and flounder and kick at him—but Din just grabs at your ankle and then pins your leg to the ground, pushing up and using your calves to clamor on top of you with brute strength, catching your underwear and ripping them down too. Your heart pounds and your pussy just about floods itself hearing him dig in his pants to pull his cock out, his breath coming heavy through the helmet.

Maker, you’re so fucking ready for it. You keep struggling just because your body is telling you to, but nothing close to the word ‘stop’ ever leaves your mouth, never even comes to mind. You feel wetness slicking your inner thighs as Din grunts and plants an arm next to your head, his bare hand shooting out to hover in front of your face. You flinch—but he keeps it there, palm open in front of your lips in silent expectation.

“Wet or dry,” he snarls when you don’t immediately react. “I don’t give a shit.”

Still, his hand stays right in front of your face long enough to let you make up your mind.

And… not lick it.

After a moment, Din makes a sound that drops another wave of white hot arousal down through your stomach—a furious, growly noise that resembles distorted static passing through the filter. He angles his cock against your opening and when you hear him muttering angrily, you think he’s scolding you for it. Calling you dirty under his breath, promising you you’ll regret saying that in a second. But no—he’s—

“Perfect. Perfect little girl, fucking perfect,” Din hisses darkly, pushing into your soaking entrance without anything but your slick to ease his way. “H-How are you—s-so fuck—ing—”

Oh Maker, you turn your head into the grass and cry out through the delicious, blissful intrusion, pushing your hips back against his—and Din curses as he quickly bottoms out, making sure he lurches fully into you before his hands find out exactly where they want to be. They land on your lower back and he mounts up, pinning your body hard to the ground with almost his full weight. It means you can rip out as much grass with your useless arms as you want—he doesn’t even give you a single moment now that he’s successfully rooted you to the crushed greenery. You bloom for him all the same, as soon as Din pulls out with a wet sound and then starts fucking you strong and steady.

It’s sharp. Biting. Even the pleasure has a hard edge to it, completely paralyzing you even if you could struggle in this position. His hands are pushing down so hard that the ground digs into your tummy and makes his cock angle and slam right into your g-spot each and every time. You want to moan out your ecstasy but he’s wringing the air from your lungs with every shattering swing of his hips back and forth, quickly speeding up as he goes and taking out a full night’s worth of deprivation on you.

“Ngh. Take. Cock. So. Fucking. Good—” Din grits with every mean thrust, the staccato growls of praise getting lost in the echoing, rhythmic clap of his hips. You can’t fucking breathe—the pleasure is too overwhelming, your face is pressed into the grass, he’s got almost all his weight on you. You’re helpless to do anything besides close your eyes, furrow your brows, drop your jaw, and just let him own your body in the middle of this beautiful oasis. The heavy, wild thrusts steal every sense away from you, any ability to think beyond the fractured piece of heaven he’s striking inside you over and over. You don’t even feel him grabbing your asscheeks and spreading them—

Somebody makes a pitiful, breathless whine—it’s you, you realize. You make that sound, because worn leather lands right on the entrance he was denied last night and shamelessly breaches it before anything else can interrupt him.

“Tight,” he hisses, slowly sinking his thumb all the way down to the knuckle while you clench your eyes shut and choke out his name, “—f-fucking tight—”

His cock pulses inside you and you bear down as hard as you can on it in return, trying to get accustomed to being penetrated in two places at once. He doesn’t move his thumb after that—he just keeps it there, deep inside you while he continues wrecking you with the brutal hammering of his hips from behind.

Still—the impropriety of it starts to burn you up, how… dirty it is. Getting the life fucked out of you in broad daylight, in the middle of a wide open field, the thickest finger he has buried deep in your ass, helpless to do anything else besides lay here and let him—you feel yourself start to clamp down, steadily getting tighter and tighter around the intrusions while he grits out hard curses and keeps giving it to you through the rapid build.

His name—you start repeating it into the ground like it’s the only thing you’ve ever known. The word scrapes from your throat over and over, and you try to pull at the grass but your hands are clenched into fists and you can’t seem to remember which muscles to use to open them.

“You like this?” You’re able to hear him grit from above you. “Like when I—fuck—when I fuck you l-like this? When I just. H-Hold you down and take—” he chokes, “—take what I w-want—”

You can’t respond, but fuck yes, you do. The kindling spark inside you suddenly flares up and starts to spread through your body like wildfire, tightening, tightening, tightening, but then—

He’s so pent up—Din cums.

Devastatingly early.

The savage thrusts suddenly stutter to a halt and the gasp he takes in sounds like it physically hurts him. Like the orgasm is just ripped out of him. His hold turns to steel on you, as if he thinks you can somehow get away right now, and Din cums deep inside your spasming cunt with a shuddering, desperate groan of your name.

It’s like it drains everything from him—he slumps, just conscious enough to slowly ease his thumb out of your tight asshole, and then he collapses in the grass next to you. You stay there for just a second and shake next to him, muscles feeling like they’re creaking even while just laying on the ground like this, completely motionless.

“Shit—was that—” Din pants, turning and scooting over to you to brush your hair out of your face with his bare hand, “was that… okay? Do you… do you need…?”

You’re still so submissive, still so high on the overwhelming rush of pleasure, your mouth opens and croaks out a response without your permission. “It was good.”

“Yeah?” He huffs, dropping back on the grass and trying to catch his breath. “Good.”

And… it’s true. It was good, it was absolutely fucking amazing. So overpowering, such a hard fuck that you almost don’t think about the fact that you didn’t actually cum from it. The thought doesn’t really even register with you fully, not yet.

Eventually you both push yourselves up, each of you equally lacking in energy, just in different ways. Din looks like he’s drunk—unbalanced and dizzy while he removes his glove and stuffs it into one of his pockets, before carefully tucking his spent cock back in his trousers. In contrast, you’re nothing more than another trembling blade of grass in an enormous landscape of them, flimsy and yielding to the powerful, rippling wind as you attempt to adjust your clothing.

It’s fine, you tell yourself on the slow, quiet walk back. Sex doesn’t always need to end in a fiery orgasm. Sometimes a rough pounding hits the spot, scratches that itch. You feel like you’re a newborn blurg trying to balance your oddly proportioned weight on two noodle legs as Din’s hand patiently guides you from your lower back, and a bright flare of arousal arcs through you feeling how gentle his hold is compared to the way his cum is steadily leaking from your throbbing, aching cunt.

You don’t need to cum every single time he fucks you. It’s fine.

***

Upon returning to the sight of the unbothered, napping kid, you both decide to walk a bit more, and you learn your lesson this time. The sun glints bright against Din’s left side while traveling in this direction, so you stick purposefully to his right the entire time.

In the meantime, you share easy conversation and attempt to regain some semblance of control over your still slightly… restless body. Slowly but surely, your feverish arousal for him dims and fades to the backburner, replaced instead by… softer, quieter feelings. There’s not a solid word for it, not really. If you were mixing on a palette, you’d start out with a base of gentle contentment and then add a big dollop of affection, diluted with silence until it’s a swirling, pastel… color you don’t have a name for, but cherish all the same.

The baby wakes up about halfway through the afternoon hike, and he’s better now too. Eventually your ragtag party finds a place to settle for the night—a small clearing in the field at the edge of a thick forest. There’s a sizable log and boulder situated relatively close together, with a wide open space to make a fire in the center.

Din disappears for a bit to go get some firewood from the looming forest while you entertain the kid; the log is tilted perfectly to allow you both to watch the sunset, and you easily converse with the riveting baby talk as if he’s an absolute genius.

“I’m not so sure about that, honestly,” you tell him diplomatically, receiving nothing but unintelligible babbles in response as he climbs all over you. “Well, no actually, because there’s two major schools of thought concerning that, the first being—”

He pops up in front of your face to interrupt you heatedly and you scoff, rolling your eyes over the loud gibberish. “Look, I’d appreciate it if we could tone down the passive-aggressiveness, okay? If we can’t have a respectful discussi—”

Three green fingers settle over your lips and you gasp at the nerve of him, forced to let him continue to ramble on your lap about absolutely nothing at all, the size of his ego soon growing to match the size of his ears.

“Hear that, shiny?” You turn your head and ask his father upon his eventual return, and Din grunts distractedly as he dumps the firewood down and rummages around in the bag for a lighter. Tilting your head back towards the kid, you prompt him with a raised brow. “Tell him what you just told me.”

The baby bursts into more nonsense, encouraged by your attention, and Din crouches down to set the wood into position in the dusky twilight glow while saying nothing at all, and it somehow manages to pass as listening intently.

It continues to go on like that far longer than you expected it would, the baby apparently having quite the bone to pick about something that’s been on his mind, and one point you have to rest your hand over his mouth so he finally stops babbling. “Hey, that’s not very nice,” you scold him quietly. “I’m sure his face is perfectly normal under there.”

The helmet turns just slightly towards you, unamused while you snort at your own joke for a little bit.

“I didn’t say it,” you remind him after far too long of just celebrating your own hilarity, clearing your throat through the stifled chuckles. “I’m just translating.”

“Oh yeah?” He eventually murmurs, beginning to ignite some of the crumpled twigs at the center of the pile, and if you worked at it, you could probably convince yourself he’s sharing your gentle smile. More muted than yours perhaps, but beautiful and easy on his face, fitting him simply and perfectly. “What did… What did he say I look like?”

You would’ve shot something ridiculous back at him, something snarky and facetious, but you stop short. You catch it—underneath his voice, it sounds… timid, almost. Uncertain. It makes you take just a second in responding.

“Brown eyes,” you tell him after a moment, and Din doesn’t visibly react, just continues to slowly add small branches to kindle the flame. It’s so quiet out here, but it’s different from hyperspace quiet. This quiet is… natural. Warm, and. Free. Fleeting, allowed to roam. In a way that hyperspace just feels compact, stifling. “He said you have… brown eyes. And a… a strong bone structure, striking features. A sharp, chiseled jaw, dark facial hair. And, uh. He also said…”

Din keeps silently feeding the fire until it’s crackling and bright, and then he settles back on his butt next to it, both elbows resting on his knees, not moving the visor towards you but waiting for you to finish regardless.

The stunning backdrop gives way to a stunning surge of bravery.

“He said you make a bunch of faces under there that nobody ever sees,” you say softly, blinking at Din in the fading twilight while the kid sits silently in your lap. “That you’re an open book. Behind a metal wall. And you have a really nice smile, I bet—he bets… he bets you probably do it more often than anyone realizes. And your… your hair starts to curl when you let it grow long, and. And you’re almost guaranteed to be drop dead gorgeous under there, and it’s a real fucking shame that you’ve probably never had anyone tell you it.”

Din tilts his helmet at you, looks at you for a long time—long enough for blood to rush to your cheeks and for you to get fidgety. But when he finally does respond, his voice is gentle through the modulator. “He said that.”

You mhm at him quickly, nodding your head and turning away as casually as you can, heart beating incredibly fast for some reason. “Just the translator.”

A lovely silence soon blankets the both of you, a warmth permeating through to your bones that has nothing to do with the steadily growing fire.

***

A little while later, the kid has retired to his reflective cradle and the dancing flames are the only source of light besides the bright moon hanging directly overhead. Din sits with his back to the large boulder and digs through the bag, pulling out all sorts of food you picked up before leaving the village this morning and handing them to you. Something red and unfocused flashes oddly against the curve of his helmet when he reaches his hand back in, but it’s only for a second—he’s already pushing more food at you and filling your arms with bags of dried meats, fresh fruit, and loaves of bread.

“Stars,” you whisper under your breath, examining the feast in the flickering firelight. “Here, take—take some of this, it’s too much.”

“There’s more in here,” he counters lowly, zipping the bag and dropping it somewhere on the other side of his body. “The kid hasn’t eaten all day. Might crawl away and catch himself a Gungan later if you don’t feed him soon.”

“No, I mean—” you let all the food drop into your lap and start sorting the items, “—you need to eat. What do you want? There’s plenty.”

“I’m not hungry,” he answers, far too quickly to have actually taken a moment to check. “Just give me whatever you two don’t eat when you’re finished, I’ll put it back in the bag.”

Okay, if he’s gonna play it like this, you’ll just have to choose for him. You’ve already dedicated at least two bags of dried meat to the kid, which takes care of him. So, you take an extended moment to methodically find the ripest fruit in the bunch, the one with the most squish to it, and then search for the softest loaf of bread, not caring that Din is silently watching you. You gather both of them in your arms and then pluck three bags of meat from the pile, before depositing all of them back into his lap.

“Eat,” you urge quietly, grabbing another portion of food for yourself, heavy on the fruit. “Don’t inhale it. Please.”

With that, you grab the kid’s food and then scoop the little guy up from his shield with your free arm, standing and walking to the other side of the fire. You carefully plop yourself down with your back purposefully to Din, the kid happily finding a place on your lap with his back to you and reaching six little fingers out for the food.

You start eating, and after a moment, you smile around the large bites of fruit at the sound of metal clinking against stone. The baby, of course, refuses to even open the bag of dried meat you set in front of him, so you roll your eyes and do it yourself, hoping he’ll at least eat like an adult and give you some time to feed yourself. But no—the fifty year old creep demands to be hand fed, and any other day, you wouldn’t have let him get away with it.

Today, you’re just really fucking. Happy.

You’re unbelievably happy. Having spent a few days on this gorgeous planet, your two favorite people in the galaxy with you. It fills your heart with air.

You start out quiet, praying you aren’t bothering Din as he (hopefully) continues to relax and enjoy his food behind you. You begin humming your favorite melody under the sound of the crackling flames, the source of heat burning pleasantly against the curve of your lower back, setting another piece of dried meat into the kid’s cute little mouth and only just slightly annoyed that he refuses to do this himself. Admittedly though, you do love babying him, especially when he shows you his adorable little chompers.

One bite for him, two bites for you. That’s the deal, even though you’re hungry and you deserve way more than double his food intake rate. You try to be quiet enough that your gentle humming will get lost with the fire between you and Din, and he never says anything or tells you to cut it out, so you just continue to let your cheerful mood provide a quiet soundtrack to the moonlit evening.

Even better, you and the kid actually finish snacking before he does, and you’re more than willing to wait for him, thrilled that this is actually happening. It’s so simple, such a throwaway thing, but. Knowing he used to eat his meals as quick as he can and now he’s comfortable enough to just take a second and enjoy it… you don’t know, there’s something inherently meaningful about it, something that you specifically notice. Something about this, about sitting around a fire and sharing a meal together for the first time—even with your back turned to him, it just feels… familial. In a way. More than it’s ever felt before.

You have a little moment. It’s nice. You drop your head back and gaze up at the night sky, in awe of how different the stars look from this side of the galaxy and remembering how far you’ve come. The kid follows suit, leaning back against your tummy and blinking silently at the universe, the star-speckled sky reflecting in his gigantic dark eyes.

He starts to doze after awhile, listening to you hum softly to yourself, but the noise of a helmet finally lifting from the boulder and most likely fitting itself back in its rightful place snaps him awake just enough. The kid pushes off you and waddles over to his dad, and you scoot yourself back over to your little log while he unceremoniously clamors up onto Din’s thighs.

Admittedly, it’s really fucking cute. The visor moves just enough to watch him plop his little green butt down and find a comfy position on his lap, not helping but not preventing the movement either. A heartwarming, silent kind of tolerance hardened men have for innocent little creatures that makes you bite your lip to hide your smile. What a softie.

You sit there in companionable quiet, staring deep into the dancing firelight and losing track of time just a bit. They’re hypnotic, the flames. Crackling and popping, warming just the forward-facing parts of you and nearly burning your cheeks, but you love it. Breathing in the woodsy campfire air, hearing the gentle breeze float through the field surrounding you, the quiet forest waving dark and deep in the distance. The midnight sky stretches long above you and the stars seem… brighter than they were on Arvala-7. They probably aren’t—that planet is practically abandoned and has almost no light pollution whatsoever compared to Naboo, but… maybe it’s because now they feel… in reach. Something you can touch. Interact with. Something you can cover your eyes, blindly point at, and then say—that one. That’s where we should go next.

After awhile—you have no idea how long—you blink your gaze over to Din and startle to find the helmet facing you directly, shamelessly, the kid completely passed out on his lap as the flames reflect in the visor.

Without intending to, you’re already thinking back to earlier today. How quickly he bolted after you, how strong he was bringing you to the ground, pinning you under him and taking what was so rudely denied to him last night.

You didn’t actually finish, and you can still feel it simmering down low. Din’s cum has been steadily leaking from you all day, and while you eventually became successful at blocking out the sensation, it suddenly slams to the forefront of your mind again. The visor pierces deep into you while you start to squirm just a bit against the rough log pressed into your back. You can still feel him when you flex your lower muscles, and you bite your lip and do it repeatedly while blinking at him, waiting, squeezing your thighs together and loving the reminder.

He still hasn’t said anything to you, and you start to get antsy under his stare. Your body works itself up even more, fueled by the flames reflecting in his helmet. After a few more moments of silent tension, you’ve finally had enough.

“Din,” you whisper, trying not to make it sound like a whine and his head quickly lifts when you didn’t even realize it was slightly tipped forward. The helmet rolls back in a drowsy little circle, as if his neck is suddenly remembering the weight burdening it. Embarrassment instantly floods you. “Oh. Shit. I’m so stupid. I’m sor—”

Only he’s already pushing himself up with his free arm, lethargic and drunk with exhaustion, not saying a single word as he sets the conked out kid in the cradle and closes the shield over his sleepy little head with the push of a button.

You bite your lip as he drags himself over to you, swinging a leg behind you and then dropping down without any ceremony, firmly inserting himself between the uncomfortable log and your back. Your butt is shoved forward from the sudden displacement but he’s not done. Din wraps both his arms around you and pulls, dragging you up onto his long torso while his legs close under you and you’re off the ground completely.

Oh Maker, he’s already thousands of times more comfortable than sleeping up against the log would be. He makes the best bed in the galaxy, big and warm and firm under you, letting you stretch out long on him. You lounge on his lap and drop your head to his shoulder, resting your arms on top of his as they drape heavy across your belly.

“Sorry,” he gruffs, voice low and rough through the modulator. The filter rings sharp through your ear when it’s pressed up against his helmet like this. “Just need a few hours. Didn’t… didn't sleep great last night.”

You close your eyes and internally scold yourself, now taking responsibility for his lack of rest for the past two days. Shit. You don’t actively respond, feeling slightly put out, but your body is of another mind altogether. It still continues trundling down the steep slope you shoved it towards earlier, when you stupidly thought he was giving you eyes under the helmet instead of him being passed out cold. You wiggle against him just slightly under the guise of finding a comfortable position, but it has unintentional consequences.

You breathe out a soft sigh when your hips move over his cock, biting your lip at the sensation but trying so hard to stop it in its tracks. He’s exhausted, and he already fucked the life out of you today, there’s no way he’ll want to go again this soon. Except—then he shifts and mmms low in his throat.

“And you,” Din murmurs quietly, reaching a hand down to slowly push under your pants, “need to start being more honest with me.”

“What are you t—oh, stars,” you whisper, your body shuddering as one of his thick fingers slowly dips into your slit.

“Shit, you’re wet,” he groans, sinking his hand down lower to feel remnants of himself still easing its way out of you. Your lashes flutter as your jaw drops, and his cock gets hard against your spine almost immediately. “You’re fucking… soaked. I—I asked if you came and you said yeah,” he whispers low to you, but you shake your head. “Why’d you lie to me abo—”

“No, no—” you protest breathlessly, “—you asked if it was okay, and then I said—”

“You said it was good. It’s not good if you didn’t cum,” he grunts quietly, and the tip of his finger now drawing tight circles over your clit makes it damn near impossible to argue. “I didn’t fuck you right if you didn’t cum. You should be fucked right.”

“Maker, you fuck me exactly how I need to be fucked,” you whimper, tilting your head until your lips are pressed against the curve of his helmet while his hand steadily works under your pants. “And—oh, fuck, that’s… h-however you need to fuck me.”

“Fuck—obedient little thing…” he huffs, starting to rub harder over your clit. “What I need is for you to cum. From now on, you’ll tell me. Say yes.”

“Yes,” you moan into the beskar, your eyes fluttering back at the slowly building pressure.

“Say, ‘yes, Din,’” he breathes.

“Yes, Din,” you dutifully repeat, lifting your hips up against his hand, and he groans softly through the modulator.

“Say, ‘Din, I need something to cum on’,” he whispers.

You’re delirious, you don’t even catch it before most of it is already out of your mouth. “Din, I need something to c—” you cut off but he’s already reaching down between your bodies to ease his cock out, before yanking your pants down your ass just enough to position himself up against your entrance.

He rocks his hips up and he slides in easier than ever before, and you… don’t know what you’re expecting, but he surprises you nonetheless. He doesn’t start thrusting into you at all. Even though he’s rock hard inside you, thick and pulsing and breaking you open, he doesn’t move a single inch. He just keeps himself there, continuing to rub circles around your clit and giving you exactly what he prompted you to ask for.

Something to cum on.

Your body tenses and squeezes him, and Din shushes you before you realize you were making noise. His free hand comes up to settle tight over your mouth and guide you turn your head away from his helmet. At first you think it’s because your heavy breathing was probably fogging the visor up, but no—his fingers leave your pussy for a split second and you hear him maneuver himself out of it. The hollow noise it makes thunking to the ground is beginning to become your favorite sound in this universe.

But then of course, Din buries his face into your neck and starts talking again, whispering low praises behind your ear with that bassy, dark chocolate rasp, and you have to remind yourself to keep breathing. His fingers return to your cunt to slowly rub your clit and his cock throbs hotter than sin inside you, building your pleasure into a strong, slow crescendo.

You start to whimper unintentionally, but his hand is wrapped tight around your mouth, muting and confining the desperate sounds to your throat. His finger presses down harder on your clit and his cock flexes inside you.

“That’s it, sw—sweet girl,” Din mutters, his voice interrupted by his own staccato breaths and tight gasps the longer he talks you through it, the longer he keeps himself perfectly still while engulfed in your drenched, fluttering cunt. “That’s—that’s it, I can feel it c-coming. Fuck—make it good for me, give me a good one—”

His words shove you right over a cliff you didn’t even realize was there until you were dangling over the steep drop for an extended moment like a cartoon. Everything squeezes around him unbearably tight—your hands dig into his forearms, your back arches up against him, your pussy constricts his thick cock until you feel like you’re hurting the both of you with it, and Din’s breath catches next to your ear while you’re both suspended in thin air for a split second—

—before you’re convulsing in pure bliss, flooding his cock with cum while he rasps out, “good girl,” into the crook of your neck and rocks his hips up into yours. The few heavenly inches of movement hits something jaw-dropping inside you and nearly makes you scream against his palm, launching your body even higher into mind-bending rapture. Fucking Maker, you cum hard for him, on him, around him. You downright drown his cock in your pleasure, suffocate it and work out the aching tightness in your pussy all over him until you feel like you can’t breathe anymore.

“Mmm…” Din murmurs quietly, continuing to circle your swollen clit hard through the shattering aftershocks. His voice is deep and sinful and vibrates your whole back with its frequency, but something underneath it also sounds as if he’s considering, before he seems to land on an answer to a wordless question he just asked himself. “…One more.”

And, like the fucking Maker himself commanded it, another blazing hot wave of fire suddenly rips you apart and sends you spasming rhythmically around the throbbing cock buried inside you once again. This one wrings you completely dry, robbing you of every sense. The ragged whine you make behind his hand must be too loud—his fingers quickly tighten around your jaw and lock down, keeping you as still as possible while you give him everything you have to give.

Eventually the sparks die out and you’re left a shell of what you once were, clamping down hard on him and shuddering your bliss at the night sky. He lays there silently under you, holding you as you fall back down to reality. Your breathing is a mess and so is everything below your waist, and your whole body jerks when Din carefully slides his hand from your pussy and rubs gently over your thighs, your tummy, your chest.

“That was…” you croak out, trying to remember how to speak, “ … g-good.”

“Go to sleep,” he whispers, pressing soft kisses against the side of your neck. You can hear the gentle grin he’s hiding from you, knowing he completely incapacitated you.

“But what about—” you start to protest, when Din’s teeth sink into your flesh and your pussy seizes up tight around him, making him choke a hoarse little groan into your skin.

After a moment, he eases his throbbing cock out of you, and he resets your clothing while you whimper in distress. “Go to sleep,” Din murmurs, before softly kissing your neck once more, and your eyes slowly droop against your will. Fuck, his body beats a king size mattress any day of the week. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

***

He…

He isn’t.

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin #smut #reader insert #fanfic #star wars

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nagito-kissmaeda · 3 years

Note

omg...but imagine sex with nagito on the beach 👀

ミ☆ Consider it imagined ;) Word Count: 2419

Contains: Gender Neutral Reader, Explicit sexual content, a little angst but not heaps Read on AO3

“I think I want to kiss you.”

Komaeda stiffens beside you. The gentle rise and fall of his bare chest ceases entirely as he holds his breath. His hair has just started to dry again after your swim, the ends are beginning to curl but the majority of the strands still lack their usual volume. It makes him look smaller, more vulnerable.

You can’t help but wonder if it was genuine happenstance that you caught him in the ocean tonight, or if his luck had a hand in it. Thinking about his luck too much always stresses you out, would seeing him standing waist deep in the water - droplets running down his bare skin and glinting the perfect moonlight - be considered good luck or bad? Did he curse his talent in that moment, or did he see the adoration in your eyes, the way your breath caught at the sight of him, and praise it.

You hear Komaeda laugh, a familiar sound. Pleasant, but altogether fake, like a strawberry milkshake with too much syrup, “I will admit, that was quite a funny joke, if a little hurtful.” he looks at you from the corner of his eye, “Though i cannot rightly criticise you for making jokes at my expense, there is little else i am good for.”

It hurts that he thinks you would make such a cruel joke. It hurts that he doesn't have it in him to believe it.

The wind rushes by and you shiver. Even though you are mostly dry after your brief stint in the ocean, the cool air still makes your skin prickle. Komaeda’s jacket is spread out on the sand beneath the both of you, a gesture that is likely more intimate than he intended for it to be. You worry, frequently, that for all Komaeda’s posturing about talent and hope, that maybe you still don't fit the bill. That you may be worthy of his worship, but fall short of being worthy of his love.

“I wasn't joking.”

Komaeda chokes on what might have been a laugh before it died in the back of his throat. You can hear him shifting slightly, his hands clawing nervously at the jacket beneath him. Again you can't help but wonder, if this moment is good luck, or bad. The sound of your heart is so loud in your ears, and your hands are shaking so furiously that you are surprised the stars in the sky haven't all imploded. The moment feels big enough.

You hear a little more movement beside you, clenching your muscles in a bid to keep still, like even the slightest twitch from you will scare Komaeda away like some frightened animal. Ridiculous, Komaeda doesn't scare easily.

“I won’t stop you.” he whispers, you turn your head just enough to look at him. He’s rolled over onto his side, his slowly drying hair cascading down over his shoulder, pale eyes glinting in the moonlight. Your heart is hammering at your ribs.

You wet your lips with your tongue, and follow his lead, rolling onto your side and carefully examining his face. His eyelashes are really pretty, and they’re faint, but at this proximity you can see a small smattering of freckles across his nose. Like constellations on a cloudy night.

His lips taste like salt when yours press against them, chapped but soft and undeniably gentle. You shiver with more than just the cold when you dart your tongue out just a little, and he readily opens his mouth to accept it. He lets you explore the inside of his mouth, the sharp ridges of his teeth, the underside of his tongue; a moan cuts loose from your mouth and you tangle one of your hands in the back of his hair. One of his hands comes to rest on your cheek and you almost sob.

“I want to do more than kiss you.”

His thumb strokes across your cheekbone, and your eyes meet his. He blinks slowly down at you, contemplative but hungry, “Again, if that is truly what you want. I won't stop you.”

There's a heavy weight in your chest at those words, at his assertion that you could have your way with him, but not a single shred of genuine reciprocation. You are ashamed of how weak your voice sounds when you whisper, “Do you...actually want to? Or are you just letting me because I want to?”

Komaeda’s head cocks to the side, “I don't understand why the distinction matters.”

“I’m not just chasing some momentary desire, Komaeda.” you laugh bitterly, “I have feelings for you. Romantic ones.”

He stiffens for a moment, and you can see the cogs turning in his brain. There's an icy chill down your spine as you prepare for his rejection. He loves everything about you, but he doesn't love you.

Unannounced, Komaeda swings his leg over your hips and rolls you onto your back. Looming over you with a smile that actually reaches his eyes. You can count how many times you have seen that on one hand, but here he is, grinning down at you with an indescribable warmth that you feel from your chest all the way down to your toes.

“I was more than happy to be used for your pleasure.” He breathes, eyes turning misty as they meet yours, “To be able to touch you for just one moment, but this...this.” a breathless laugh escapes him, shaking his boney shoulders, “for you to return my feelings...the bad luck around the corner must be immeasurable, but im…” he heaves a shaky breath, “im so happy.”

His feelings. His feelings. The words vibrate around your head as you struggle to even comprehend them. He has feelings for you. Nagito Komaeda is leaning over you, pale hair lit up by the moon eclipsed by his head. Bathing him in a halo of white light. He looks angelic, and he has feelings for you.

“I want you.” You breathe, “Please, Nagito.”

His breath hitches at the sound of his first name dropping from your mouth. So unbelievably intimate, so tender. He tilts his head down, and slots his lips against yours. This time his hands waste little time before wandering across your skin, the bathing suit you picked up from the supermarket hides little, and you feel your flesh buzz as his hands pass over it. In the end, his palm sits comfortably in the curve of your waist and his other hand is planted beside your head to keep his balance. The salt in his mouth is slowly dissipating, giving way to a taste that must only be him. Your arms twist around his back, tracing the bumps of his protruding vertebrae, dancing across his fragile skin.

Your tongue slips into his mouth and you feel his hips twitch. With only the layers of your bathing suits to separate your skin, you can feel his growing hardness very prominently. You buck your hips upward to feel it again, and Komaeda instinctively bites down on your lower lip.

“Oh no. Did I hurt you?” He whispers, pulling back and brushing across your lower lip with his thumb, “I’m so sorry, though I shouldn’t be surprised that someone as worthless as myself would cause you pain.” You feel him start to move, “I should go-“

In a feat of strength that surprises even you, Komaeda is now pinned underneath you, arms pushed backwards onto the jacket atop the sand and wrists gripped tight in your shaking hands.

“Don’t go.” You press a hot kiss to the side of his throat, “You didn’t hurt me. I liked it.” You graze his neck with your teeth and he quakes below you, “I don’t want to stop unless you do.”

His breathing is shaky, his thin body quivering so much that you're almost surprised you can’t hear his bones rattling, “I don’t...I can’t stop. If you could read my perverse thoughts right now, you would be disgusted by what you would find.”

You laugh, releasing his arms and running your fingers down his chest, “Doubtful. I think if anything I’ll find that your thoughts mirror my own.”

Komaeda squeaks when you pull one of his nipples into your mouth, sucking gently, you run your knuckles up and down the side of his ribs. Smiling when you can hear his heart race, “Such a pretty boy.” You whisper, circling his nipple with your tongue. His hips stutter upward to meet yours, he seems to like it when you whine.

“I...I…” Komaeda’s throat bobs, “I’m not doing anything...I should be worshipping you, but I’m just lying here…”

“Shh, Nagito.” You breath, grinding your hips down on his, gentle enough that he can only just feel it, “I like doing this to you, I’ve wanted to do this to you for so long.”

“You...you’ve also been thinking about it?”

“Thinking, among other things.”

Komaeda barks a laugh, covering the lower half of his face with a hand, “Are you implying, that all those nights I fucked my pathetic hand thinking only of you, that you were-“

“Three cabins down, thinking about you?” You giggle, dragging your tongue up his collarbone, “That sounds about right.”

“I must be dreaming…” he whispers, looking past you and up at the sky, “it looks like the constellations are caught in your hair.” His shaky hand comes up and cups your cheek, “I don’t want to wake up.”

You smile, gently working his swim shorts down over his narrow hips, “Then don’t.”

He pushes himself up on his elbows, pretty face turning nervous as he is suddenly naked in the open air, though he isn't alone for long. He watches in awe as you toss your swimsuit off into the sand somewhere, eyes wide and watery as they trace the curves and angles of your body. His hips dig into your thighs when you position yourself on top of him, hands pressed gently on his chest, worried that his birdcage ribs might shatter if you put too much weight on them. You can feel his heart racing under your palms, fragile, perfect, beautiful boy. He is shaking under you, pale skin shining in the light of the moon. You lose your breath, completely enamoured with him, with his big green eyes, the mess of his hair, his collarbones so sharp that you swear you could cut yourself on them.

“I haven't done this before.”

Komaeda’s breathless silence is filled only with the ebb and flow of the ocean behind you, with the salt in the air and the stars in the sky. He sits up a little, arms shaking under his weight as he holds himself at eye level with you. He takes in a wheezy breath, one side of his mouth quirking up in a familiar nervous smile.

“You don't have to.” He whispers, “I...I’ll only disappoint you.”

It only takes a gentle push to his chest for him to fall backward onto the sand. Blinking up at you with wide eyes as you slowly start to lower yourself down onto him, “You could never disappoint me” you breathe, and then he is inside of you.

Just where he belongs.

The prettiest moan you have ever heard rips loose from his throat, his head tossed backward onto the sand and eyes scrunched shut. He is twitching inside of you, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides like he isn't sure what to do with them. You lift yourself up just a little, and he almost sobs when you drop back down again. It feels good, you feel full. There's a twisting in your gut that tells you to just move, just move. You aren't sure how much longer you can resist it.

Komaeda is in a similar state. You are so warm, so tight, so perfect. He can feel his hips twitching with a desire to just give in, to pump himself as deep inside of you as possible. It’s pathetic, it’s selfish, but he wants you to be his. He wants to be so far inside that you can't pull him out again, he would do anything to be here forever. Completely naked, out in the open, in the middle of the night with you writhing on top of him. Your face twists in absolute pleasure, and he can't help lording over it. Over the fact that he is doing this to you.

Then, you moan again. Head lolling backwards as the guttural moan morphs into the syllables of his name.

He can’t hold back anymore. His hands snap up to your hips, digging in tight enough that your eyes open in shock, and he pushes his hips as far up as they will go. You call out his name again and it is all he can hear, hips snapping up again and again, dragging more perfect noises from your mouth and letting out moans of his own everytime he hears you say his name.

Your eyes drift down to his, letting out a sweet little whimper as he hits a spot inside of you that sets your insides boiling. Your nails dig tight into the taught flesh pulled across his ribs, turning his pale skin a bright red, your own hips meeting his every thrust with a desire to have him deeper, to have him faster. He throws his head back in a breathless laugh that almost sounds like a sob when he feels you clench around him, you’re perfect, you’re real and you’re so fucking tight.

You don't even have time to warn him before you topple over the edge, the world flashes white behind your eyes as your walls twitch around Komaeda’s desperate cock. He lets out a rattling breath, so close, so close, so close-

“Nagito” You breathe, “cum inside of me, please.”

He feels like he is going to explode, in more ways than one when he shoves himself up into you one last time, finally cumming with a high-strung moan that sounds suspiciously like a declaration of love.

Then, all is quiet again. The ocean breeze is your only company as the two of you come back down. At some point the jacket slipped out from under Komaeda, and now his messy hair is tangled with sand. You reach down and try to comb some of it out with your fingers, he nuzzles into your palm. Content.

You smile down at him.

“I love you too.”

#komaeda x reader #nagito x reader #nagito komaeda x reader #/request #danganronpa x reader #danganronpa

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shoutogepi · 4 years

Text

A Million Times Over, part 1

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𝐩��𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Todoroki Shouto x American!Reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 : 11.3k holy shit this is so long guys. fuck.

[ ☀︎, ☁︎, ✘ (nsfw!) ] (series warnings)

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 : some NSFW themes but no actual smut. a lot of pining and angst. some cute moments too tho!

𝐛𝐢𝐨 : You lose all memories from the past five years of your life due to an accident-induced coma, including any recollection of your beloved boyfriend and fellow pro-hero, Shouto. He’s devastated that you don’t remember him, but the both of you are determined to get your memories back, no matter how long it takes. In the meantime, you attempt to rebuild your relationship with him… while also nurturing the spark that’s still very much lit between you two.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 : Originally I intended for this to just be a long fic… but even for my standards, this would be wayyy too long to be just in one post. I decided to split the fic into three instead, so this will be the first part of my very first multi-chap series, A Million Times Over, for my beloved Sho <3

𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 : big thank you to my sweet friend @todoscript for beta-reading this for me and hyping me up!! love you, can’t wait to read what you have in the works soon <3

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“.../n”

…

“.. y/n…”

…

🅃he buzzing noise in your ears sharpened. White light snuck between your eyelids and you groaned, fingers reaching toward your temple. Confusion burst forth as you recognized foreign, plastic tubing connected to your skin, your eyes opening wider as you began to register your surroundings.

You were in a hospital room. To be more exact, you were in the bed in the middle of the hospital room— meaning, you were the patient. The realization shocked you, and you jolted upright abruptly, suddenly all too aware of the tubes stuck up your nose. At your sudden movement, large, warm hands landed on your arms and rubbed at your skin gently, making your attention turn to the person sitting at your bedside.

“Y/n? Hey, you’re okay, love, it's alright. You’re safe, I’ve got you.” His voice was smooth and deep, an anchor for you to grab onto in the midst of your confusion.

You were gawking, staring straight at him— you couldn't help it. Your jaw was probably hanging open, gaping like a fish at the man before you. What were you in the hospital for exactly— had you gone insane and dreamed this situation up?

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“Sh-Shouto Todoroki,” you mumbled, gaze connected with his tired but bright, heterochromatic orbs. His brow furrowed and his head tilted slightly at your courteous acknowledgement, but he brushed it aside and smiled at you instead.

Your heart was pounding in your chest as you took in his form beside you. He was tall— you could tell even though he was seated— and he was more handsome than you’d ever imagined, somewhere in his mid-to-late twenties judging by the sharp, masculine features of his face.

“Y/n…,” he breathed out, a large, calloused hand coming up to cup your jaw. Then he pulled you into a hug, his strong, muscular arms wrapping around your torso and cradling the back of your head to press you into his chest. He smelled of clean laundry and winter, a crisp, fresh scent that made an unknown comfort blossom in your chest.

Slowly you placed an arm around his neck, your other hand laying limp on the sheets as it was still connected to the IV. You rubbed his back slightly, still dazed by your apparent situation. Looking outside the open window in the corner of the room, you realized it was daytime; yellow sunlight beaming into the room and pouring onto the tiled floor. There were vases of flowers all around the room, as well as stuffed animals, cards, and balloons that all wished for your health and speedy recovery.

“I’m so glad you’re awake,” Shouto whispered into your shoulder, still holding you tight in his embrace. His voice was still low, but this time it shook with profound emotion. “I missed you… so much.”

Your body felt relaxed in his arms, even though your brain was whirring a thousand miles a minute. You had no clue how you’d ended up in the hospital, who sent you all these gifts, where you even were geographically, and most importantly, why Shouto Todoroki was holding onto you like you meant the world to him. You patted his back stiffly and he let go of you just enough to move his face in front of yours. His eyes held such love and relief, the emotions as clear as day that butterflies ruptured from your stomach. As if his expression wasn’t enough to get your heart racing, he leaned forward and captured your lips, pressing his mouth to yours in a firm but sweet kiss.

It only lasted for a minute, but it was enough to have your heart rate monitor start beeping rapidly, noisily chiming at the other side of your bed. His face was so perfect and smooth up close— you couldn’t close your eyes as you took in his astonishing beauty. Sure, you’d imagined he would be perfect… but in person, here before you, he was indescribable. The man of your dreams. And a good kisser, too.

A nurse rushed into the room, seemingly out of breath. When she caught sight of the two of you, your lips locked, and Shouto holding you so tenderly, she let out an awkward cough and pawed at her scrubs, averting her eyes as she approached your bedside. Shouto pulled away, only to plant a soft kiss on the very tip of your nose before leaning back into his seat. He had a wide smile on his lips, content-crinkled eyes settled on you as his hand enveloped yours.

“So you’re awake!” the nurse stated excitedly, busying around with the beeping machine, managing to shut the blasted thing off. “How are you feeling? Any pain, discomfort?”

You glanced at Shouto, who smiled at you warmly and squeezed your hand. If that heart rate machine was still on, surely it would be going haywire again. “Uhh, I think I’m okay… just kinda groggy,” you replied truthfully, your voice coming out hoarse. You cleared your throat and she handed you a small cup of water, which you took gratefully. You continued on after taking a few sips, the liquid cooling your irritated throat. “No pain, but I’m a little… confused, to be honest.”

“I’m sure you are, hon,” the nurse said, giving you a smile full of understanding. It made you feel a little less on edge, and you gave her a half-hearted smile back. “You were in a bad accident almost a month ago. You suffered some head trauma, and you’ve been in a coma ever since. You also had two bruised ribs, and some minor surface wounds. The cuts are all gone now, and your ribs should be almost all healed by now as well, but if you have any discomfort on your left side here,” she gestured to your ribs and continued, “just let me know. I’ll page your doctor and we’ll do a quick check-up on you in just a minute!”

You nodded slowly, the gears turning in your head. You were in an accident, and then a coma for a whole month? It all seemed so crazy to you— you can’t remember a single thing leading up to your supposed accident. Head trauma… you weren’t usually the type to get hurt, and you’d never been in a coma before. “Umm… what kind of accident was it?” you asked, looking between Shouto and the nurse, not really directing the question to either of them specifically.

“You were flung into a cement pillar during a fight, love. The blow was mostly on your side, hence your bruised ribs… but your head smacked into the pillar secondarily,” Shouto replied, his smile disappearing as an unfamiliar bitterness washed over his handsome face. “We were battling together and you were knocked unconscious instantly… you’ve been asleep ever since.”

“A fight..?” you frowned, tilting your head in confusion. “We were fighting, and you threw me against a… cement pillar?”

Shouto looked horrified at your misunderstanding, adamantly shaking his head and making his soft, two-toned hair shine in the sunlight. “No, I would never hurt you— the villain did, baby. I incapacitated them right after,” he paused, eyes casting downwards and his free hand forming into a fist at the memory, “but the damage had already been done...”

That sounded right… your job was herowork, you could at least recall that. But you didn’t think you’d ever fought beside a hero as great and renowned as Japan’s famed dual-tempered Shouto. Sure, you’d been doing your best to climb the American hero leaderboard, but you weren’t by any means at the top yet. “Umm… can you tell me.. why we were fighting a villain together, exactly?”

Shouto looked directly at you, his brow furrowing before he looked to the nurse on the other side of your bed. They shared a look, and you shuffled uncomfortably in the cotton sheets pulled up to your waist, unease sitting like a rock in your stomach.

“Y/N, can you tell me what you remember before the accident?” Shouto asked slowly, his grip on your hand tightening just a fraction. There was a sliver of something else in his voice now, a hint of urgency in his request.

You looked between him and the nurse hesitantly, racking your brain for anything you could think of. “Uhh… I don’t… I don’t remember, I— I’m sorry.”

“That’s alright hon, don’t worry. It’s common to have some confusion after just waking up from a coma. We can try an easier question. Let’s see… do you know your birthday?”

You responded instantly, and there was the tiniest amount of relief on Shouto’s face at your correct response.

“Your mother’s maiden name?”

You got that one right too, Shouto’s thumb rubbing over your knuckles soothingly in silent praise.

“How about your phone number?”

You took a second to think of it, but you answered that one too. The nurse looked over at Shouto to see his reaction, and so did you. But Shouto was frowning at you, making dread drip into your veins. “That’s your US number, love… what’s your Japanese number?”

You looked at him incredulously. “My Japanese number? Why would I need a Japanese number?” you inquired, thinking this must have been some kind of trick question.

The nurse and Shouto shared a more serious look, and Shouto swallowed as he looked away from you, turning toward the window instead. You squeezed at his hand but he didn’t respond, so you turned to the nurse instead, confused now more than ever.

“I don’t understand…,” you mumbled, hoping for some clarification from her. She smiled at you, but this time it did not reach her eyes.

“You’re in Japan, hon. You’re speaking Japanese right now… and you’re also one of the top heroes in Japan, just like your boyfriend here.”

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The next few days passed by in a blur. The hospital staff was all very kind and hospitable, but it still felt like you had woken up in the middle of someone else’s life. Even though your body was yours, and you looked just the same, you couldn’t help the unease that lingered from your imposter syndrome.

You had gone through so many tests and check-ups that they all blended together at this point. You had been poked, prodded, and quizzed the entire time since you’d woken up from your coma. There were so many different tests regarding your memory that your brain felt like melted jelly by now, and your frustration was at an all-time high.

Shouto had gotten up and left the room shortly after the nurse informed you of your situation. Your heart felt heavy for him— he seemed so excited, so relieved that you were finally awake— and this was the devastating reality that he was left to face. After patiently waiting at your bedside for weeks, this was the bitter pill he had to swallow when you had finally come-to… you imagined that he was not eager to confront such a terrible twist of fate. Yet he had come back into your room half an hour later, eyes suspiciously puffy and pink, and his nose a little stuffy, but nonetheless, he grabbed your hand and kissed your knuckles, squeezing even tighter than before. Even though you barely knew him, his presence made you feel safe, and you were glad to have him by your side.

Between your numerous mental tests and check-ins, the conversation between the two of you was surprisingly easy. He was patient with you, and kind. Apparently, you’d first met him in America at a hero convention about five years ago, and you started dating after a year and a half of being friends. Your memory had been completely wiped of the past five years, leaving your Japanese friends, coworkers, and dedicated boyfriend all in the dark. According to Shouto, you had befriended many of the top heroes in Japan, seeing as they were also your colleagues. It turned out that the numerous flower arrangements scattered about your room were from these heroes, as well as fans… though a good amount were from the heterochromatic man himself.

Shouto took care of you during your days at the hospital. He talked to the doctor after your check-ins, pulling them aside and conversing in hushed voices in the hallway just outside your door. He called your family for you and flew them out, only adding to the chaos in your hospital room. He told all of your Japanese friends and acquaintances to stay away for now, knowing that meeting them would probably just overwhelm and guilt you. And each day he would bring you a treat that you would inevitably love, proving to you that he really did know you, and that he knew your preferences and even your favorite boba order. He probably would have stayed by your bedside even through each night, but you insisted he go home and sleep in a proper bed. You already felt bad enough that he was taking a hiatus from hero work until you recovered… you didn’t need to add his future back issues to your already guilty conscience.

You found yourself enjoying your time with him. You knew who he was— you had certainly heard of him during your previous hero work that you actually remembered. You kept it to yourself that you had harbored an embarrassingly large crush on him, though. You figured he probably knew that, seeing as he was your boyfriend of three and a half years… no need to bring it up! But now that your memory had reverted back to your mental state five years ago… you inevitably had feelings for the pro hero, and you weren’t sure if he either couldn’t tell how he affected you, or if he was just being polite. Whatever the case, there was still a spark between the two of you. Even though all the progress of your relationship had been erased on your side, each day your feelings only grew for the selfless, charming, and witty half-and-half man. So much so, that you would now reach out for his hand when he would enter your room each morning, and he would smile at you and slip his fingers between yours, no matter how much it hurt to restrain himself from showing you more affection.

After about a week, you were cleared to go home. Your nurse, who you had come to know as Akari, told you that the doctor had originally wanted to keep you for longer… but that Shouto was such a doting beau that they had given you the express go-ahead, knowing you would be in the highest of care.

Your memory was still not restored, though you had started to remember odd things here and there. Like how to use your phone— it was the newest model and far from the technology you were familiar with five years ago, but you opened the device and navigated it expertly on your first go. The doctor said that that was a good sign, though it could just be muscle memory... but Shouto still gave you a small smile of encouragement. Next was when you had asked Shouto to bring you your favorite moisturizer, a Japanese brand, and you just mentioned it so casually in conversation that you would have blown right over it had Shouto not pointed it out to you. You were recalling little, mundane things here and there, but never anything big— no people, no places. No distinct memories.

Akari assured you many times that as long as you kept working at it, your memories would return. She always said it when you were frustrated— she could tell your moods and she could see how hard you were trying. But she also said it when you were doing fine, and that was when you knew she was saying it more to Shouto than anything. You were glad to have her there, because even though Shouto was there for you physically, he kept most of his emotions sealed off from you… and it was hard for you to read him. Akari was an excellent nurse, and you felt blessed to have been taken care of by her. But a tiny, minuscule part of you was jealous that she could tell how he was feeling, while you were left in the dark.

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You sighed as the car door clicked shut, feeling apprehensive. The vehicle that Shouto had driven to the hospital today is sleek, shiny, and foreign. You had no clue what model it was, but you knew it must have been expensive— the interior was framed with a polished wood that complimented the peanut-butter color of the leather seats and steering wheel. Shouto slipped into the drivers’ side next to you, offering you a small smile as he clicked his seatbelt into place.

“Are you nervous?” he asked, pausing before he turned the ignition. The car purred to life, a welcome screen popping up in the middle of the console.

You thought it over for a moment before answering, watching as he slid the parking ticket out from under the overhead visor. “A little… I think excited is a better word for it, though.”

Shouto’s smile broadened just a tad, his hand reaching over the center console and squeezing yours briefly. “Me too,” he murmured, eyes locked with yours for just a moment too long before his arm propped back against the corner of your seat, and he reversed out of the parking spot. You couldn’t help but admire his chiseled jawline as he did so, eyes flitting away quickly when he caught your lingering gaze.

The drive from the hospital to your home wasn’t long, and you were thankful that was the case— you’d have definitely felt even guiltier if he’d been driving for a long time all these days to come and see you. The city distracted you along the way, bustling and bright as ever, and your eyes were wide with wonder as you took in the colorful displays littering the streets and storefronts. Everything— everyone just seemed so alive; it was impossible to keep the smile from your face.

At one red light in particular, you saw a cat cafe, zoning in on a particularly pudgy cat snoozing at the top of the cat tree in the window. You giggled and pointed it out to Shouto, glancing over at him to see if he was looking, and the softest smile was on his lips as his eyes gazed deeply into yours. You held his stare for a moment and then looked away again, flustered and your cheeks feeling warm as you cleared your throat.

It was then that you noticed his hand lying atop the center of the console, tempting you to reach out and lace your fingers with his, like you had done so many times at the hospital. But it felt different without the safety of the white walls and medical equipment you had grown to know, somehow scarier— like he might reject you for whatever reason. You chose to keep your hands to yourself for now.

“It seems like you’re curious about the city,” he said as silence settled between the pair of you, the only noise in the cabin of the vehicle being the low melody from the radio.

You shrugged and hummed in agreement, eyes now glued to the other side of the window as countless people and businesses whizz by. “I like to know the city I’m protecting,” you answered, leaning back against the headrest. “It makes me feel more connected to the people that live here… the people we’re helping when we do our jobs. Y’know?”

Shouto nodded, humming his own agreement. “Yeah… I know what you mean,” he replied. After a short pause, he turned to you, waiting for another red light to turn green. “Maybe we can come out in disguise sometime… if that would interest you. I can show you around, we can have a little adventure.”

You visibly perked up at his suggestion, your grin making his heart flutter suddenly in his chest. “Yes! I would love that!” you beamed at him and he smiled back at you, the faintest hint of a blush dusting his cheeks.

You bit your lip as he turned back toward the road, the car shifting forward as he pressed the gas at the green signal. He was trying… so you had to, too.

“But only if we go together, okay?” You reached over and took his hand before you could chicken out. His fingers fit perfectly in between yours, and your cheeks felt hot again as you gazed intently at your intertwined hands.

Shouto let out a little breath of surprise at your action, but his fingers curled tightly around yours in under a second. “Of course… love.”

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Shouto had sent your family home, despite their protests. The doctor’s orders were for you to resume life as you normally would— apparently, that would be the quickest way for you to regain your memories. The verdict was much to your parents’ dismay, but they understood that it was the fastest means for you to return to, well, you. So they left Shouto to take care of you, and he insisted that once your memories came back, he would fly them back out to see you again, or the two of you would come to them.

Though technically he was a stranger to you, he was the closest thing to home in the strange storm of your memory loss. He had been there for you every step of the way, every day. He tended to your every need, and he even anticipated your needs before you were aware of them. That didn’t change once you arrived at your shared apartment.

If you could even call it that.

“Holy shit,” you mumbled when Shouto unlocked the door for you, gesturing for you to enter first. Your jaw was on the herringbone-patterned, hardwood floor as your eyes wandered around the entryway, taking in every design detail you came across. You barely managed to take off your shoes before you were peeking your head into the bathroom next to the entry hallway, inspecting the clean and gorgeously-furnished half-bath.

Shouto chuckled and closed the door behind him, making sure to turn the lock as he set his keys into a porcelain bowl beside the door. “Go explore, I think you’ll like what you see,” he said amusedly, a half-smirk on his pink lips as he eyed you. Your starstruck expression only grew as you padded into the open space of the living room.

A long, cushy sofa and chaise stood before the huge flat-screen that was nestled into an elegant built-in, shelves filled with books you knew and loved and ones you didn’t recognize, too. Game consoles lined the shelf below the plasma screen, and your toes curled into the fuzzy rug underfoot as you gaped at the room. Everything— even the curtains and the coasters on the coffee table— was exactly in your taste. You felt like you were in wonderland. Had you fallen down a rabbit hole and this was the magical, heavenly place you had landed in? Clearly this had to be a dream, right? You woke up as Todoroki Shouto’s long-time girlfriend, and apparently you lived here, with him?

Goddamn.

The kitchen, laundry room, main bath, office, bedroom, and master bath all fit your taste exactly the same. Only the second office and spare bedroom seemed a little out of place— they were more of a traditional Japanese design, but even though it was different, you did not mind. Even the runner on the staircase— who had a staircase in their apartment, by the way?!— was in a pleasing color and pattern. There was even a decently sized home gym, with various equipment and machines and a mirror running the length of the entire wall. By the end of your expedition, you were simply at a loss for words. You found Shouto sitting on one of the stools at the marble island that separated the kitchen and the living room, busy combing through some manila files.

“Umm,” you started, catching his attention.

He looked up at you, propping his chin onto his hand as his elbow rested on the counter. One brow quirked up, he grinned slyly at your outright astonishment. “Well?” he prompted, sitting up and rolling his neck, then stretching his broad shoulders. “What do you think?”

You try not to linger on the way the muscles rippled underneath his tight, crisp shirt, playing off your silence as shock. “It’s uh… perfect? I live here? I actually live here, right? You’re not pulling my leg?”

Shouto chuckled and shook his head. “I would never, love. Well, I have before, but no— I’m not right now. You live here. We live here. It’s all ours.”

You laughed giddily, unable to contain your excitement. Shouto smiled fondly at you, your grin infectious as your eyes wandered around the kitchen once more.

“Snack pantry is behind that door,” he nodded his head to the side and your eyes grew even starrier. He couldn’t help the laugh that trickled out of him at your instant footsteps— you were still you, after all. He knew all the ways to your heart very well, and one of them was most definitely through food.

“Woah.” Your mouth hung open once again at the rows of snacks and foods that greeted your gaze when you opened the door, the light flicking on automatically. Your eyes danced over the labels, recognizing many of your favorite flavors throughout the variety. “We could survive a whole year off of this stuff, Shouto.”

You stiffened when an arm wrapped around your middle, his front pressing up against your back as his chin fell onto your shoulder. That same comforting scent encircled you, but this time it was mixed with a subtle, woodsy aroma that made your mouth water.

Shouto breathed softly into your hair, the tip of his nose brushing the side of your neck. “I stocked up for your return, love.” He took another leisurely deep breath before he pulled back, his arm falling from your body and leaving you surprisingly cold without his touch. “Wanted you to have everything you could possibly desire.”

Your eyes inspected the pattern on the hardwood floor as he stepped away from you, your arm crossing over your front to grab onto your bicep nervously. Letting out a small laugh, you replied, “Yeah, I think you covered all the bases…”

He only hummed as he returned to his seat, sliding on a pair of thin metal glasses you hadn’t seen him take off before. You couldn’t help but think he looked incredibly handsome like this— a rare, domestic sight for only your eyes to enjoy. “Sorry I can’t entertain you at the moment,” he said, that analytical gaze locking onto you once more. “My agency asked me to look over these cases and I just have to finish them up— I’m technically on leave, but I still want to help out when I can. I only need another half hour or so. Feel free to help yourself to anything you like. This is your home, after all.”

You smiled and nodded, rolling back and forth on the balls of your feet. “Alright, I’ll try not to bother you.” Shouto frowned at your wording, but you carried on anyway. “I think I’ll poke around our room and see if I can find something that triggers a memory.” Your acknowledgement of your shared bedroom seemed to put him at ease, and with that, you grabbed a strawberry-flavored snack from the pantry before making your way past him, roaming over to the bedroom.

“You can go through my things if you want, too!” He called from behind you, having already made your way to the stairs. Choosing not to reply to his invitation, you hopped up the steps and quietly closed the door to your bedroom, hands landing on your hips. Inspecting the room from left to right, you decided to go through the toiletries in the master bath before anything else.

Before you could move even a foot in the direction of the en-suite, a furry creature darted out from underneath the bed skirt and dashed toward you. You gasped in delight at the gorgeous visage of the long-haired cat— she had bright blue eyes and fine white fur, her coat streaked with gray here and there. The cat meowed cutely and curled around your ankle, rubbing her head against your leg affectionately.

You immediately crouched down and lowered yourself to her level, fingers eagerly diving into her soft fur and offering a good scratch behind the ears. “Hi gorgeous,” you cooed, the animal mewling back at you in response. Your fingers found her collar and you flipped over the tag, reading her name with a smile. “Nice to meet you, Yuki.”

Heart softened at the thought of Shouto owning such a pretty creature, you gave her a good long rub before you decided to move on to your quest at hand. The creature followed closely behind, twisting in between your legs as you entered the en-suite.

The bathroom was large and luxurious, just what you would expect from a pro-hero of Shouto’s standing. It occurred to you that you too, were a hero of such regard, which must explain why you could afford all the lavish things you came across while combing through the closets and cabinetry.

You went through countless skincare products, face masks, makeup items, and bathing goods on what you presumed was your side of the double sink before you peeked into Shouto’s drawers. You fingered through his hygienic products, mumbling to yourself in surprise when you came across skincare items whose existence most men would not even be aware of. You shrugged and figured that you just must be an excellent girlfriend and teacher, assuming he used them correctly.

Eventually you found his shaving items, eyes scanning the labels until you find his aftershave. Shrugging, you took the cap off, giving a tentative sniff before you realized that must be what you smelled on him earlier, when he’d pressed up against you from behind and nuzzled into your neck. You bit your lip as you recalled how his arm felt around your waist, his nose on your throat. It had felt so intimate, and oddly… natural.

It was the most contact you’d had with him so far. While you were at the hospital, he would hold your hand. Besides that first moment when you had just woken up— when he hugged and kissed you, and the fireworks that had gone off had been then overshadowed by the horrific realization that your memory had been wiped— the half-hug just twenty minutes ago was the only time he had initiated further physical contact with you.

You frowned. It wasn’t like you’d been super affectionate toward him, either. Sure, you had reached out for his hand at the hospital, and you took it again during the car ride home… but now that it was just the two of you, alone in your home… it felt different. Maybe that was why Shouto had asked if you felt nervous when you were in the car, following your discharge from the hospital only an hour ago. Had he seen it coming— this potential pitfall in the reconstruction of your relationship? You wondered how he felt about all of this, but you were too shy to ask him so directly. Not when you barely knew him.

“Missed me so much you’re sniffing my cologne?”

You froze and glanced up at the mirror, Shouto’s reflection smirking at you from his leaned position against the doorway. Your cheeks immediately went warm and fuzzy again as you capped the glass bottle, carefully placing it back into its drawer before looking over your shoulder to him. A glance at the clock on the wall revealed it had been forty minutes; you must have gotten swept up in examining your beauty products.

He didn't have his glasses on anymore, and he had changed into a solid-colored t-shirt, the crisp button-down he’d donned earlier nowhere to be seen. Damn it… you had missed your chance to ogle at him with his shirt off. At your silence, his smirk melted into a small smile, stepping forward and joining your sitting form on the heated-tile floor. “Don’t worry, I’ve done the same to your perfume before as well,” he murmured as he reached toward the drawer on your far side, his arm brushing against your back as he searched for the glass vial. “You can try it, too. It’s the most recent addition to your collection, and I personally am very partial to its scent.”

The contact made you swallow, your gaze flicking over to his. He was looking at the various perfume bottles in the drawer, though, giving you the chance to inspect his face as his hair fell forward, soft locks of red and white splaying across his forehead. He was so breathtaking up close like this… your gaze dropped to his lips. God, you wanted to kiss him. You wanted to feel those lips on yours again, to be in his arms and to be held as tenderly as you were that first day you awoke.

“Oh right,” he chuckled, his hand coming up to rub the back of his neck awkwardly. “I brought it into the spare room the other day… Must’ve forgot to put it back.” He leaned back, ending the accidental physical contact with you.

You looked at him quizzically. “The spare room? Can I ask why?”

Shouto blushed and your heart thudded in your chest. Oh crap, he was so cute with his cheeks tinged pink. “Yeah… I’ve been sleeping in there since the accident. It just feels…,” he paused as he searched for the right word, eyes avoiding yours, “wrong… to be in our bed without you.”

Your own cheeks warmed at that, his confession pulling at your heartstrings. “So the perfume..?”

His cheeks darkened a few shades, the hand on his neck rubbing harder at his skin. “Ah, that’s… honestly kind of… embarrassing to explain.”

You reached out so your hand covered his, and Shouto sighed as he allowed your fingers to slide in between his. “Can I guess? Will you tell me if I’m right?” He nodded at that, deciding it was better if he didn't have to say it. “You spray my perfume onto a pillow at night and snuggle up with it?”

Shouto’s eyes widened at your immediate response, swallowing before he let out a stiff laugh and a nod. “Yeah, that’s exactly right… kind of lame, isn’t it?”

Shaking your head, you smiled gently at him. “No, I think it’s sweet. It’s just what I would do if you were away, too.”

There’s a shocked silence that filled the bathroom then, Shouto’s wide eyes fixed on you for a long, intense moment. Eventually you broke eye contact, looking to the floor with an awkward smile.

“And you don’t have to do that tonight…” you offered quietly. “If you want, I mean… you can sleep in here.”

“Is that where you’ll be sleeping?”

You looked back at him, surprised by his instant reply. “Y-Yeah, I think so…”

“Alright,” he conceded, his blank face melting into a warm smile. “Then that’s where I’ll sleep, too.”

You returned the gesture, pleased to have made him happy. “Will you be spraying me with perfume before we tuck in?” you joked, trying to lighten the mood.

“No,” Shouto answered seriously, the smile dropping from his face, “your natural scent is a thousand times better than any perfume, love. I’ve missed it lingering on our sheets.”

Cheeks warmed for what seemed like the thousandth time today, you tucked a piece of hair behind your ear and smiled, unsure of what to say. “Aha okay… well, I think you smell pretty good, too.”

⋆⋅✧⋅⋆⋅✧⋅⋆⋅✧⋅⋆

Shouto originally wanted to order in from your favorite restaurant for dinner, but you managed to sweet talk him into allowing you to cook instead. After about a week of feeling completely worthless, it was nice to have something you could finally, actually do.

The refrigerator was just as stocked as the pantry, so after analyzing the plethora of ingredients at your disposal, you decided on a meal and set off, gathering all the things you’d need in an excited hurry. Just as you were about to start washing vegetables, Shouto slipped an apron over your head, steady hands drawing the ties together at the bottom of your spine. The garment fit you perfectly, intricate design in your favorite color. You thanked him as you glanced over your shoulder, grinning up at him.

There was a somewhat somber look in his eyes, a halfhearted smile just barely curving his lips before he nodded and moved away, retreating back to the other side of the counter where he’s staked out to watch you work. He’d offered to help— numerous times, actually— but you told him to just sit back and relax. You wanted to do something for the tired man, even if it was as small as putting together a meal.

It didn't take long for you to get into a rhythm. Chopping the vegetables and preparing the other ingredients came naturally to you, and you found yourself enjoying the process. It was something familiar, which was very much welcome.

“Do we cook a lot?” you inquired, raising your voice a bit so Shouto could hear you over the sizzling pan in front of you.

He was leaning on the countertop again— he must’ve known he looked delicious like that or something— and he glanced over at you from the open book he was reading. “Mm, when we have time. It’s not that we don’t enjoy it, but usually we’re both very busy. It’s normal for us to leave early, and return home late.”

You nodded in understanding, grinding fresh peppercorns above the skillet and giving the contents a stir.

“I like everything you cook for me, though.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, stealing a look over at him. While your cooking had improved since your teenage years, it wasn’t like you were a chef by any means. “Everything? You’re just trying to be sweet on me.”

The corner of his mouth curled up. “Maybe… is it working?”

The sound of the food crackling from a drizzle of oil filled the kitchen for a beat, and you stared at the wilting greens before you, unable to bring yourself to look at him. “Yeah, I think it’s working…”

There was another pause in conversation, this one less stifling than before. This time, Shouto broke the ice. “Even though we’re busy people, we always have a date every Friday… It’s the highlight of my week.” His voice sounded gloomier than just a moment ago, but when you chanced a look over at him, he was smiling slightly, staring at a cabinet and seemingly off in his own memories.

You wondered which memory he was going over particularly, but didn’t want to intrude his recollection, so you focused on stirring the pan instead. Tapping your phone on the counter next to you just to make sure, your eyes flitted over today’s date.

Thursday.

“Tomorrow’s a Friday,” you mentioned, trying to be casual, despite your heartbeat ringing in your ears. It was stupid for you to get anxious that he’d reject you— he was your boyfriend after all. But to you, this was all uncharted territory; foreign waters.

“Tomorrow is a Friday, yeah,” he confirmed, looking down at his book again. “It’ll be a week since you woke up.”

The realization that you’d woken up exactly one week ago—the day that caused the man so much joy and then so much pain— that that day had been on a Friday, your sacred day that was devoted to being spent with each other… it made your heart throb uncomfortably in your chest. You nibbled on the inside of your cheek, shutting off the burner and transferring the food into a serving dish. Bringing it over to the counter and setting it in front of him, you untied the apron and folded it neatly, placing that on the counter too.

“Would you… want to go out with me tomorrow, then?” you proposed smally, opening the drawers before you in search of eating utensils. You frowned when all you were met with was measuring cups and spatulas. “For our Friday date ritual, I mean.”

Shouto stood and crossed the island, opening the drawer behind you and revealing all the silverware and chopsticks. You moved to grab two pairs of chopsticks and he took your wrist gently, large thumb stroking across your skin. His other hand came to brush against the small of your back, but he chose not to grab onto you. “I would love that.”

You shared a smile and a meaningful look.

“Then it’s a date.”

⋆⋅✧⋅⋆⋅✧⋅⋆⋅✧⋅⋆

After the dishes were all washed, you agreed to watch a movie. You had initially wanted to pour over your things again, to see if anything could help your memories come back. But Shouto had suggested the two of you relax on the couch instead, explaining that he was not surprised that you were overworking yourself, but that it was his job to make sure you took care of yourself. He further threatened that if you wouldn’t take care of yourself, then he would have to “take care of you himself”, and that left you flustered more than anything. So you dropped whatever excuse you had prepared to argue back at him and followed him to the living room.

Walking in, you blinked in awe at the spread that Shouto had set up. Numerous candies and snacks are laid out for your convenience across the coffee table. The lights were dimmed and curtains drawn, even a few candles flickering in the shadows and scenting the room with a cool, refreshing aroma. There was a pile of blankets stacked in the center of the sofa, all the decorative pillows pushed into the corners to leave one large space for the two of you to share. It was a little… dare you say it… romantic. You looked over your shoulder at him, shooting him a suspicious glance. He had led you to believe he was “taking care of you”, but it seemed he had ulterior motives, too. Not that you were complaining.

Seating yourself next to the blanket tower, you peeled one off the top before unfolding it, letting the soft fleece tickle your ankles and lay across your lap. Shouto crossed in front of the TV, grabbing two remotes from the basket and coming to sit next to you. There was a respectful amount of space between your legs, and you couldn’t help but frown at the gap. You thought that he would sit right next to you…

It took a little while for you to settle on a movie, all the films from the past five years unknown and novel to you… even if Shouto informed you you had already seen them. He went along with your selection without resistance, opting to grab one of the biscuit snacks on the table before you.

As the movie began, you leaned back against the soft cushions of the couch, not really focusing on the actors on the screen. Your eyes were trained on the television, but your mind was elsewhere, unable to distract yourself with the story. You also noticed that Shouto was sitting stiff as a board next to you, focused on nibbling at his snack. He didn’t attempt any moves at you throughout the first thirty minutes, even after he’d finished with his confection. Slowly you allowed yourself to relax, succumbing to the film and settling into the pillowy sofa.

Shouto detected your newfound relaxation, a gentle smile tugging at his lips as he watched your eyes fix on the main character and her love interest. “I’m going to make some tea. Would you like a cup, love?”

“I’m okay, thanks…” you replied softly, not really hearing him as the love interest was in the middle of their heartfelt confession.

He took a moment alone in the kitchen to calm himself. Even though you had been very receptive to him, he couldn’t help but feel hesitant whenever he touched you. He wanted you to want him; for you to want him to touch you. But he didn’t want to force anything with you, in fear that he’d scare you off or make a bad impression. He didn’t want to be pushy. Even before the accident, his heart still pounded whenever you would smile at him. When you would grab his hand, bring him something because it reminded you of him… when you would moan into his ear at ungodly hours in the night… Now it felt like his heart was in his throat every time you spoke to him, like if he said one word wrong, you’d fly away from him and never look back. It was terrifying.

Shouto shook his head. Sighing to himself, he filled his mug with water and held the ceramic in his hands, steam rising off the surface of the liquid almost instantly as he activated his quirk. He allowed the tea leaves to steep for a moment before he fished them out, steeling his nerves and returning to his spot on the couch. He couldn’t be sure, but it looked like you’d scooted over just the tiniest bit, shortening the distance between you two as he took his seat.

Your eyes flicked over to him and caught his gaze on you, inspecting the mug in his hands before giving a curious sniff. “Chamomile?”

He nodded and offered the cup to you, which you took in both hands. “Technically, it’s called Sleepytime Mix. But yes, it has chamomile. Have some, if you want.”

“Ah,” you gave a long inhale and smiled drowsily at the familiar scent. “I don’t wanna drink all your tea. And besides, it’s a little hot for me.”

“Oh,” Shouto said, taking the cup back into his hands. He focused for a second, and then the liquid no longer emitted steam, now a pleasant, warm temperature. “Try it now. Help yourself, please.” He handed the mug back to you, the light from the television flickering across his handsome face.

You blinked at him cutely, taking the mug in your hands again. Your fingers brushed against his in the transfer, and he cleared his throat slightly, skin warmed from your touch. “Wow!” you chimed after a sip, going back for another few gulps before you handed it back to him. “It’s really good. Perfect temp, Sho, thank you.”

Shouto felt his heart skip a beat in his chest, his eyes widening at the name he hadn’t heard in weeks. It sounded so good rolling off your tongue, so right. At his flustered expression, you laughed awkwardly, fingers delving into the blanket and looking away meekly.

“Sorry… I thought that that was probably what you’re used to me calling you, but I can use something else if you like.”

“No,” he said instantly, his hand automatically reaching for yours. He pried it out of the fleecy material, folding his fingers around yours. “I like it. Please call me that, I… I’ve missed hearing it.”

“Alright,” you mumbled, fingers squeezing his for a moment. You kept his gaze for a long pause, and then you duck down, scooching flush against his side and laying your head onto his broad shoulder. It caught him off guard, but after a moment of buffering, he moved, his arm tentatively wrapping around your shoulders and pulling you against his side. The action made your cheeks perhaps as hot as the tea in his mug, but you only settled deeper into his embrace, happy to be in his arms. You fixed the blanket so it covered his long legs, too, settling over the both of you snuggly.

You two stayed like that for the rest of the movie, another forty five minutes or so. Your hand gradually moved to rest on his stomach, his long fingers stroking your spine through your shirt. It was new to you, but it was comfortable— your body recognized his touch and welcomed it, even— years of unknowingly conditioning yourself to receive his affection allowing you to accept his embrace. By the end of the film, you were dozing off, warm and relaxed now more than ever, curled up into Shouto’s side.

Shouto, however, was wide awake, his pulse rushing in his ears at your proximity. It had been a very long month without you, and now here you were, cuddled up with him just like how you used to be every night. He knew you were somewhere in between consciousness and sleep, so he let the entire movie credits roll by before he decided to move you. Still holding his mug, which had been empty for the past half hour— but he didn’t want to risk moving and causing you to pull away— he set it on the side table, carefully maneuvering his wide frame so as to not disturb you.

You whined in protest but did not stir when he curled his arms around you, picking your form up and off the couch. After making sure all the candles were blown out and the lights were turned off, he quietly carried you to your shared room, not bothering to turn on the lights. It was then that he hesitated to make the next move— you were still in your clothes from the day, and he wasn’t sure if you would want him to see your bare body if he took the liberty to rid you of them.

His tongue wandered over the bottom of his teeth as he gazed at you, strewn across the soft blankets that covered your bed. The few beams of moonlight that slithered through the bottom of the blinds fell perfectly onto your face, your lashes casting long shadows onto the duvet and giving you an ethereal glow. He could imagine how your naked skin looked underneath that cute little sweater you donned, your bra strap poking out as if to tease him even more. His eyes slammed shut as he sucked in a sharp breath between his teeth, recognizing the color, and the image of you clad in the matching panties that completed the set suddenly sprung forth in his mind.

Acquainted was an understatement as to how well he knew your body, but the problem was not as simple as physicality— the problem was mental, and it could not be vanquished by anything except time, it seemed. The beautiful brain he loved so dearly was now wiped, void of all the memories the two of you had made and cherished together. Shouto clutched his stomach as he took a seat on the ottoman at the foot of the bed, feeling sick from the forceful whirlwind of emotion that came along with the thoughts that crept up on him in the night. The knowledge that you did not remember him, not even one measly memory of him, upset him more than anything.

He had not realized how much his world had shifted now that he had you. Of course, he loved you and he made great effort to ensure that you knew the extent of his devotion to you. But it wasn’t until you had woken up like this, confused and distraught, mind reverted to just months before he had even met you, that he had come to terms with just how much you meant to him. He knew that he loved you before. But now he knew the pain of being unable to hold you, and be with you— really, even talk to you like he had grown so accustomed to.

It was eating him alive, and tearing him apart.

When you had awoken after such an excruciating, lonely month, he had been overjoyed. Finally, he could be with you again— he could touch you and kiss you, hear your sweet voice, hold your body close to his as you fell asleep, and wake up with you still in his arms, groggy and adorable… except, he couldn’t. Because while you knew who he was… you didn’t, really. You didn’t know him at all. And what hurt the most was that he could see that you were trying… but at the end of the day, he was only a stranger to you. He was not your boyfriend, not anything more, other than a hero that you idolized and had a silly crush on.

At the very least, he found comfort in the knowledge that you found him attractive. Of course, you had revealed to him, albeit once you were deep into your relationship, that you had fantasized about him and fostered a schoolgirlish crush on him when you hadn’t yet been introduced. He remembered laughing at your embarrassed confession, pinching your cheeks and then kissing you through his smile… then, taking you from behind as you bent over the bathroom counter, pressing you against the mirror as he donned his hero suit, savoring your pleading moans for him to fuck you deeper, harder.

His cock twitched in his slacks, blood beginning to travel south as his interest grew for the first time in weeks. He groaned and he grit his teeth, frustrated at himself for even daring to feel desire while you laid asleep next to him, plagued by your wiped memory but sitting there looking like that. Gorgeous and untouchable.

As if his heated gaze had summoned you from your slumber, your eyes opened and you blinked at him, squinting at his silhouette in the dark of the room. Shouto recoiled even though he hadn’t been caught doing anything too suspicious; he was a good distance away from you, but still, you had caught him staring at you like a creep in the shadows.

“Sho?” you mumbled drowsily, a hand coming up to rub at your eyes. You propped your body up on your elbows, your shift stretching flush over your chest.

Shouto nearly moaned at the sight combined with the sound of your sleepy voice uttering his name. It didn't help the situation that was stirring in his pants one bit, only adding water to an oil fire. “Hey,” he replied, clearing his throat. “You fell asleep, so I brought you to bed.. Did you want to clean up before we go to sleep?”

You sighed, rolling over as you roused yourself from sleep. “Not really…,” you chuckled, and Shouto felt his chest tighten at the premise of having to get into bed with you with his problem at hand. “But I’ll be a responsible adult,” you finished, rolling out of bed and padding over to the bathroom.

He glanced over at you in the mirror as you brushed your teeth, the cat curling around his ankle and taking his attention away from you. Giving the animal a scratch underneath her chin, he tried to focus on calming himself, closing his eyes and controlling his breathing. Even though this wasn’t at all like how it had been before, it was still better than being alone. Your presence, the sound of you tidying yourself up in the nearby vicinity, took the month-long weight of loneliness off of his chest. It still stung, it still hurt— but at the very least, you were here. You were alive, and you were here with him.

It was you calling out for him that interrupted his train of thought, and when he looked toward your voice, he found you peeking around the doorframe, your hair pushed back and your face glistening with moisture from your nightly routine. “Aren’t you going to wash up, too? There’s two sinks in here, y’know,” you stated matter-of-factly, as if he didn’t know the layout of his own home.

But Shouto only smiled at you and nodded, leaving the cat and accepting your invitation for him to join you in your bedtime ritual. The situation in his pants had since relaxed, thankfully, so he didn’t have to worry as he took his place adjacent to you at the sink counter. Squeezing toothpaste onto the bristles of his toothbrush, and watching you put on your moisturizer in his peripheral, it felt almost as if nothing had changed. For the first time in a long time, he let himself forget about the horrible curveball that life had thrown at him, instead choosing to stare at you as you picked up the cat at your feet, and placed a sweet kiss on the top of its head as you cradled it in your arms.

You padded out of the bathroom first, opting to close the door behind you. After Shouto had finished his routine, he slinked out into the bedroom quietly, surprise flickering in his gaze at the pyjamas you were now dressed in— a pair of soft sleep shorts and an old t-shirt you had stolen from him years ago. He tried not to stare as you crawled into the sheets, the cat taking her perch at the foot of the bed.

The clearing of his throat caught your attention, and he licked his lip as your eyes settled on his. “Is it okay if I sleep without a shirt?” he asked, having to keep himself from smirking as your eyes widened and a flustered expression blossomed on your face. Cute.

“Y-Yeah,” you stuttered after a second of recalibrating, your eyes still trained on his. “The doctors said we should just live out our normal routine, so… whatever we normally do, we should do.” Sliding deeper underneath the comforter, you pretended to look busy as you fiddled with your phone.

Shouto bit his lip and wondered if telling you that your nightly routine of getting naked and passionate between the sheets would do you any good, but he decided against it, not willing to push his luck. Instead, he tore his shirt over his head and pulled down his pants, turning toward the wall so you wouldn’t have to look him in the eye. He could still feel your gaze on his flesh— he always could, for his skin prickled and the hairs on his body stood up as your eyes roved over every inch of him in appreciation. He didn’t need to see you to know that you were staring.

After he stepped into a long pair of sleep pants, he turned and pretended not to notice your obvious shuffling in a foiled attempt to not be caught looking at him. Carefully he slipped into the sheets on his side of the bed, ensuring not to wander too close to you in order to keep a respectful distance between your bodies… even though he wanted nothing more than to launch himself at you, and wrap his body around yours until neither of you could tell where one of you stopped, and the other started.

There was a long, stuffy silence as the two of you laid there, both of you unsure as to the level of affection you should be displaying at the moment. Shouto was doubtful that you’d want him to hold you like he so desperately desired, and you were hesitant to initiate anything with him laying frozen and a good distance away from you.

“Is this… how we normally sleep?” you wondered aloud, and though you were surprised that the words actually fell from your lips, you were grateful to have broken the rising tension.

Shouto left out a breath he had been holding at that, turning so that he was facing you on his side. “No,” he answered truthfully, his fingers sliding over the cool cotton that separated your bodies, wandering toward you at a snail's pace. “Usually… we like to,” he cleared his throat, trying to get rid of the lump that was situated there, “snuggle.”

In the quiet of the room, he could hear your lips part, a soft breath falling from between them as you processed his response. Your heart was beating faster now, body crying out for his touch, his embrace. “Can we?” you asked so softly that you hadn’t thought he’d heard you, but slowly, surely, he shuffled toward you.

You inhaled as he placed a gentle hand on your waist, pulling your body to slide across the sheets and meet him in the middle of the bed. Lifting your head so he could slip his arm beneath your neck, he brought your face into his neck, arms wrapping tight around your torso. His fingers dug into your side and the hair at the crown of your neck, curling around the tendrils as if he was scared that you would slip out of his grasp at any moment. Pressed up against his bare chest, you could hear the steady, fast thumping of his heart, and the shakiness in each breath he drew in and let out.

It sounded like he was trying not to cry.

Your hand wandered up and under his neck, your elbow angling around the back of his neck so that your fingers could trace the sinews that lined his shoulder blades. Your other arm slung around his back, and although it was just a bit of a reach, you managed to find his silky locks, combing through the ends with your fingers. Daring to push the fragile boundaries that kept you two separate, you threw your leg across his hips, trapping his legs between yours and pressing your body completely flush against his.

Shouto stopped breathing, tears threatening to spill over as he held you so delicately for the first time in what seemed like forever. Similar emotions were flowing through you as well, your body singing at the feeling of being with him, in his embrace. Your heart throbbed at the thought of leaving this man alone for an entire month, with no one to comfort him and calm his worries. No one to hold him and tell him that it was going to be okay, no one to plant kisses across his tear-streaked cheeks and help him forget his pain.

It wasn’t your fault you had been in this accident, that you had forgotten your memories from the past five years. But it wasn’t his, either. The two of you were forced to suffer in different ways, separated by your condition and worlds apart. You wished so desperately that you would just remember already— if not for your sake, then for his. Anything that would make him feel better, anything to ease the ache in his heart.

“I’m sorry,” you choked out quietly, overcome with emotion as you laid in the arms of the man you had once loved. The man you’d been learning to love again. “I’m so sorry I don’t remember you. I want to, I’m trying.” A tear dripped down your face and landed on his chest, sliding down to stain the sheets.

Shouto sucked in a shaky breath at your meager apology, rough fingers running over the back of your neck. “I know you are,” he murmured, and you could feel him swallow thickly as he tried to find the right words. “It’s not your fault, love… You can’t— you can’t blame yourself.” His voice broke at the last syllable, his arms squeezing tighter as he held onto you.

You pressed your face into the junction between his shoulder and his neck, uncaring of your tears that smeared across his skin. “Neither can you,” you sniffled, body clinging to him as best you could. “Please, Shouto, promise me you won’t.”

It was then that he let the tears he had been holding back fall, racing down his cheeks to plop onto the dampening pillow. You held him as he cried, unphased by the sudden outburst of emotion from the man who had shown you so little of himself in the past week.

“I’ll try,” he mumbled into your hair once he had calmed down a bit, lungs still rattling as he tried to suppress his emotions. “For you, I’ll try.”

You leaned back from his chest, his heart seizing up at the tear tracks on your cheeks that were illuminated by the soft moon’s glow. And then, you kissed him. It was simple and sweet, just your lips pressed to his as your thumb swiped across his cheek. But it felt like you were breathing life into him, like he had been starved of oxygen until this very moment.

Both of you gasped when you pulled away, the kiss having lasted as long as you could stand without breaking for breath. Your eyes wandered from his shining ones to his lips, shocked that you had planted such a passionate kiss there just seconds ago. It had worked, though— Shouto was breathing normally and his tears had stopped, dual-colored eyes now staring at you as if you had just given him a purpose to live. You licked your lips, not missing the way his gaze flicked down to watch the action with longing, but he did not act on it.

“We’ll get through this together,” you whispered, hand resting on his sharp jawline. There was not a hint of doubt in your voice, no hesitance nor fear. It was just a fact, simple as that. You let yourself look at his handsome face for a moment longer before you ducked and nuzzled into his chest again, taking your spot as if you had never left.

Shouto exhaled, his fingers trailing down your spine as he closed his eyes, syncing his breathing to yours. The feeling of your body wrapped around his made his bones glow with a missed sense of comfort, his heart fuller than it had been for quite some time. He welcomed sleep to take him, the exhaustion of many long and insomnia-plagued nights from the past month all piling on. Pressing his lips to your forehead as softly as he could, he closed his eyes and murmured one word, wishing with every fiber of his being for you to wake up the next morning and have just one memory of him.

“Together.”

─── ・°* ﾟ✧:* • ｡ﾟ:*･☽･*: ｡ﾟ•*:✧ ﾟ*°・ ───

...soooooooo idk how this is only part 1, shit’s 11k already 💀 ahh for those of you who made it through, thank you so much for reading and i hope you enjoyed!! there was no smut in this chapter which is so foreign to me, but i’m hoping to improve my story creation skills as part of my 2021 author resolutions... so, let me know what you think! hopefully part 2 will come to fruition soon, but it would probably come faster if i knew people were waiting for it ;)

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beerecordings · 3 years

Text

Marvin's Cage

Story One l Story Two l Story Three l l Story Four l Story Five

This is part 1 of the sixth story, where Marvin's secret comes to light. Tws for extreme distress, imprisonment, Anti's general creepiness, and mentions of human trafficking.

Thanks for reading! Let me know if you love to hate it. I'll hopefully have the next part fairly soon. But also this is quite long, as a heads up

Okay, here we go...

They stack cards in terse silence, racing through decks, climbing up to Jacks, Queens, Kings. They both grab at a black seven of hearts at the same time and end up slapping at each other's hands, JJ yanking the card back just before his opponent. Anti cackles and keeps flipping cards, waiting for the next one to snatch.

“Peanuts,” signs JJ suddenly, and Anti swears and laughs and starts picking the cards up to re-deal, doling them out in piles, and they're playing again, without a word, stacking decks, up and up and up.

After a few rounds, JJ reaches for a bottle of water at his side, sucking it down and brushing at his sweaty hair. Anti rocks on his thighs, chewing at his nails. “Where's your sweet Big Brother today, child?” he asks.

“Comes and goes,” signs JJ, setting his bottle down and getting a granola bar out of its box for lunch. “Birthday week. Celebrate, family. But he will come see me soon. He loves me because I've been very good.”

He stacks up a fresh set for another game, yawning.

“He ought to let you come play with me in the real world,” purrs Anti, stroking his thumb across JJ's chin. Jameson shivers, but he does not protest. “He's so mean to keep you from me. Now all I get to do is come visit you and play silly games. My warm flesh... don't you know I miss you?”

JJ sorts his cards quietly, avoiding his eye. Anti reaches forward and grips his neck, squeezing gently.

“My warm flesh,” he repeats softly, licking his lips.

Jameson breathes through his mouth as Anti begins to strangle him, keeping calm. The easiest thing is just to get through it. If he talks back or makes Anti angry, then he'll really get hurt, and there will be nothing he can do to stop it. Anti gets up on his knees and crawls into JJ's space, pushing him down onto the floor of his cage. He straddles his waist and increases the pressure on his throat. JJ gazes up at him, still.

“We had such a good time together,” hums Anti, feeling his thready human heartbeat beneath his hands. “Didn't we?”

JJ doesn't remember much good about his time with Anti. He knows the taste of a human heart in his mouth. He was once chained against a wall so tightly he couldn't protest when the rats began to gnaw at him. At one point, he was so delirious and hurt that he believed he was dead for two weeks straight.

That's the good thing about his Brother. Not being allowed to leave this box doesn't matter, and neither do the occasional beatings or possessions Anti causes him, because Brother would never let anything half as horrible as the things Anti used to do to him happen anymore. Brother protects him from Anti – and protects everyone else in the world from Anti using his body.

He shudders at the memory of his teeth clamping down around the beating muscle his hands pulled from a stranger's chest. Blood leaking onto his tongue, warm as it filled his mouth. He was laughing. His fingers dug into soft, squishy organs, the filth filling up his broken nails, and his heart beat like the wing of a hummingbird beneath his ribs, making him dizzy with Anti's sick delight.

Yes. Brother protects him. Brother protects everyone. That's why he's here.

He's just beginning to lose consciousness from the cut-off of his oxygen when something stops Anti.

His head tilts and his ears perk up as he stills, paying attention to something JJ has not sensed yet. His mismatched eyes flicker back and forth as he thinks – and then a wide smile grows on his face.

“Please let go,” signs JJ, squirming.

“Someone... other than Marvin,” Anti mumbles. “Oh, this will be really good.”

JJ stills, blinking. Anti creeps to his feet, gazing through the front of JJ's box from the corner, trying to look without being seen. His eyes light up with a venomous light. He turns his smile towards JJ, eyes gleaming.

He crawls back into JJ's space, tucking a strand of his brother's hair behind his ear. JJ holds still as Anti leans close to him, whispering against his ear:

“Things are going to change for you now, my darling. But I'll see you again soon. I promise. So don't forget about me, child – not even for a moment.”

A cold kiss presses against the side of JJ's head.

Then Anti is gone, leaving only a faint and fading trail of glitching colors behind him.

JJ waits for a few moments, but he's so used to Anti's mannerisms he can't even be unnerved. He sighs, scattering the cards across the floor. Well, if Anti is gone, he'll have to find something else to do.

He reaches for his violin, getting to his feet and stretching a little before setting the bow down. Still, he can't shake a feeling that something in the air has changed for good.

Jackie treads on the solid floor of the endless mirror, his head tilted as he listens to the music.

“What the hell is this?” he whispers, creeping forward.

It's certainly not a portal to anywhere, not like it used to be, or at least this isn't the door. Instead there's some kind of box, a shed or a tiny house like on TV or maybe just a really weird puppet theater. The words “JJ's Jolly Jaunts” is spread across the top of the inside layer, behind bars, and it makes Jackie's stomach do a weird, foreboding turn that he doesn't understand.

Something about this is fucked up, that's all he knows. But if it has something to do with his missing brother – well, why wouldn't Marvin tell him? Has he been trying to find him? Is this some freaky memorial to him? Does Marvin think he's dead?

His next footstep lands heavily, echoing a little in the expanse. The music that he thought must have played from a speaker cuts off with a timid release of the violin bow from its strings, and he stops dead in his tracks.

Something is in here.

Someone is in here.

Being alarmed and weirded out, however, is only a catalyst for Jackie's curiosity, and the not-knowing becomes almost unbearable. He races towards the box, setting his tense fingers on the side of the barred window as he looks in.

There are decorations like fairy nights and pinned-up drawings of animals overhead a big red rug and a mattress with blankets and pillows disarrayed on top. A small curtain covers a corner in the back, stuffed animals stack against the wall opposite, and there are tupperware containers and cardboard boxes full of granola bars, dried fruits, cookies, and more. Art supplies scatter across the floor – paper and charcoal and bits of fabric and buttons. Jackie leans a little farther over the sill, his face nearly pressing against the bars around the outside, and he sees homemade puppets among the felt and sewing materials.

“This is fucked,” he mutters, turning to the left. Pressed closer, he can see some cleaning supplies. He turns to the right and –

Jackie rears back with a shout, his heart leaping into a double-time march.

Silence in the mirror realm. Nothing moves.

Deep breaths, Jackie. Deep breaths.

“Jameson?” he whispers, stepping cautiously back towards the cage. “I... is that you?”

It looked like him, for the moment where Jackie's eyes landed on him, a figured pressed against the closest corner of the box, clutching a violin like a shield and staring back at Jackie with wide eyes. But it couldn't be. Why would he be here? None of this makes sense, but the idea that comes closest – of course.

“Not Jameson,” he realizes, face darkening. “Anti. Right? Marvin caught you, didn't he? And he's... trying to get you out of Jameson's skin. Trying to make you let him go. You fucking parasite.”

There's a slight scraping of cloth on wood. Jackie tenses, licking his mouth, and waits for Anti to start laughing and step out to see him.

But nothing moves.

“If you're trying to get me to come closer, you missed your opportunity,” snarls Jackie. “Fuck, I can't believe – why wouldn't he tell me about this? It must have been just the last couple weeks that he caught you, since we fought just before. You've been possessing him this whole time, then, bastard? You're a creep. When I figure this out with Marvin, you'll never touch him again.”

And Jackie waits again, but... nothing.

This isn't like Anti. Not taunting? Not snarling and snapping or teasing Jackie over every failure he's ever been haunted by?

Why the pictures on the wall? Why all the stuffed animals? What the hell is going on?

“Forget you, then,” Jackie scowls. “I need to go talk to Marvin.”

He turns to walk away, back towards the portal, mind racing. He needs to talk to him before he gets more confused.

He touches the portal to leave.

Why the pictures? Turtles and bears and butterflies?

That's not Anti.

It must be.

Why the stuffed animals? A well-loved puppy, ratty with hugs and petting?

Anti wouldn't do that.

It only looks like Jameson because it's Anti. It has to be Anti.

Why any of this? The obvious time that's been spent in that box even though he saw Anti not a month past? The scared look on Anti's face as he hid from Jackie, something he's never done before? The violin music? Does Anti play violin now?

That is not Anti.

But it has to be, so –

“I need to talk to Marvin,” he repeats to himself, heart racing again. “I need...”

Marvin lied to me.

Marvin didn't tell me about this. Hid this. On purpose. Denied all of it a hundred times.

No. That's my little brother. I can trust him.

He lied.

And that –

It's Anti.

It's not Anti.

It has to be.

It isn't.

Looking back at this moment, Jackie will wonder what would have happened if he went through that portal and asked Marvin what was going. What he would have said. If he would have lied, if he would have made excuses. If he would have just been silent.

It doesn't matter now.

He knows that something is not right, and he can't trust Marvin – shit, he's never had that thought before, not once in his life – so he has to figure this out on his own.

He walks back towards that cage in the middle of the endless reflections of himself. In the mirrors, he can see himself walk towards the box from behind – steady, tentative steps, tense shoulders beneath a red jacket, hands in black gloves squeezed into fists. He can see himself from the side, with his mouth parted and his eyes fixed ahead. He can see his own face, looking into his own eyes, looking into the face he shares with his younger brother, the first younger brother he had, the one who made everything else worth having.

As he comes back towards the box, he realizes that whoever is in there must have thought he left like he said he would, because now he hears soft sobbing coming from inside. He hears the moment the violin is set aside with a slight thud, and cloth slides against the wood as the prisoner sits down on the floor. Jackie stands outside, listening, his eyes beginning to burn.

Not Anti. Not Anti. He knows. In his heart, yes – in his heart he already knows.

“Hello?” he calls.

The crying cuts off. Jackie closes his eyes. Deep breaths. Deep breaths, Jackie, even if this can't be true.

“Look, Anti,” he says. “If that's you, well. I hate your guts, but I still don't think you should be trapped in a box like this. Nobody should be. Come out and tell me what's going on and we'll figure this out.”

The prisoner doesn't bite.

“Okay,” sighs Jackie. “Um. Listen, I... I'm sorry I yelled. If you're not Anti, please let me know. I'm not going to hurt you. I was just surprised. And scared, I think. I don't know what's going on.”

A soft, shaky breath moves through the air.

“I'm going to come closer now,” says Jackie, straightening up. “I'm going to look at you again. Please don't scratch my eyes out or anything. Okay.”

He leans in for a second time, bringing his head close to the bars.

There he is. The prisoner in the corner. He's sitting down now, arms wrapped around himself. His face is mostly hidden in the knees drawn to his chest, but his eyes –

Big blue eyes look up at Jackie from beneath overgrown, mousy brown curls.

Jackie has never claimed to be good at reading others. He actually tends to miss plenty that other people seem to find obvious in mere expressions and gestures. But this...

No. He could never forget this exact look, these exact eyes. The eyes of the little brother that stared up at him for hours that night so many months ago when he lost him. The eyes that were looking at him when he lost consciousness and woke up to an empty bed and a missing piece of his heart. The fear and the confusion and the hope and the love all at once.

His Jameson.

Jackie bows his head and cries.

For long minutes he's bent over the side of that ledge by the box, one hand clinging to the bars behind which his youngest brother has been kept as a prisoner, and he can't seem to stop no matter how hard he tries. There is no noise from Jameson. Jackie can't look at him again. Can't bear it.

And then the soft brush of something against his hand startles Jackie from his breakdown, and he looks up to find a tissue pressed against his fingers.

JJ has brought him a tissue.

Jackie stares at him and Jameson looks back, ducking his head shyly now, even as he pulls Jackie's fingers around the Kleenex, plucking gently at his hand. Jackie takes the tissue. JJ backs away again, still holding that battered violin to his chest like a shield.

“Thank you,” croaks Jackie.

Jameson nods just a little, eyes fixed on him.

“Do you... remember me?” asks Jackie. “We were... it was so short. Just that night. And you were sick and confused. He'd been possessing you a long time and I just – do you remember at all or...?”

Jameson scoots a little closer, chewing at his nails for a second.

His fingers reach out to touch Jackie's again. Curl around the back of his hand and settle there. Soft.

He nods just a little a second time.

Yeah. He remembers.

“Jameson,” breathes Jackie.

He reaches for his hand in return. Their fingers lock together through the bars.

Laughter bubbles up in the empty coldness of the mirror realm, and after a moment Jackie realizes he is the one he's laughing.

“Yes,” he laughs, squeezing his hands, and JJ looks back at him in awe, letting his violin fall to the side. “Yeah, Jameson, my little brother. You remember me. You're alive! You're here! JJ, JJ... how do I get you out?”

He wants to be holding him. Now. Wants to wrap him up like the kittens Marvin used to sneak into the house and take him back to the world and never let him the fuck out of his sight again.

Jameson glances to the right of his box and Jackie goes racing around the side to find the opening. There's nothing but a half-door carved into the side and this is locked by a padlock with no keyhole. Jackie grabs the chunk of metal, frowning, and there – carved into the back of the metal are sigils that burn with heat even untouched in the coldness.

Magic.

He returns to JJ, taking his hand again.

“I'm going to get you out of here,” he says, and it's so true and so important in his chest that it hurts somehow to get the words out. “I'm here now and I will not let anything more happen to you.”

He wishes JJ would smile or nod or anything like that. But he just stares at Jackie with that big, starry awe in his blue eyes, and squeezes his hand softly, shuffling closer to him, staring. Jackie holds his breath as Jameson leans his head against the bars of his prison so his forehead almost touches Jackie's. He picks up the discarded tissue and presses it against Jackie's reddened cheeks, mouth parting.

Jackie clings to his hands and closes his eyes, letting his little brother brush his tears away.

“Jameson,” he says, just soft, though everything seems loud in the silence, in the emptiness, in the endless cold. “Tell me who did this to you.”

JJ draws away. There is a pause where he looks down at his toys and his animals and his art. His hands wrap around each other. He shrugs his shoulders weakly.

“Tell me,” says Jackie, reaching for him again. “Jamie, my Jamie. Tell me.”

His head already knows, but in his chest –

No.

Jameson chews at his nails for a second, big eyes flashing up to Jackie, and then he turns and points at the picture pinned to the wall above his mattress.

In JJ's charcoals, Marvin is thin and tired, but whoever drew the curve of his sorrowful mouth and detailed the light in his eyes loves him.

Jackie's heart stays steady. His eyes do not burn. His lets out just one more shaking breath.

Very well, then.

“Jameson,” he says. “I will be right back.”

“No! No, not even like that.”

“There's no scenario in which this works, Chase.”

“Guys, hear me out!” Chase cries, re-adjusting on the couch between them and snagging popcorn from Marvin's bowl. “Okay, so the earth is round – ”

“Well, he's got that much right,” says Marvin.

“Already better than I was expecting, to be fair,” agrees Henrik.

“The earth is ROUND,” re-iterates Chase, shoving them both. “So theoretically, if I got enough momentum, and there was a path that went all the way around... I could Heely the whole way round the earth.”

“No,” groan his siblings, throwing popcorn at him. “No, that still doesn't – ”

“Haters! Haters, the both of you!”

Marvin's laughing and antagonizing Chase by pushing him with his socked feet, trying to throw him off the couch while Henrik shields the cat from the fighting on the other side of the cushions. They've been talking about stupid shit for so long he's completely lost track of the plot of the movie they're watching, but it doesn't matter.

Nothing matters but them. And you know what, he feels good today, feels light and painless for the first time in a long time. For them to actually set aside the time for his birthday... well, that's the only thing he could have asked for. That and some earrings. And food. And a couple other things he wanted. But really the time together is the important stuff.

And here comes Jackie to complete them.

“Good afternoon, my darling, and will you be joining us?” he crows, letting his feet fall into Chase's lap instead of continuing to try and shove him off the couch. “Sit down with us and let's – um, Jackie?”

Why is he standing like that? Too still on the stairs. Wild, bouncy Jackie frozen stiff with his palm spread out against the wall, steadying him like a statue with a weak foundation. In his other hand: his fighting staff, extended and clenched so hard in his fingers that they have gone red with blood.

“Jackie?” asks Chase. All three of them are staring up at him by now, the TV playing loudly in front of them. “Everything okay?”

Jackie blinks at him a couple times, his face blank.

Henrik and Chase look at each other, eyebrows raising. Marvin's eyes are just fixed on their oldest brother. He realizes that his body has gone just as tense as Jackie's, his legs swinging off Chase's lap and setting firmly against the carpeted floor, a hand pressed against the cushion beside him.

Jackie starts shaking his head. Head low, eyes haunted.

“What's the matter?” asks Marvin.

Jackie shakes his head at him. His mouth is taut and his eyes narrow, angry like a wounded dog.

Marvin's throat is dry.

“What's the matter?” he repeats.

“Chase, Henrik,” says Jackie. “Go to Stacy's and stay there til I say you can come home.”

Chase pauses the movie, gaping at Jackie. Beyond the bizarre suddenness of the request, he never calls Schneep 'Henrik.' After a second, he moves to rise, but Henrik reaches across them to grab his arm and pull him back down.

“I don't think we're going anywhere, my friend,” says Henrik softly. “What's going on?”

“'Maybe Marvin can tell you,” Jackie answers.

Marvin can almost feel his own neurons firing. In a second, he has made the decision to lie through his teeth.

Because this isn't happening. He won't let this be happening. Jackie does not know – you've been scared that he does a million times before and they've all been false alarms, don't overreact, this is just some kind of misunderstanding – and he will never know. He will never, never know.

“Jackie, I don't know what's going on,” says Marvin sadly. “Tell us, please.”

“Yeah, Jackie, shit, you're freaking me out,” Chase agrees. “You want me to turn the lights off? You can lie down and – ”

“I'm fine,” says Jackie. “Marvin, you know, you – ”

“I don't know what's going on.”

“I went in your room.”

He laughs. Doesn't know why. “Okay?”

Henrik and Chase just look between him and Jackie. Jackie starts coming down the stairs. Heavy footsteps on the wood.

“Let's go look together.”

Marvin's smiling at his brother, his lip snarling a little.

He nightmared over this moment so many times. Is it really here? He always thought it would make him scared.

It just makes him angry.

Jackie doesn't know shit and it will stay that way. Stupid, naive Jackie. Marvin will lie his way out of this if he has to gaslight Jackie til Chase and Henrik call him crazy.

“There's nothing in there,” he says.

Jackie grabs him by the arm.

“Jackie!” calls Henrik, getting to his feet and setting his hands indignantly on his hips. Marvin wants to laugh again. Schneep is using his big, bad doctor voice, just like he would with any other argument in their house. Like they're fighting over who flooded the sink or whether to keep the kittens Queenie's pregnant with. Like it's just any other day.

There's no inkling in either him or Chase that this is Marvin's apocalypse. Somehow, it makes him feel powerful. Even if Jackie does have some idea of what's going on, only Marvin knows how deep this really goes.

“Don't grab him like that,” Henrik is scolding. “Now tell us what's going on or – ”

“Don't bother, Schneep,” says Marvin, staring right at Jackie. “He's angry. And you know Jackie when he's angry. He doesn't listen to anyone.”

Jackie's ears draw back and his mouth clamps tighter. He's gazing right back at Marvin. Heat like a geyser in his blue eyes.

“Let him drag me, whatever,” Marvin continues. “He'll realize he was wrong with whatever he's talking about later and come sobbing to me for forgiveness. 'Oh, Marvel, I was so mean, I'm sorry, I'm really sorry...'”

Jackie yanks him hard towards the stairs, ignoring Chase and Henrik shouting at them. Marvin lets him march him towards his room, but it's becoming less funny. His eyes burn and it seems difficult to breathe. His heart pounds against his ribs hard enough that Jackie might be able to feel it from his grip on him.

He can see Anti under Jameson's skin in days gone by, signing slowly at him, promising him that he'll regret what he's done. He laughs weakly as Jackie tears open the door of his room and shoves him inside.

“Jackie, don't push him!” shouts Chase, tugging on the back of Jackie's sweatshirt. “Hey, look at me!”

“Tell them what's in the mirror, Marvin.” Jackie advances on him. Marvin tries to move past him, but he won't let him. Pushing him back towards Jamie's mirror. “Tell them.”

“You've lost it, Jackie,” snaps Marvin.

“Jackie, what's gotten into you?” cries Chase. “Leave him alone! Marvin?”

Marvin wants to call to him – baby, it's okay, amata, don't worry – but how is he supposed to say that now, with Jackie pushing him towards that prison he created? In his heart, he wishes Chase would save him.

“Tell them what's in the mirror!” screams Jackie, and he lunges forward as his composure breaks, slamming Marvin into the wall beside the mirror. Marvin shrieks as his brother's hands wrap around his throat and pin him hard to the plaster. One of the cats is yowling in the doorway and Chase and Henrik are both yowling too, grabbing at them and trying to pull Jackie off, but he will not be moved.

“Tell me you're Anti!” Jackie howls. “You're possessing Marvin! Or he's blackmailing you! Tell me, tell me! My little brother! Tell me you didn't do this to him!”

Marvin does not know if he laughs or sobs in that moment.

Jackie throws him hard to the ground when he does not answer, his staff striking the ground beside his head. “You let him out of that cage, Anti! Now!”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” chokes Marvin.

“Jameson's in that mirror,” shouts Jackie, whirling on their younger brothers. “He's locked up like a fucking dog! Like an animal! This isn't Marvin, it's Anti!”

Marvin stares at the ceiling, writhing beneath Jackie's hands as Chase and Henrik back off, asking questions and exclaiming at Jackie as their oldest brother starts to relate what he saw. Marvin can't breathe.

A little box. A box with bars on the front and a magical lock on it. Him just lying all small inside, with his toys and violin and drawings and snacks. Jameson. Jameson.

Jackie knows.

Jackie knows!

A nightmare – it's a nightmare. It's a nightmare!

“Get off!” he screeches, and when Jackie doesn't budge Marvin opens his mouth and sinks his teeth into the hand holding his chin down.

Jackie yelps and draws back. Henrik jerks forward to keep Marvin down, now, clinging to his clothes.

“Marv, Marv,” chants Henrik, holding him carefully. “Hey. If you're in trouble, we'll figure this out. Just let's be calm. And if you're Anti – there's no point to running.”

“But Anti can't get in here,” Chase puts in, frustrated. “You guys know that. Marvin warded the place to hell and he doesn't know where the mirror that comes to our house is.”

“Chase, go check the warding,” orders Jackie. “Anti might have compromised him instead of possessing him. He must have been at it for months. That's why he's been acting so weird. Blackmail or something. I didn't think it was Anti because I thought you would have come to me if he were hurting you!”

No, no, no! Marvin grips at his head, giggling again. This is just a half-truth and their disapproval and fear and distrust is already too much to bear. If they find out the truth – if they know –

He was right, though! He had to do it!

“Come, my brother, up we get,” says Henrik, wrapping an arm gently around his waist. Jackie still looks like he wants to beat the demons out of him, but he lets Henrik handle him. Marvin slinks to his feet with his brother's arm around him and Henrik sits him down on his bed.

“Okay, now, tell us what's been going on,” he murmurs, brushing a few strands of hair from his eyes.

Marvin grips his wrist, dizzied. He doesn't want him to step back. He wants Henrik to stop this from happening.

“Has Anti been talking to you?” Henrik asks in a hush. “What has he done, my dear? You can tell us now. Is Jameson really there?”

His Schneep. He's as feral as a rabid squirrel most of the time, but then, when he needs him, his brother melts into soft touches and a quiet, even voice. Unflappable, reliable, steady Henrik. Marvin cups his chin, staring up at him.

“Don't touch him,” says Jackie darkly, standing posed like a toy boxer behind Henrik. “Don't put a hand on him.”

“The warding is fine,” calls Chase, coming back into the room. “Nothing smudged or anything.”

“Anti may be manipulating him from a distance,” says Henrik. “Threatening and holding things over him. Jameson... did he threaten to hurt him? Marvin, you were trying to protect him, yes?”

Jackie's stance slackens, his fingers loosening around the staff, and Marvin sees the moment where his eyes soften for him. Chase comes close too and stands beside Henrik, rubbing a hand along Marvin's shoulder.

“Breathe, amata,” he says. Sunny, starry Chase. His Chase. “It's gonna be okay, Marv. I promise. What did Anti do? He hurt you, huh?”

Marvin stares up at him, mouth parted. His eyes flicker towards his own figure in the mirror.

He knows JJ is back there. At this time of day, he's probably napping or playing his violin. Anti could even be in there with him now. He can see him now, black eyes and a wicked smile twisting up Jameson's mouth. He'd bite his teeth at Marvin behind the bars of the cage or coo threats and dark promises. He'd leave Jamie bleeding and ill and laugh about it.

He can see Jameson helpless in the middle of everything. Months and months of Jameson's helplessness. Curled up around himself, silent and dead-eyed in the corner, begging for Marvin's attention, scared and crying, playing with his puppets and toys like a two-year-old, writing music for Marvin, praying devout rosaries on his mattress, sleeping the day away. Hollow eyes. A big smile and then nothing on his face. Eating noodles with his hands and looking over new llama-patterned socks like they're a gift from God. Nosebleeds and fevers and coughs, enough to shake his whole chest.

And on the other side of that mirror, on the other side of the helpless intruder and the mad spirit that wears his flesh like an outfit: Marvin's family.

Chase. Jackie. Henrik.

Yes. Yes. He did what he had to do.

For months it has tormented him. Now Jackie knows. Lies won't help. Even this one, this tempting lie being offered to him by his hopeful brothers – the lie that Anti made him do it. They're looking so gently at him, but it's just another web to tangle him up and choke him for months. In the end, it won't protect him.

He did what he had to do.

He will make them see that.

JJ sits in his box, chewing his nails down to the bit. He takes a hangnail between his teeth and pulls it til the blood runs down his thumb.

He doesn't know what's going on.

He decides to pick up his violin again, setting the bow down and trying to breathe in and out, in and out, in and out, steady. Marvin always makes him take three deep breaths when he was beginning to freak out. Marvin hates it when he freaks out. So he will be calm. He will breathe – one, two, three – and play his music.

He feels that he can hear Marvin in the movement of his improv. M-Brother. The only person other than Anti he's ever really known.

His voice started out stern and hot and distant. His eyes would flash and he would stand at a distance as though afraid of Jameson biting him. He stayed with him very little and never touched him.

Marvin became scared, later. Jameson remembers the first part of his illness, when he was so sick he could barely stand on his own, but the second half, when he stopped being coherent, is lost to him. The only thing he recalls is the frantic rise of Marvin's voice, thinner and louder as the days went on.

Scared Marvin. Screaming Marvin. Cold Marvin. Comforting Marvin.

Flashes and glimpses. He rarely stays more than an hour.

Jameson plays long, sweet notes across the violin.

My brother protects me. Because I'm dangerous. Because I'm bad. If I'm good, maybe someone will hold me for just a few minutes.

Long, sorrowful notes.

He realizes he has transitioned from improv to the tune he wrote for Marvin's birthday. He lets the long notes pull across the violin. He will play it til it's perfect, so that, when Marvin is finally ready to hear it, it will be so excellent he will have to like it.

He misses a note and re-starts. He draws a rest out too long and restarts. He plays it too lifelessly and restarts. Restart again, again, again, one, two, three. It must be perfect. For Marvin. For his brother. His brother who protects him, and the only person in the whole world whom JJ loves.

He cannot see or hear anything beyond the mirror realm, but a part of him hears when Marvin starts to cry.

“I locked Jameson up to keep you safe,” says Marvin. “That's all.”

Large eyes looking back at him. Chase and Henrik exchange looks again, passing thoughts between gazes. Jackie's just staring at him.

Marvin raises his chin and stares back.

The tears are running down his face, but he doesn't sob and he doesn't wheeze and he does not let his expression break.

He did what he had to.

“Keep us safe?” Chase repeats.

“It's not his fault,” says Marvin. “I know that. But Anti uses him as a weapon and there are few few things we can do about that. The two of them are connected – Anti can find him anywhere and Jameson has no defense against that kind of power. He's just a mortal kid. I've been looking for a way to protect him from Anti's interference, or at least stop Anti from being able to locate him, but it's complex magic. In the meantime, I had to keep him away from you. That day he stabbed you...”

Marvin's eyes flicker to Chase's chest. He remembers the dark wound in his shoulder and the ache in his brother's movements for weeks. The fear as the blood poured out and Jackie dragged the thrashing monster off Chase's body and choked him til he passed out.

“I couldn't let that happen again.”

They still don't say anything. A part of him screams at them to speak, begging for anything in reply, but the other half of him is desperate for the quiet. If they tell him how they feel it could break him in half.

“I didn't tell you,” he continues. “And I lied to you about it many times. I'm sorry. I don't know how to express to you how much it has hurt me over the time it's gone on. I know that doesn't make it right, but I want you to know I have always wanted to tell you. But I knew that if I did... you wouldn't agree.”

A faint, thin laugh from Chase. “This is a joke, yeah? Of course we wouldn't agree. How could you think that – ?”

“Because none of you have the guts to make this call,” replies Marvin before he can even finish, voice raising. “Don't you see? You all wanted him to just live here with us, hoping we'd be able to restrain him if Anti came! But that's not realistic. He would have fucking killed you! Jackie, you're too empathetic, Chase can't even kill a spider, and Henrik – ”

Henrik is staring at him, face unreadable. Marvin deflates, shaking his head.

“Henrik didn't deserve to have to make that call, even if he could. I'm older. I was the one with the means to hide him away. I – ”

“This is a lie,” Jackie interrupts him, sudden and loud. “This is a lie.”

Marvin says nothing. Meets his eyes and waits.

“Marvin?” asks Chase. “This isn't true, right?”

Chase – well, his eyes Marvin can't meet.

Chase looks to Henrik and Jackie, mouth open, bewildered.

“My little brother?” he asks in a small voice.

“Boys,” says Henrik, sighing. “Okay, deep breaths. Let's not get worked up. Of course it is not true. Anti is... he still has something over him. Marvin cannot speak freely. He is protecting us I would guess. Anti has made threats, perhaps cast spells or things like this. Forced Marvin to cast spells. Or he has a way to possess him. We must find Anti and deal with him before we can get anywhere.”

Henrik's voice is sure and cool, but Chase and Jackie don't respond to his call to action. Henrik turns firmly back to Marvin and cups his chin, stroking his thumb across his beard. “We will make this right, my brother,” he says. “I promise.”

“You said Anti didn't have Jameson, though,” says Chase, pushing forward. “Anti told you that, the last time you fought.”

“The second to last time we fought,” Jackie corrects. “Yes, he said that he didn't have Jameson. Then I saw him not a month ago. He didn't say anything about Marvin. But... right after that was when Marvin had that encounter with him.”

“Guys,” Marvin offers wearily. “It's not – ”

“Marvin wouldn't do this to our younger brother,” scoffs Henrik. “Locking him away! It's terrible.”

“I've taken care of him,” cries Marvin. “I have, he – ”

“Can I see him?” Chase's voice seems to be fainter with every sentence he speaks. “I never got to meet him, just Anti. We've talked about him for so long.”

“You – you used to help me go out looking for him.” Jackie whirls on Marvin again, eyes burning. “No, tell me this isn't true.”

“He would have killed you,” hisses Marvin, his eyes watering again.

“So that means you caged him like an animal?”

“Marvin can't have done this,” Henrik insists. “Marvin can't have.”

“I don't know what's going on,” says Chase, starting to cry. “Can I please see Jameson?”

“Maybe Jackie's the one possessed,” says Henrik, backing suddenly away from his oldest brother and putting a hand on Marvin's shoulder. “Maybe that's why Marvin is acting this way. Anti will blame him for what he's done to Jameson.”

“He's in a cage in there! When was the last time he's been out of there? How long has it been?”

Jackie's question seems to quiet everyone again. All eyes turn back to Marvin.

“How long what?”

“How long has it been since you let him out of there?” asks Jackie, voice dangerous again. Stance dangerous.

Jackie has never looked dangerous to Marvin before this moment.

Marvin breathes in through his nose, trying to find an answer. He wants to come clean – wants to show how justified he was – but it sounds so cruel when it's said out loud.

“He's been missing for seven months,” says Jackie, voice trembling. “If this is true, what you're saying, then he's been your prisoner for seven months. Right?”

“Yes,” says Marvin softly.

“Marvin. Has he been inside that box this whole time?”

Silence. Silence. Silence.

Jackie turns away from him, breathing thinning out. Chase is just shaking his head. Henrik's still at Marvin's side.

Jackie looks back to them, poised like he's about to pounce.

“Jackie,” warns Henrik, holding a hand out. “It's not true, it – ”

“Just let him out of the box,” whispers Jackie.

Marvin licks his mouth.

Draws a breath.

Shakes his head.

Jackie cocks his head at him, frowning. “What? What was that? Are you saying no?”

The disbelief in the air seems heavy on his shoulders.

Helpless Jameson. Snarling Anti.

Chase. Jackie. Henrik.

Had to.

Has to.

“Yes,” says Marvin. “I said no. Jameson is a threat to you. I won't let him out of the box.”.

Jackie has a grip on Marvin's shirt collar in a flash, shoving him down onto the bed. Henrik yelps and tries to pull him away again, and now Chase is sobbing openly somewhere in the background, and the cat starts to mewl again. Jackie's screaming. Jackie's screaming at him. Jackie's screaming everything Marvin was ever afraid that he would say.

“Like an animal, you locked him up like an animal! You knew I loved him and you took him away from me! You – you knocked me out that night! Fucking traitor! Marvin, Marvin! How could you do this to me?”

Marvin cries against the bed. Jackie slams him back, once, twice.

“Jackie,” Henrik wails, and honest to God Marvin has never heard him that scared.

“How could you do this to him?” Jackie screeches, squeezing his shirt til the buttons below pop. “He didn't deserve it. He was just a victim! You lied to me so many times! I wanted him, you knew how badly I needed him back! You let me think that Anti had him, and then that he was missing from everybody! Do you know how many sex trafficking rings I busted looking for him? How many times I spent my nights under bridges or in drug dens looking for him, trying to make sure everyone was safe?”

“Jackie,” sobs Marvin. “Love, you do all that anyway.”

“But I didn't use to wonder if it would be my baby brother when I found homeless men dead in the streets,” Jackie answers, and it's now that Marvin realizes he's sobbing too. “I didn't use to carry teenagers to the emergency room after they'd overdosed because they just got mixed up with the wrong people, people who should have looked after them, and then spend the rest of the week wondering if anybody would carry my baby brother like that if the same thing was happening to him. I didn't used to clean up trafficking victims and see every one of those bruises and cuts and markings and diseases on his skin too.”

Marvin's crying too hard to breathe. He takes hold of Jackie's sweatshirt and cries, shaking his head up at him.

“I love you,” he manages, choking and sobbing. “I love you, I love you.”

“I searched for him! Cried over him, nightmared about his little body washing up on the beach! That one night I had him, he looked up at me like I made the world spin, just because I showed him a few minutes of kindness. He had just finally in his life gotten some kindness. Why did he deserve this?”

“I love you,” Marvin chants, because what else can he say? Jameson never deserved it. He always knew that. It's just that his brothers also deserved better – deserved to be safe from Anti – and that was all that mattered.

That is still all that matters.

“Let him out of there,” wails Jackie. “Now, now, fucking traitor, let him out!”

But Marvin keeps shaking his head. No. No!

Jackie screams in frustration and draws his arm back. Marvin flinches and jerks his head away.

And in the middle of all the chaos and all the turmoil inside his chest, he thinks that that moment is clear as day to both of them, because they realize at the exact same time that Jackie almost hit him.

Marvin gapes up at him. Jackie still has his fist drawn back.

His big brother almost hit him.

Marvin lies there, breathing thick, wet breaths. Jackie holds that fist up, shocked.

Then his hand lowers, and for just one second, his fingers stroke down Marvin's cheek.

It's bizarre, later, that Marvin knows exactly what Jackie is seeing in that moment – his little brother. His only little brother, back before any of this. Bright green hair and a silly Game Grumps cape. A cat mask and a blue shirt. They go racing through the city causing trouble together and come home laughing like wild. They make Old Fashioneds and drink while they watch comedy specials on Netflix til the sun comes up. Marvin brings his first cat home and they both spoil her rotten, spending hours playing with her or just watching her run on her wheel, til their phones are both full with pictures of her. They cook together, setting the fire on kitchen more than once, and they catch bad guys like real life superheroes, cackling with triumph as they review their victories over sweet wine and take-out. When they get sick, they look after each other, even if they do make fun the whole time. Marvin runs away once and then comes home again, and Jackie squeezes him so tight it actually leaves a couple bruises on him, and Marvin allows himself, for the first time in his life, to be loved.

He promises Jackie he will never run away again when his hair is still bright green, and Jackie hugs him again, and the world is right there – the world is that place where their hands wrap around each other. The world is the syncing of their heartbeats and the vibration of Jackie murmuring his thousandth “I love you” into Marvin's ear, and Marvin giving his first one back.

There was nothing else that mattered.

A young man with green hair and a blue cape. His baby brother, smiling.

Marvin.

Jackie's fingers pull away. The spell breaks.

“Get out of my fucking house,” Jackie whispers, releasing him with shaking fingers.

Marvin shakes his head, letting out a long breath. “What?”

“I said get out,” says Jackie.

His voice is tight, and it trembles just a little, taut with stress, but he forces it calm.

“You've lost it,” says Marvin. “It's... Jackie, it's me. I'm not going anywhere.”

Jackie doesn't look at him anymore. He straightens up, wiping his hand down his face.

“Jackie,” Marvin repeats. “I'm not going anywhere.”

“If you stay here,” says Jackie, voice very low. “I'm going to lock you in the garage with a box of granola bars and a pile of stuffed animals. Then we'll see how 'justified' you were.”

Marvin stares, a faint laugh coughing its way up his throat. He looks to Chase and Henrik, but Henrik seems to have gone numb, just listing between the three of them with his hands held out like he's not sure what to do, and Chase is turned towards the door. His face is scrunched up and furious, and there are hot, swift tears running down his face.

Marvin's heart aches. “My little brother, amata,” he says. “Look, I'll make this right. Just tell Jackie – ”

“I,” says Chase, very clearly. “Am not your brother.”

Even Jackie winces a little. Henrik stares blankly at Chase, unable to register the words.

And Marvin –

Oh, he's been punched in the stomach. He can't get any air in.

“And I think you should get the fuck out,” spits Chase. “Cause I never want to see you again.”

He leans down, scoops up Queenie, and vanishes through the door of Marvin's room.

Marvin might honestly collapse. He's taken back to every time he's gotten so stressed over holding JJ captive that it made him sick, and suddenly, all of those moments seem like a cakewalk, and he knows that he could more easily have lived with the guilt and the crushing weight of what he did for a hundred years more rather than hear Chase say that to him even once.

It leaves him so hollow that he can't seem to think of anything else, and the pain of everything else fades too, like he's reached the max of some limit he didn't know he had and now he'll just be a confused zombie for the rest of his life. Before he knows what he's doing, he's packing a few of his things into a bag. Henrik is gone somewhere, he doesn't know. And Jackie is standing there like a prison guard, in silence.

Marvin's in the entryway of their house in what seems to be a half-second, staring at the mirror that will take him back to the realm of the world. He manages to regain just enough awareness to turn back to Jackie behind him, dizzy.

“Call me in a couple days,” he manages. “Let me know where we're at. I'll find someone to stay with for a little while. But once you talk to JJ and see that I've treated him well, that I loved him – and once you have time to think about why I did what I did – you'll understand.”

Jackie doesn't say anything. He's staring at the wall.

“Promise me,” Marvin chokes. “Promise me you'll call.”

“Fine,” says Jackie quietly.

Marvin turns to the mirror, and then looks back again.

Jackie walks away from him without another word.

Marvin steps through the mirror. He's taken the portal that's closest to Henrik's hospital without thinking, and now he's practically in the middle of the city, standing in an alleyway with a single bag over his shoulder and a crushing weight in his chest. The people are rushing by around him. Everything is loud and bright and bursting, but he can't seem to take any of it in.

“Marvin.”

Just... just this terrible combination of dissociation and debilitating pain.

“Marvin, Marvin.”

Hands cup his face. He blinks and looks up.

Henrik. His Henrik. He followed him through the mirror.

“It's okay, I'll go with you,” promises Henrik, pressing their heads together, a bag of his own packed up on his back. “We'll figure this out. I know it wasn't you, Marvin. I know you wouldn't really do that. We're going to be okay, my poor brother. Here I am, Marvin. Here I am.”

Marvin collapses into his arms and weeps.

#marvin's cage #bee writes #jse egos #writers of jack

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clarissalance · 3 years

Text

Wolves

Pairing: Kaeya x fem!Reader, Diluc, Crepus

Warning: minor swearing, cheesy flirt, dry humour

Summary: All men are wolves.

A/N: Muahaha I have came back and brought you the blatant cheesy flirt. Welcome to the first lesson of flirting with Kaeya. Lol, guess who is coming next?

Also, I’m planning to write a wind-trace fic because the game is so fun. (p/s: I waste 3 hours playing it) Guess who is in it?

Okay, the first fic for my lover boy. Please give Kaeya a lot of love!! (*￣3￣)╭

Another beautiful day, another day of wasting the lovely weather to stay inside the study room, bury your head into the pile of books next to you. You let your eyes wander to the window again, gazing rays of light fleeting through the window, golden hues on the wooden floor. Tiny specks of dust accumulate overnight, fluttering around the curtain. Outside, the chirping birds bathing under the sun, casually chilling on the window. Oh, how you wish you would be able to relax like those carefree animals.

“You might burn the birds crips the longer you stare at it.” Startled by the quiet voice, your head snaps toward the blue-haired teenage direction, and you can’t help but scowl at his statement. You can’t be the only person in the room who wants to go out and play. Knowing Kaeya, he’s definitely trying to find an excuse to end the class early.

The only person who is diligent, hard-working, and does not have thought about leaving this room is the young master Diluc. The young man is sitting opposite you, eyes burning holes on the thick textbook.

Archon, how can a 16 years old overly enthusiastic person like him enjoy the excitement of reading Descartes philosophy? Maybe he is the only child in Mondstadt, no, maybe in the whole Teyvat who enjoys something torturous like that. Shivering at your own thought, you shift your chair closer to Kaeya, giving Diluc a terror gaze.

“Aren’t you going to finish the essay?” Pointing at the half-full parchment on the table, you ask. “ Diluc and I already finish it.”

“ Oh, how do I know? How am I suppose to understand Kant and Descartes theories, and then link them to deductive and inductive reasoning?" Kaeya lets his finger running through the silky blue hair and pulls them out of frustration. On the other side, Diluc shoots him a glare, annoyed by his brother complaint.

“How did you guys do it?” Kaeya asks boredly, his finger pokes the quill.

You put your hand under your chin, beaming him charmingly. “ You know Kaeya, it is something I call improvisation. Words just flow out of my tip.” Under your lashes, you can see his cheek dusting pink. Cute!

“ Just read the books, and you will get it.” Diluc unhelpful adds.

Both of you stare at red-head incredulously. Is he being serious?

Like always, Kaeya knows he can not take your advice to heart. One is a genius, and the other is just pure luck.

Suddenly, the door is burst open, and you quickly shove your feet into the shoes, eyes darting to see the intruder. Internally, you hope that person is not lady Elizabeth, your etiquette teacher. Your blood runs cold at the thought. You can already imagine her sharp tones commenting how horrendous and un-ladylike your act is.

“How is your study going?” A deep, strong voice booming from the back, and finally, you get let out a breath. Diluc looks up from his book, beams brightly at the man.

“ We are done with homework, father. These are just extra reading.” Well, for the record, these are his extra readings, not yours. And Kaeya hasn’t finished his 2 feet scrolls of essay yet.

Master Crepus nods in satisfaction. “ If that is finished, you kids can take a break. The young lady from the Gunnhildr family is here with her father. Maybe you can give her some accompanies.” The middle-aged man directs the words at you, maybe feeling guilty for leaving a young lady like you in his two sons care.

Your parents left you in the Ragnvindr care every Summer because of their hectic schedules and frequent business trips at this time of the year. In addition, your mother says it is essential for you to have good relationships with the heir of Ragnvindr and his brother. “Maybe you will need their help someday.” She left it vaguely.

“ Are you guys going to drink again?” Kaeya suspiciously questions, his eyes glinting with playfulness.

“ Hey, what’s wrong with men having a drink together?” Crepus defensively retorts, notices how Diluc gives him a disproving gaze.

“ When you guys grow up, you would enjoy it too.” The three let out opposing noises, clearly not having the same idea as him. The man waves dismissively return back the topic.

“ Let’s come down to greet the head of Gunnhildr first.” He heads toward the door, down the hallway.

“And be nice to the young lady, boys.” The master emphasizes the phrase, his eyes pinning at the guilty-looking Kaeya and the absent-minded Diluc. Finally, he exits the room, not forgetting to close the door.

“ Father says as if we don’t treat people nicely.” Kaeya pouts, right after Crepus footstep drifting away from the study. “ The workers never complain anything about our behaviours, right Luc?”

Sitting next to him, you can't help but let out a snort. He dares to say that? Kaeya raises eyebrows at you, annoyed by your shaking shoulder. The boy in red has a blank face, maybe not interested.

“ First, you guys ignore me for 2 weeks when I just came here.” You burst out in laughter, recalling back at the very first memory when you just arrived here.

“When I tried to approach, you both avoided me like the plague.” Your whole body is shaking vigorously, tears forming at the corners of your eyes. This is too hilarious! Somewhere in between, you can spot Diluc burning cheek.

“ Haha, and haha-later,” You can hardly breath, laughter bubbling up. “Adeline told me your reason is ‘It's b-because she doesn’t have a willie.' ” Dramatically air-quoting, you even imitate their stuttering childish voices. This earns you a pointed glare from Diluc and a smack in the arm from Kaeya, but a good laugh is always worth it.

Both of them freeze on their tracks, faces puff red as tomatoes, steaming almost coming off their ears. If the young heir is to wear a red suit, you are sure he can blend in well with the mansion roof.

Diluc shifts stiffly in his chair and abruptly stands up, heading toward the exit. Maybe he is too embarrassed at the mention of his dark childhood.

“Where-haha, are you going, Luc?” You are still in the middle of your giggling, noticing how Diluc is dashing to the door. Letting out a coughing fit, he quietly mumbles.

“ I'm going down to greet the Gunnhildr family.” His figure vanishes right behind the door, not letting you tease him further. Outside, the painful sound of Diluc tripping on his own feet make you almost fall off your chair. You have too many good laughs today.

“Right, I-I should get going too.” Next to you, the blazing Kaeya remembers to dig a hole and hide. His hand slams hard on the table and the youthful teenager stands up, gracefully heading toward the door. Maybe he wants to avoid becoming another joke.

" Ah, wait-" You follow instantly, but the moment you stand up, something slips, and the next thing you know, the ground is shaking, and you see the ceiling is getting further.

Your first instinct is to grab the closest object, and then close your eyes, waiting for the painful impact with your head. Clench your jaw tightly, and you hold your breath, hoping it will hurt less if you tense your body.

Right after tensing up, you feel someone just grab you by your shoulder, and your feet step on something bumpy. And then, your head makes an impact with something hard. A grunting is followed.

Heart hammering in your chest, you cautiously peek, expecting yourself to see the ceiling, but instead, greet with an unusual sight. A pair of dark colour trouser paired with leather shoes. On top of it is your feet, loosely wore low heel is stepping on that leather shoes. Shit, you stepped on Kaeya. In a panic, you rush down from his painful sore feet, but your head jams in his ribs. He just let out another woeful sound.

This time, you carefully keep your position in place, slowly remove each foot one by one, moving away from him. Craning your neck upward, you finally meet his gaze, his eyes are full of concern and uneasiness, spooked out by your sudden incident.

“Did you hit your head hard?” Kaeya asks you nervously, his voice laced with anxiety. He must have been terrified when you slip. You shake your head, hands grabbing his shirt.

" I should be asking you that. Are you okay?" You give him a worrying gaze, your fingers running along his ribs, checking if your stone head broke anything. " I didn't break anything, right?" Hesitantly, you look into his deep blue eyes, noticing the diamond shape. Has he always has this in his eyes?

Kaeya snorts inelegantly, shakes his head. " Your head is hard as a rock, but that much can't break my ribs yet." This earns him a hit on his arm.

"Hey! I'm trying to be considerate, and this is how you treat me?" You jab him, hand purposely smack his chest, but he doesn't budge an inch. How strong is this guy? This time, you put all the force on your arm, slapping hard on his chest again. The young man in the blues shoot you a shit-eating grin, clearly not faze.

"How is my chest feeling?" He pokes, his palm engulfing yours.

" Too hard for my liking." You give him a complex look, trying to escape from his tight grip but fail miserably. You wiggle your hand again, shaking off his iron clad. Why is he so strong?

While you are attempting to flee from his firm grasp, the young man leans down, face an inch away from you. Flushing at the sudden closure, like usual, you avoid his burning gaze. You hold your breath when your noses almost touch. What is this rascal doing again?

" You shouldn't be touching men like that." Kaeya opens his mouth, saying something completely out of nowhere. You tilt your head in confusion, while your eyes travel down, you notice your hands still on his chest. O-oh, so he is saying about this.

" I don't normally touch random people." You mumble defensively, your eyes lower. " I was checking for your injury."

"They will misunderstand." Kaeya cuts in right after, not accepting the excuse. But why would they misunderstand? You are just being nice, right?

Like he can understand what is going inside your mind, Kaeya reminds you.

"All men are wolves, you should be more be careful with them."

You give him a confusing look.

Kaeya is not one of them, right?

Eventually, he let out a soft sigh and moves back, allowing you to savour your personal space. Just right after your throbbing heart finally calms down, he brings your tight-griped hand in his to his face. Your meet with his alluring look in his eyes. It is pulling you in, telling you to give in the temptation. Plump lips brush your knuckle teasingly, he blows a warm breath on the back of your hand. He gives you a saccharine smile.

" And if not be careful." His husky voice ringing in your ears, the numbing spark runs along your spine. "They might devour you."

#kaeya x reader #kaeya alberich #genshin impact #genshin x reader #all men are wolves #fluff #romance #implication #bad chilhood memory #willies #clarissalance #diluc ragnvindr #crepus ragnvindr #kaeya ragnvindr

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annonymouslyblonde · 3 years

Text

The Monster Was Mortal

Fandom: PJO/HOO

Pairing: Percy x Annabeth

Genre: hurt/comfort, fluff

Trigger warning: Descriptions of child abuse

Rating: T for language and description of child abuse

Summary: Set about two months after TLO. Instead of going back to camp or California for a long holiday weekend, Annabeth stays at the Jackson/Blofish apartment and ends up learning something new about Percy.

A scream filled the small apartment, waking Annabeth at a quarter till three in the morning. It was a scream that she knew well and still sent her heart plummeting to her toes. Percy. She snatched her knife from the bedside table, prepared to single-handedly take down whatever monster was tormenting him. The door hit the wall with a thud as Annabeth dropped into a fighting stance. But there was nothing there for her to slash at. In the dark, it took a moment for her to see Percy huddled in the corner of his room. With no monster to fight, she sheathed the dagger setting it on his desk.

"Percy," she asked, frightened by the way he stared straight through her. She dropped to her knees in front of him and tried to take grab his shoulder.

"Don't touch me!" He shouted and pushed her hand away, curling further into his corner. "Don't hurt me."

Annabeth recoiled, hurt and scared. Why would he think she'd hurt him? She was at a loss for what to do. Sally quietly came into the room having also been woken up with the screaming. Waking up to her son's nightmares was unfortunately not a new occurrence. Annabeth slid back to sit against his bed giving Sally space. Numb, she watched the woman gently cradle Percy's face turning his gaze toward her. The vacant look in his eyes made Annabeth queasy.

“Sweetheart,” Sally gently called as if she were speaking to a cornered animal. “You're okay. He isn't here anymore. He's gone and he'll never hurt you again. We won't hurt you okay? Annabeth isn't going to hurt you.”

“Annabeth?” he asked finally seeing her clearly. She sank to her knees beside Sally and reached a hand out hoping he didn't smack it away this time. He clutched her to him, shaking and crying.

Annabeth thought it must have been a quest vision, a bad one, but Sally knew the differences in her son's nightmares. After a light kiss to the top of his head, she stepped out of the room knowing the conversation the pair needed to have. Percy told her weeks ago of his intention to tell Annabeth about Gabe one day, but the relationship was still new despite all the things they had faced together, despite knowing each other for four years. He was still a little afraid and embarrassed by what happened to him no matter how many times Sally assured him it wasn't his fault. It broke her heart her baby had to do this at all.

His sobs slowed to sniffles against her shoulder. Realizing he must have woken up half the building, his cheeks flushed.

“I'm sorry I woke you up,” he mumbled, trying to pull away. Her fingers laced through his dark hair in a soothing gesture, keeping him close to her.

“No, Percy, you don't have to apologize. But why did you think I'd hurt you?” She tried to keep her voice even, but the pain and desperation still seeped in. “I would never hurt you, not on purpose. You know that right?”

Percy of course did know that. There were plenty of bruises and scrapes from sparing practice, but neither would ever intentionally inflict pain on the other. His grip tightened around the fabric of her shirt, painfully aware there would be no walking this back.

“It wasn't you I thought would hurt me.” Silence permeated the space as the couple clung to each other. After another calming breath, he admitted “I thought Gabe was still here.”

“Gabe? Smelly Gabe?” she asked not understanding why Percy would have a nightmare about him. He nodded mutely against her collar.

Suddenly, Annabeth realized she didn't know much about his former stepfather. She knew the nickname Smelly Gabe and that he was no longer in the picture, but nothing more. Her mind was turning, processing the information that Percy was afraid, deathly afraid of this man.

“You thought that Gabe was here and gonna hurt you.” It came out as a statement instead of a question. The pieces all clicked together in Annabeth's mind. Her sweet, kind, wonderful Percy had been abused as a child.

“He used to hit me.” He confirmed needing to finally tell someone. For years, he tried masking the trauma through sarcasm and jokes. Letting Annabeth see this side would be a big step, one he didn't know how she'd react to. The carefully crafted persona he had hidden behind for years would never fit again around her.

“A lot,” he continued. “If something didn't go his way it was my fault somehow. He lost his poker game or get fired from a job. So he'd take his anger out on me. With his fists or a belt. Sometimes beer bottles.”

Annabeth's vision blurred into swirls of red. Blood red. Gabe's vile red blood spilled for even touching her boyfriend. She had heard of the metaphor of seeing red but had never experienced that type of all-consuming rage before. Her whole body tensed looking for the threat, ready to cut it down. Instead, she clutched Percy closer assuring herself that he was safe in her arms. She would make sure he was safe.

“My nightmare was about him. He came back and had me down on the ground kicking me. And suddenly it was like I was six again and couldn't do anything but try and protect my head.”

Bile rose in her throat as she clinched the back of his shirt trying to control her rage. Six. Percy remembered being kicked by a full-grown man at six years old. Annabeth had faced a lot of monsters in her sixteen years, but nothing as vile as this despicable mortal. If he was willing to kick a six-year-old, she couldn't bear to speculate what he may have done to Percy as he got older and more willful. She wasn't sure if mortals could end up in Tartarus, but she prayed to Hades this one did.

“It's kinda funny,” he laughed slightly manic against her neck. Annabeth couldn't see anything funny relating to this situation, but she didn't interrupt choosing instead to place an encouraging kiss on his temple. “I can't even remember which monsters gave me what scars, but I remember every mark Gabe ever gave me.”

She wanted to scream and lash out at whoever let this happen to him but instead decided to redirect the anger into comfort. Subconsciously, her fingers found a scar that ran the length of his bicep, gently tracing the puckered skin.

“Monster,” he murmured, and she knew this would be how she could get him to open up and tell her the details.

“He's a monster too,” she insisted. The beast of a man was more monster than the ones they fought with celestial bronze in her opinion. Monsters were born to hunt and kill demigods. This man chose violence and pain.

“Fine, Greek,” he conceded too tired to argue, especially not when he agreed.

She nodded approving of the term. Her fingers drifted down to a cluster of small circular marks on his forearm. The muscle stiffened under her touch, but he told her how the scars came to be.

“Cigarette,” he said, confirming her suspicions. “I didn't dump his ashtray the night before so he said I'd be his new ash tray.”

“How old were you?” As soon as she asked, Annabeth wished she hadn't. It didn't matter how old he was. Putting a lit cigarette out on someone of any age was horrendous.

“Four,” he whispered, burying his face into her shoulder. She very well almost stopped there unsure if she was strong enough to hear this. But then Percy shuddered and fisted the fabric at her back. He needed her then, and she wouldn't back down. He needed to unburden himself, and he was choosing to confide in her. So she continued, her fingers dancing across his skin until she came to a scar. They spent an hour like that until all the visible scars were cataloged.

Her hand trailed timidly down to the hem of his shirt. She had seen scars on his back and chest before at camp, chalking it up to monster attacks, but now she questioned everything she knew. When he gave her the smallest nod pressing his head down into her shoulder, she slid her hands under his shirt. At first, she simply pressed her palms to his Achilles heel hoping to lend some strength and comfort. After a long moment, his grip on her shirt lessened, and she continued her search across his back.

As he opened up at each gentle touch, the flood gate widened, rushing to purge his soul of the poison he had bottled up for years. Just as she thought there wasn't room for any more scars, he guided her hand back to a set of slash marks across his ribs that she had missed, where the broken edges of a beer bottle had cut into the skin.

Once the last scar was accounted for, they continued sitting on the floor of his room wrapped in each other's embrace. Her hands lay clasped at the small of his back as he continued telling her about the abuse, about the incidents that didn't leave a visible mark on him. He told her about the time Gabe knocked him unconscious after tossing him too hard into a wall. And the time the man broke his nose by throwing a book Percy had left on the kitchen table before a poker night. The words flowed from his lips like a spring rushing to leave as quickly as possible. Stories he had long forgotten came to the surface, ones he hadn't even told his mom about. The way her fingers gently kneaded into his lower back and the frequent kisses she pressed into his hair comforted him in a way he hadn't felt before. Once he finished telling her about what he knew Gabe would do to him for wrecking his car, Percy didn't quite know what else to say.

“Annabeth,” he asked, quiet and meek. The brokenness of his voice pierced her heart. “Please. Say something,” he begged.

“I'm gonna murder him,” Annabeth confessed with the confidence of a girl who had stared down Titans and won. “I'm gonna kill him for ever laying a hand on you.”

“You aren't ashamed of me? Hero of Olympus and I let some mortal bast-”

Her lips fell on his silencing him. He clutched her to him, kissing her with a desperation he hadn't felt since Silena had called telling him to bring a healer for her during the Titan War. His hand gripped her pulling her tightly against him and pressing into her own lower back, the same spot as his Achilles heel. The warmth of his hand against her exposed skin was the most comforting gesture she'd ever experienced making her wonder if that was the feeling she gave him every time her hand touched his back. Slowly, she backed out of the kiss stroking his cheek, her intense gaze penetrating his soul.

“You didn’t let him do anything. You were a kid, Percy. He was an adult, a parent figure in your life, someone you should have been able to trust and feel safe with. And, gods, you were just a kid. My stepmother never liked me, but I never felt unsafe with her. I can't even imagine.”

She pulled Percy back to her, clinging to him. Someone had hurt her precious seaweed brain when he was defenseless, and it made her sick that she hadn't been able to protect him. Anger couldn't quite cover the feeling boiling in her blood. Nine years of combat training and she wanted nothing more than to use every bit of it on this scum.

“I know you have questions,” he sighed reluctantly pulling away to look at her. Her face was flushed from anger, and tears swelled in her eyes. He hated being the one to put that look of mixed concern and anger on her beautiful face. “It's okay. I owe you answers.”

For once, and she would never admit it aloud, Annabeth wasn't sure she wanted answers. Her mouth worked up and down, searching for questions that wouldn't come.

“You don't owe me anything. You don't have to say anything you don't want to.”

“I want to,” he assured her, taking her hands in his. “I mean, I want you to ask whatever you want to know.”

“Why did you never tell me?” she whispered, asking the question that hurt the most. It wasn't that she thought he owed her anything, but after opening up to him, to only him, about her own family life, it stung to think he hadn't trusted her with this. As soon as she thought it, she swallowed the idea guiltily. It was selfish to think she was entitled to know that part of him just because she had opened up to him about her own trauma. She did think now, however, he would have been comfortable enough with her to tell her.

“How do you even start a conversation like that? 'Hey Annabeth, it's been a month since I survived my death date, wanna hear about my bastard ex-stepfather that used to beat the shit out of me? I think it's a good second date conversation.' Doesn't exactly pair well with dinner and movie, does it?”

“Percy-”

“I know,” he sighed wearily giving her hands an apologetic squeeze. “I know. I should have- I just. I never knew how. I almost told you in the zoo truck but then we stopped by the time I got the courage. And when I got back again, well he was gone. It was over. I wasn't trying to keep it from you, I swear. It just never came up until now.”

Another thought, a worry, suddenly made her stomach drop. She dropped one of his hands to traced his cheek.

“When I've punched you or teased, I wasn't. I mean I hope I didn't-”

“Annabeth I know you were just messing with me. I never took it as anything but that, promise. So don't you dare stop calling me Seaweed Brain now, Wise Girl.” He gave her a smile that melted her worries. Of course, he would be trying to make her feel better in a time like this.

“Well, in that case, Seaweed brain, we should probably get off the floor,” she suggested.

Until she mentioned it, Percy hadn't registered they had been sitting on the floor of his room the entire time. Somehow, it felt like an appropriate place for the early morning confession, oddly intimate and undisturbed. But, his back didn't necessarily agree, stiff from sitting cross-legged on the floor for however long had passed. And if he was stiff even in his invincible skin, he knew it must be worse for Annabeth.

She slowly pushed herself up before offering a hand to him pulling him up with her. After urging him into his bed, she crawled in beside him and pulled him back into her arms, not quite ready to let go. Her fingers raked through his smooth locks almost habitually. It truly amazed her how easily things came with Percy. The repetitive motion satisfied her ADHD enough to let her mind kick into overdrive and process the last few hours.

Percy had been through more than she could even imagine, more than ever should have been asked of him. Being the key component in a Titan war couldn't be enough for the Fates. Suffering through four years of non-stop quests wasn't bad enough. Her sweet, caring boyfriend had to go through such a harsh mortal childhood to add to the already crushing pressures of being a demigod. Suddenly, her fingers stilled as another question came unbarring to mind. He called her name, nervous at how suddenly she tensed.

The girl spared a nervous glance to the hall before asking, “Did your mom know?”

“I think she suspected a time or two, but I never told her. Gabe said he'd kill her if I ever told anyone. I wasn't taking that chance.”

“I don't understand why she would let him stay if she even thought he might be hurting you,” she murmured, glancing nervously again toward the door.

Nothing about it made sense. Annabeth loved Sally, even wishing to have her as a mother or stepmother instead, and she knew the woman adored her son. Allowing Gabe to stay when he was hurting her son was something Annabeth couldn't rationalize with the Sally that made cookies whenever she came by and fussed over them both after every quest.

“She was protecting me from monsters,” Percy quietly explained. “Gabe, his smell-”

“Repelled monsters. It hid your scent,” she finished for him. “I've read about that. Some mortals are so monstrous themselves, their scent can actually repel monsters. That's how you stayed hidden for so long even as a big three kid.” The confused anger morphed into marvel at Sally's brilliance, protecting her son how she could. Even as terrible as it was, the abuse was likely the only thing that kept Percy alive all those years.

“He would hit her too,” he said in defense of his mom. “Broke her wrist once that I know of not that she'd tell me it was him. I only know of a few times, but I'm sure she got it worse since she had to always be here with him. I tried to get him to stop, but there wasn't much I could do when I was at boarding school. And once I knew I was a half-blood, knew how to defend myself. Well, she turned him into stone. Remember Medusa's head? Dad apparently returned to sender. ”

Suddenly Annabeth had a deeper appreciation for her boyfriend's mother. She always knew the woman was strong, but this was a different level of strength. Annabeth hoped one day to be half the woman Sally Jackson was.

As his breathing evened out, she pressed a kiss to his head and tried to detangled herself to go back to bed. As she slid her legs over the side of the bed, his arms wrapped around her painfully tight pulling her back.

“Stay with me” he whispered timidly. She hesitated though.

“Percy that was your mom's only rule for me,” she protested, but the sad, broken look undid her completely. And it would be well worth the lecture just for that bright smile he flashed her when she told him to move over. His head nestled into the hollow of her shoulder as she continued stroking his dark hair. He was asleep in no time with his arms wrapped around Annabeth securing him to this better time.

And when Sally found Annabeth curled protectively around her son the next morning, she didn't have the heart to scold them at breakfast for breaking her single house rule. After the events of the previous night, she was glad Percy had found someone so fiercely protective as his girlfriend. She didn't have to worry about her baby boy when Annabeth had his back.

Now, of course, that didn't stop Sally from teasing the pair when they emerged from his room later that morning holding hands.

A/N: So this story has two pieces of art that helped inspire parts of it, one by WindByFire and the other by burgy so shout out to them for producing such amazing art!

If you'd like to see the pieces, they are posted on my IG by the same username (mainly because I am new on tumblr and don't know how to properly post and credit art here yet). Definitely go check out all of their artwork!

#percy x annabeth #percy jackson #percy and annabeth #annabeth chase #percabeth #percabeth fluff #pjo fanfic #pjo fandom #pjo stuff #writing #fanfic

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plainbrunettelbl · 5 years

Text

ABO (A) Dragon Bakugo Katsuki x Pregnant (O) Reader Crimson Scales (Part Two)

Word count: 2970

Warnings: Kidnapping. Mentions blood.

Title: ABO (A) Dragon Bakugo Katsuki x Pregnant (O) Reader Crimson Scales (Part Two)

Summary: Thieves steal you from your den and your dragon is not happy about it.

(Gif not mine)

💥-You sat nestled against a pile of gold and jewels. Soft fur blankets helped soften the hard objects you were laying on. A Dragons hoard was a magical thing. Dragons seemed to know every single piece of jewelry and coin of gold that belonged to their hoard.

💥-Their hoard sings soft rhymes to them and strengthens them.

💥-Dragons with smaller hoards tend to be weaker. A bountiful hoard is a sign of good health and prowess. Of course, Bakugo’s hoard was generous in size. Thus making him a powerful Dragon to challenge.

💥-His brilliant ruby scales and humongous size were because of his massive hoard.

💥-Most dragons didn’t want to fly in the same sky as him.

💥-He had grudgingly told you he had a few friends but their dens were too far for you to travel. At least right now in your condition. You were with pup, or hatchling as Bakugo corrected you many times.

💥-Your Alpha might be rough and intimidating but that didn’t mean your mate didn’t spend twenty whole minutes in the sky looping and diving in happiness.

💥-Dragons are connected to their hoard and it seems that this little one was no different. If you didn’t lay resting on top of the hoard or have some of it touching you it would become restless.

💥-A wiggling dragon in your stomach was not ideal.

💥-So Bakugo lovingly moved your nest to lay on his hoard. Or as he would like to point out, it was both yours and his. You are his mate so you have every claim to his hoard as much as him.

💥-He loved to see you adorned in rubies.

💥-“Are you sure you are gonna be okay?” He asked, leaning over you.

💥-“Yes, the pup and I will be fine.” You reassured, rubbing your stomach.

💥-“Hatching.” He corrected, moving his own hand to do the same.

💥-“Mmh.” You hummed, loving the feeling of his warm hands on yours.

💥-His dragon form sure came in handy during the winter. Most of the time he rested curled around you. He loved to cuddle with you in his human form too but sometimes his dragon wanted out.

💥-And his dragon took pride in being able to keep his mate warmed and comfortable in the winter. You often fell asleep resting against his rumbling chest.

💥-You didn’t mind either way.

💥-“I shouldn’t be gone long. I know where I want to go for their birthing jewel.” He rubbed his hand on your cheek.

💥-Dragons had many traditions. One of them being the birthing jewel. When a hatchling was born a dragon parent gift them a rough jewel. Once they were old enough they would polish and shine it. Making it into whatever piece of jeweler they would like.

💥-It would be the heart of their future hoard.

💥-Katsuki had already shown you his. He crafted it into a brilliant gold ring. The ruby was as big as a grape. He wore it sometimes but liked to keep it hidden in his hoard.

💥-He let you try it one once. Let’s just say you found out you were with pup a few weeks after. Dragons loved seeing their mates adorned with their hoard. Katsuki was no different.

💥-“I know.” You leaned up to kiss him. “The pup and I are probably gonna be napping the whole time and won’t even notice your absence.”

💥-“I don’t know about that.” He smirked, pulling his hand from your stomach.

💥-Instantly your pup kicked at the loss of their father’s hand.

💥-You huffed, ”I wish they didn’t do that. My ribs can only handle so many kicks and punches.” You shifted around trying to get comfortable.

💥-“Stop it, little one. Be nice to your mother.” He rumbled, softly caressing your stomach again.

💥-It worked like magic, your pup settled down.

💥-“I should be back before the sun starts to set. Make sure to rest, Y/N.” He commanded, leaning down to scent you one more time before leaving the den.

💥-“I will. Be careful.” You called out.

💥-“I will.” He threw over his shoulder before transforming and flying off.

***

💥-True to your word you slept most of the time. You only woke up when you heard feet kick around rocks at the entrance.

💥-“Katsuki! You are back earlier than I expected.” You turned around to look up at him.

💥-It wasn’t him.

💥-Three men stood at the entrance. They were dressed in torn and dirty clothes. You picked up a harsh tobacco scent from them. Your stomach rolled at it. Two of them were Betas. It wasn’t hard to tell that the biggest one was an Alpha.

💥-“Well, would you look at that. A dragon’s Omega all alone.” The Alpha remarked, stepping closer. “A good hoard she is sitting under as well.” He whistled.

💥-You stiffened at his words. Your Omega whimpering at the danger you are in. You had no weapon, and even if you did you couldn’t fight them off in your condition.

💥-You wouldn’t let them hurt your pup.

💥-“My mate should be back soon. You should leave before he burns you to a crisp.” You warned, pulling your blanket closer to you. Hoping they wouldn’t notice how defenseless you were.

💥-“I don’t think so.” The Alpha hummed walking towards you. “I think you are just trying to get us to leave.”

💥-You tried to make your body as small as possible. “Leave!” You tried to keep up your strong facade. You wanted to cry at the thought of him touching you in any way.

💥-“Don’t worry, we will. Just with as much gold and jewelry, we can take.” He grinned evilly, resting a hand on your head.

💥-You bite his hand, he yanked it back with a hiss, “Looks like the dragon’s mate is as feisty has their mate.” He called over his shoulder to his friends, he turned back to look at you. “I don’t hit Omegas so I’ll let it slide. Now be a good Omega and sit and stay quiet.”

💥-You just glared at him in response. You didn’t have a choice. If you jumped up and continued to fight him it wouldn’t be good for you or your pup. So you bit back your anger and fear and stayed put.

💥-“Good, Omega.” He cooed at your still frame. “Alright boys, grab as much as you can.”

💥-The Betas grinned and got to work. It hurt you to see them take your mates hoard. You stayed put, keeping your stomach hidden within your mound of blankets.

💥-Until you noticed one of the Betas digging around in the gold, scooping up as much as he could to fit into his bag. He hadn’t spotted it yet, but his digging revealed Bakugo’s heart of his hoard.

💥-You couldn’t let him discover it. Dragons were lost without it. Never able to fully recover without its loss. Bakugo would tell you horror stories of Dragon’s going insane because they lost the heart of their hoard.

💥-You wouldn’t let them take it.

💥-You jumped up from your spot and charged at him. You reached for the gold necklace in his hands. Acting like you cared about the meaningless jeweler.

💥-“That’s mine! You can’t have that.” You tried to take it out of his hands.

💥-He merely huffed and rolled his eyes at your sudden interference. You reached for it again and he shoved you down onto the hoard. It hurt your delicate body but it was just what you planned.

💥-You sneakily slid your Alpha’s heart into your fur robes.

💥-“Shut up, Omega. It’s mine now.” He sneered, putting it into his bag.

💥-“Oh give it back to her, Grant. It’s going the same place either way.” The Alpha’s eyes burned against your frame.

💥-“What do you mean? You said we would leave the Omega?” The Beta questioned, a confused look on his face.

💥-“We were until we found out she was carrying a Dragon pup.” He continued, eyes sliding down to your bump.

💥-You shrunk under his gaze, bringing your hand up to cover it. You started chirping up a storm. Hoping your Alpha was close enough to hear you.

💥-“You know I don’t hit Omegas. I don’t think my friend Grant has the same rules.” He disclosed, his eyes narrowing. “Shut her up before her dumb mate catches on.”

💥-Before you could react a sharp pain hit your head and you passed out.

***

💥-Bakugo was deep in a cavern when his Dragon started acting up. It was hissing and clawing at his chest. He didn’t waste any time transforming and taking flight. Something must be wrong with his mate and he was determined to get to her.

💥-He hoped it wasn’t the hatchling causing her distress.

💥-He made it to his den in record time. He transformed into his human form before rushing in.

💥-“Omega? Are you okay? Did something happen?” He looked at his hoard to find you weren't there. Neither was most of his hoard. His eyes narrowed at a small spot of blood near the hoard.

💥-He didn’t have to scent it to know it was his Omegas.

💥-He wasted no time transforming and letting out a vengeful roar. He would burn the whole world down looking for his mate and hatchling, but first, he would start with this forest.

💥-He shot off into the sky, his hulking frame shaking in fury.

***

💥-“Did you hear that?” One of the Beta’s asked, looking up into the sky. The sun was slowly setting. Oranges and yellows muddled the sky.

💥-“I didn’t.” The Alpha replied, bouncing your slumped frame higher on his back. He wished he had a wagon to carry you and the gold in. Wagons were easy to spot so traveling on foot was better.

💥-The Alpha didn’t want to admit it but your pregnant form and the jewelry were weighing on him too much.

💥-“We can stop and rest for the night.” He said after twenty more minutes of traveling.

💥-“What? But we need to be farther away. The dragon should know his hoard and mate are gone now.” One replied, looking at the Alpha with a hint of worry.

💥-“So what? We have traveled far enough that he wouldn’t know where we are. I say we are setting up camp so we are setting up camp.” He growled, not liking his authority being challenged.

💥-“Y-yes.” The Beta agreed, slightly shaking under the Alpha’s glare.

💥-To his credit, the Alpha did wrap you up in blankets before taking you out of your den and into the cold. The pup inside you would sell for a high price. So he was making sure nothing happened to you before you could give birth to it.

💥-After that, he might just leave you for the wolves. He knew animals tended to get hungry in the winter. He set you down on the cold ground before gathering things to make a fire. You weren't being left in the cold to die just yet.

💥-The warmth of the fire woke you. For a second you thought you were cuddling up against your purring dragon. That image was shattered when your face was hit with a gust of cold air.

💥-The gruff voices talking over the fire solidified the fact that you had been kidnapped. Before you could pretend like you were fast asleep distressed chirps burst from your chest.

💥-“Well look who is up.” The Alpha smirked at you from across the fire. “You are pretty far from home Omega. Your Alpha won’t hear you.” He went on.

💥-You teared up at the thought of being far from your mate and den. You wanted to be at home curled up with your warm Alpha and not here with a measly fire keeping you from freezing.

💥-“He will come for me you know. You can’t take a dragons pregnant mate and not expect for him to not come looking for me and the pup.” You glared, holding back your tears.

💥-“Ya ya.” The Alpha rolled his eyes at your words.

💥-You were about to tell into him with more about of what your Alpha would do to them when he found you but that died on your lips when you looked behind the Alpha and saw ruby eyes glinting in the dark.

💥-You nearly squealed in joy seeing your Alpha.

💥-You kept quiet though. Not wanting to alert the thieves that he was here. You Alpha made a motion with his hands and you understood. You peeled back the fur blanket resting on you and sat up.

💥-The males eyed you.

💥-“Do you know much about dragons?” You asked, trying hard not to smirk.

💥-“Ya. They like gold and steal Omegas right?” The Beta responded, leaning forward.

💥-“That is partly true but do you know much about a dragons mate?” You questioned, shifting your feet to get ready to stand.

💥-“No, not really. Dragons are a secretive bunch. With them hiding in caves a lot there isn’t much information on them.” The Beta pondered, a thoughtful look on his face.

💥-The Alpha looked bored with your conversation.

💥-“I’ll let you in on a secret. Once bonded a dragon’s fire doesn’t affect their mate. A dragon can breathe fire onto their mate and not a hair on their body would be singed.” You volunteered, standing up and brushing off the blankets completely.

💥-“And you are telling us this because?” The Alpha finally speaking up.

💥-“No reason really. Just that I should be fine now that my Alpha is here. Can’t say the same about you all.” You said, walking a bit away from them.

💥-You might not burn but your clothes sure would.

💥-Before any of them could really respond to the sound of trees snapping and your Alpha roaring rang throughout the forest. He had shifted into his dragon form and even in the dark his scales shined.

💥-He breathed fire into the air to showcase his fury.

💥-His chest glowed like a burning furnace in the dark.

💥-The thieves took off in different directions and you were glad they did. You didn’t want to hear their screams. Once it was clear that they were gone and not coming back you went and settled on the blankets by the fire.

💥-Your pup jolted awake at their father’s roar and started wiggling around.

💥-“It’s okay, pup. Your father is here. He is just dealing with something right now.” You cooed, rubbing your stomach to try and calm them.

💥-He was done with them pretty quick. You heard his hulking frame snapping trees before it stopped and he was running towards you. Happy chirps left you as he wrapped his strong arms around you.

💥-“Omega.” He breathed, his voice husky and slightly wobbly.

💥-“The pup and I are fine, Alpha.” You purred, leaning up to put your face into his warm neck, scenting him in the process.

💥-His hand clutched at your waist and stomach. Your pup calmed at the contact. He pulled your face away from him and eyed your forehead. A little dried up blood caked your hair.

💥-“One of them hit you. I should have killed them slower.” He growled, looking at your injury.

💥-“It’s fine, Alpha. You are here now and you won’t let anything happen to me and the pup.” You softly smiled, looking into his heated eyes.

💥-“Hatchling.” He softly corrected, getting lost in your soft gaze.

💥-You chuckled, “Hatchling.” You smiled, “Let’s go home.”

💥-“Yes, Omega.” He rumbled, before lifting you up in his arms princess style.

💥-“Wait! Your hoard!” You said, just remembering.

💥-“I can come back and get it after I have you warm and safe in our den.” He said, walking forward, ignoring the sacks of gold around the base.

💥-“I have your hoard heart. I made sure they didn’t take it.” You told him, burrowing closer to his warm chest.

💥-“Thank you.” He purred, leaning down to kiss your head.

Bonus:

💥-“I don’t want a new den! I like my bathing pool.” You pouted, crossing your arms. You sat in the den on his hoard. Bakugo standing in front of you with a stubborn glare.

💥-“I’ll make you another one! This den isn’t safe enough. I don’t want this to happen again.” He argued, running a hand through his hair. “I need you and the pups safe.”

💥-You knew coming home to find you kidnapped really did a number on him. He has been way more protective of you in the last few days. Constantly hovering and growling at anything that he thought was dangerous.

💥-“Fine, but you have to make me another one in our new den and only after the pup is born. I don’t think moving to another den right now is good for them.” You agreed, rubbing your stomach.

💥-“Of course, Omega.” He walked forward and dropped towards his knees so he was closer to your pup.

💥-“You think they like their birthing jewel?” He asked, eyeing the natural jewel that rested on top of your stomach.

💥-“They do. I can’t take it off my stomach without them kicking me in the kidney.” You laughed, loving the look of pride on his face.

💥-“Of course they like it, what child of mine wouldn't like a ruby.” He preened, proud that he chose right.

💥-You giggled, “I think I prefer emeralds so I don’t know.” You joked, knowing a certain green-scaled “friend” of his had a liking for them.

💥-“Don’t even say that.” He grumbled.

💥-You couldn’t help but laugh at his sour face.

Okay, first post in a while. I hope you like it. I know you guys liked crimson scales and wanted a part two so here you go! What did you think? I feel a little rusty so honest feedback would be nice. I am also sleep deprived so go easy.

I hope everyone has a good Christmas! 🎄

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bellakitse · 3 years

Text

Take Me Back to the Start

“I thought our fight was going to be our last words to each other,” he whispers, his eyes filling up. “I’m so damn sorry, baby.”

Carlos looks into those green eyes, wet with unshed tears and relief, and frowns. “I’m sorry, but who are you?” he asks and watches with growing dread as those eyes widen with shock and fear.

Carlos is in a car accident and forgets the last three and half years of his life.

M | 15.4K | AO3

Everything hurts.

That’s the first real thought Carlos has as he squints up at the lights over his bed through sore eyes. He can’t remember ever aching this much everywhere at once. He’s pretty sure even his hair aches, something he didn’t think was medically possible, but here he is, lying on what he’s sure is a hospital bed, and everything fucking hurts.

Closing his eyes for a moment, he tries to take inventory of the damage. His head is pounding, and when he moves it, he feels a tug over his brow that tells him there is a bandage there. Looking down without trying to lift his head, he catches a glimpse of a soft cast on his left arm from his wrist to his elbow. He tries to sit up to take in the rest of his body, only to let out a hiss when his ribs scream in protest at his sudden movement. Focusing on his breathing, it takes him a second to realize there is someone else in the room with him with their hand on his shoulder, helping him lay back down.

“Hey, hey, hey, slowly, Carlos,” he’s told with a gentle but urgent voice. “You have three cracked ribs from the accident. You can’t be moving like that right now.”

“Accident?” he questions through gritted teeth waiting for the wave of pain to pass. He gets a wince in return for his question.

“You flipped your car,” is the answer he receives. “The roads were wet, and we think an animal crossed your path. You swerved to avoid it, lost control of the Camaro, went off the side of the road, and flipped.”

“Jesus,” he whispers. He clenches his right hand as he tries to recall the accident described to him and comes up empty.

“I really thought I lost you.”

He turns his head at the words, finding beautiful green eyes pained and worried as they stare back at him.

“When I got the call,” he continues, letting out a shaky breath while running an even more trembling hand through his brown hair. “I thought our fight was going to be our last words to each other,” he whispers, his eyes filling up. “I’m so damn sorry, baby.”

Carlos looks into those green eyes, wet with unshed tears and relief, and frowns. “I’m sorry, but who are you?” he asks and watches with growing dread as those eyes widen with shock and fear.

֎֎֎

His retrograde amnesia, the doctors say, is brought on by his head injury during the accident. They have high hopes it’s temporary, but they can’t know for sure.

All they can do is wait, he’s told in hopeful tones, and while he can appreciate the optimism, all that means to Carlos right now is that he’s lost years of his life. He woke up thinking it was 2019, and instead, it’s 2023.

He gets the cliff notes version of the state of the world. Global pandemic in 2020, bad. Trump lost reelection, awesome. Michelle found Iris alive, a miracle. She left town to go help others like her sister, admirable.

The guy with the pretty green eyes sits in the corner of his hospital room silently while Carlos’ parents catch him up on things. Carlos’ eyes stray to him more than once, always finding his gaze on him as he nervously bites down on his lip.

“Do you know who TK is, son?” his father asks softly, turning towards the man in question. His mother has walked over to stand next to this TK, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder as he flinches when Carlos shakes his head, letting them know he doesn’t.

It’s strange and frustrating. It’s evident by the sympathetic looks they give the stranger and how his mother rubs his back that the man is someone they care about. Someone who is connected to Carlos, and no one needs to say out loud how for him to read between the lines.

TK’s broken expression as he stares at him – what he’d said when Carlos first woke up, lets him know what he needs to know. He and TK are involved.

That part isn’t necessarily shocking. His life might be suddenly turned upside down and his memory in shambles, but he has eyes, and TK is breathtakingly beautiful. He imagines that he took one look into those pretty green eyes and lost all thought of anything else.

What’s hard to imagine is a relationship where his parents are obviously well acquainted with someone he’s involved with.

“I don’t remember,” he says softly, feeling horrible at the choked sound TK lets out as he stands up from his chair. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, staring at the man across the room with regret.

“It’s okay,” TK answers with a wobbly smile that fools no one in the room. Finally, he exhales loudly, his eyes straying for the door. “I think I need some air,” he says, already turning on his heel, ignoring Carlos’ parents when they both say his name, leaving them alone in Carlos’ room.

“I’m sorry,” Carlos repeats quietly as the room is left in silence after TK’s abrupt exit.

His mother comes over to him while his father shakes his head at him. “Don’t apologize, mijo,” he says gently. “This isn’t your fault, and no one understands that better than TK. No one blames you for this.”

“He’s hurting,” Carlos points out. He might not remember TK, but the man’s expression hides nothing. On the contrary, his pain has been visible since the moment Carlos first opened his eyes.

“He loves you, Carlitos,” his mother says instead of denying his words. Her expression is achingly sad as she takes his hand, giving it a soft pat. “And he’s scared.”

Carlos doesn’t say out loud he’s scared too. There is a gaping hole in his memory in the shape of a man his mother claims loves him, a man who pulls at him in a way he can’t understand, and Carlos is terrified he’ll never know if he can’t remember him.

֎֎֎

A slew of unfamiliar faces visits him. Paul, Marjan, Nancy, Mateo, Tommy, and TK’s father, Owen. He politely answers when they ask him how he’s doing and apologizes when he has trouble remembering their names. He gets waved off in return as they smile compassionately and tell him they’re just glad he’s okay. That it doesn’t matter that he doesn’t know them even though they’re supposedly his friends – they’re just happy he’s alive.

He gets visited by Judd and Grace Ryder, and while he does remember them, it startles him to realize they are his friends now too. He remembers Judd from the 126 and is struck when he’s told the old crew is all gone. He can’t imagine what that must have been like for Judd, and he tells him so.

The tall man gives him a saddened smile that tells Carlos it’s still a pain that lingers. Judd tells him having his new team helps with that grief and how thankful he is that Owen and TK Strand decided to come to Austin years ago to rebuild the firehouse, giving Judd and the others a new family.

He sits up straighter at the mention of TK. He hasn’t seen much of him in the last few days, at least not while he’s awake. The guy is obviously giving Carlos space, but Carlos has caught him more than once at night when he is half-asleep checking in on him.

Carlos has taken to playing possum to not scare him off.

“Is that how we met?” he asks Judd. “Me and TK,” he clears up when Judd gives him a confused squint of his eyes. “Did he and I meet on the job?”

Judd and Grace share a look between each other.

“You really don’t remember anything about him, sweetheart?” Grace asks softly, her eyes pitying when he shakes his head.

“Man, I can’t imagine what that must feel like,” Judd says with a harsh exhale. “Poor kid must be losing his mind without you.”

He must make a face at that because Grace elbows Judd in his side hard in response.

“Not that it’s your fault, man,” Judd rushes to comfort him. “This was just really shitty luck. But you and TK have been through worse. You’ll get through this.”

Carlos swallows hard at the conviction in his friend’s voice. “My mother says he loves me,” he questions, still having a hard time believing it himself. While parts are missing from his mind, he does remember that there was never anyone serious in his life. No one who stuck around long enough for him to love, let alone love him back.

“He does, very much,” Grace says with a smile on her pretty face. “And you love him back just as much.”

“You’re actually pretty sickeningly cute together,” Judd tells him. “Always in your own little world where only the two of you exist,” he continues, getting a fond eye-roll from his wife. “It makes the rest of us want to pour water over the two of you, but after three years, we’ve learned to live with it.”

“Judson,” Grace scolds her husband softly, but Carlos tunes them out as he files away another piece of the puzzle.

Three years.

֎֎֎

He gets discharged from the hospital two weeks later. His ribs are bruised but healing, as is his arm. The scratches and bruises on his body are mostly faded. He greets the news of his release with barely restrained glee – already half out of his mind after spending so many days in the hospital.

“You’ll come stay with us, Carlitos,” his mother says with a smile that feels over the top. “It will be so nice to spoil you.”

He looks from her to his father and then finally to TK, who is actually there during his waking hours for once. He takes in his rod-straight posture as he stands at the end of his bed, his jaw clenched.

Carlos raises an eyebrow at him. “You’re okay with me going home with my parents and not you?” he challenges, barely holding back a sharp grin when it startles the man in question.

“I want you to feel comfortable,” TK answers after a moment.

“You’re my boyfriend,” he shoots back, only slightly stumbling over the last word. “I should be comfortable with you, shouldn’t I?”

“You don’t know me,” TK points out, his jaw tightening even further, and Carlos has the urge to touch at the edges, to run his thumb over the smooth-looking skin until TK stops grinding his teeth.

Instead of soothing him, though, Carlos shrugs a shoulder at him, seeming more unbothered than he actually feels. “Maybe if you didn’t just visit me when you think I’m asleep these last two weeks, I’d know you.”

TK’s mouth drops, his eyes going wide as he sputters, and Carlos has to ignore the little vicious voice in his head that cheers at the reaction. Instead, he turns to his parents, giving them a shake of his head.

“If I’m going to remember my life, then I should probably start living that life,” he reasons, holding up a hand when his mother tries to speak. “And as far as I know, I wasn’t living with my parents when the accident happened,” he lets the statement hang, waiting to see if anyone will correct him. “I thought so. I’m going home, to my home.”

He looks back over at TK, finding his eyes locked on him once more. There is so much going on behind those eyes. Too much for Carlos to read it all when the man continues to be a stranger to him, but there is one thing Carlos does recognize. Tentative hope.

“So,” he starts, raising his eyebrow once more as he drags out the word. “Are you gonna give me a ride back to our place or not?”

֎֎֎

“This isn’t the way home,” he points out the next day from the passenger’s seat of TK’s Ranger. The ride has been mostly silent except for the radio playing. His discharge had also been quiet, his parents doing most of the talking while they waited for his doctors to sign off on his papers. They’d made TK and him promise to call if they needed anything while also letting them know they would be checking in on them often. “You missed the turn on Lynwood,” he says, pointing back at the avenue.

TK makes a face, something very much like a grimace. “Yeah,” he starts to say slowly. “We don’t live there anymore – haven’t for a while actually.”

“We moved?” he questions, surprised. His place had been big enough for two people. More than enough for a couple just starting to live together. “Did you not like it?”

“I loved that house,” TK answers, turning to look at him. “I was so happy when you asked me to move in,” he continues softly. He gives him a sad smile. “But there was a fire, and we lost it.”

“A fire?” he repeats, swallowing hard at the sudden inexplicable fear he feels. TK looks over at him again, going instantly on alert. He takes a hand off the wheel, reaching halfway towards Carlos before coming to a halt.

Carlos watches as the hand hangs mid-air for a moment, feeling a twinge under his ribcage when TK drops it back on his lap instead of touching Carlos.

“We were in it,” he realizes, sure of it as something flashes through his mind, and he swears he can feel the heat and smell the smoke.

TK bites down on his bottom lip, his eyes focused on the road. Then, finally, he gives him a sharp nod but says nothing.

“We almost didn’t make it,” he continues, exhaling slowly, trying to bring his racing heart back down. “It messed me up for a while, didn’t it?”

TK pulls into a quiet street with modest two-story houses. He passes four of them before turning into the driveway of a moss-green house with a brown roof. Turning off the car, TK twists in his seat to look at him. “It did,” he answers honestly. “It got really close, and we almost didn’t make it out. We were shaken up for a long time, and as a result, there is a fire extinguisher in just about every room of this house, which you have me check to make sure they’re all in working order every couple of months.”

TK lets out a breath, raising a hand to run it through his hair. “But we got through it, and we found this place,” he points at the house. “And we fell in love with making new memories in it.”

Memories Carlos can’t remember. Neither have to say it out loud; the words ring out through the car regardless.

“It’s green,” he points out for lack of anything else to say. TK smiles, and for the first time since Carlos opened his eyes, it’s not brittle at the edges.

“To match my eyes,” he says softly, his voice sounding far away. He shrugs at him when Carlos gives him a questioning glance. “Your words, man,” he says, smiling again when Carlos wrinkles his nose at him. “Yeah, you’re kind of a sap that way. Come on.”

Carlos follows TK out of the car and up the steps of the house. Standing on the porch, he spots a swing. “My parents’ house has one of those,” he points at the padded bench. “I always wanted one for my house too.”

“I know,” TK says with a slight smile as he looks over at the porch swing. “You told me when we were looking for a new place to live. So I had it installed a few days before we officially moved in to surprise you.”

TK’s smile grows as he gets lost in the memory. “We spent most of our first night here on it instead of opening boxes. Eventually, I started to fall asleep on you, and you – “

TK trails off frowning, shaking his head at himself as he turns back to open the door.

“I what?” he asks. He puts his hand on TK’s forearm to keep him from turning the lock, swallowing when TK’s eyes thunder up to look at him, surprised by his touch. Carlos realizes he hasn’t done that before and resists the instinct to take his hand off. “I what, TK?” he asks again, his voice barely above a whisper.

“You carried me inside and put me to bed,” TK whispers back. He blinks, but that doesn’t keep Carlos from seeing the sudden sheen in his eyes. Clearing his throat, he turns towards the door once more, opening it. “You’ve always been really good about taking care of me.”

TK takes a step forward, and Carlos lets his hold on him slip away. Following him, he finds himself in the middle of a living room painted in light colors instead of the dark walls he remembers from his other place. There are pictures and knick-knacks everywhere, plants at each corner of the room. The place looks well lived-in and busier than his usual style. His face must show some of what he’s thinking because TK snickers.

“Yeah,” he says with a smirk. “It took you a while to get used to my particular brand of chaos.”

Carlos walks over to the fireplace, finding it full of little trinkets. “This is all you?” he questions.

“You have bought me a lot of them,” TK answers with a shrug. He points at a small bronze bee next to a detailed firetruck. “That one you got for me because you thought it matched my tattoo.”

Carlos raises an eyebrow at him as TK just shrugs at him again.

“Like I said, you’ve gotten used to my love for random stuff.”

“You mean I’ve gotten used to the fact that you’re a hoarder,” he tells him, smiling when TK lets out an offended gasp.

“Rude,” TK grumbles, but Carlos is pleased to see it’s said with a smile. TK hasn’t done much of that around him, understandably, and it makes Carlos ridiculously happy to be the cause of it now. It must show by the way TK’s expression softens as he looks at him.

“Do you want me to show you the rest of the house, or do you want to eat something first?” he asks, tilting his head to the side. “You haven’t eaten since the hospital this morning.”

“I could eat,” Carlos answers with a nod, his stomach grumbling at the suggestion. All he had this morning was the muffin on his food tray, too anxious to leave the hospital to eat anything else.

TK nods for him to follow him, leading him towards the kitchen. “You’re in luck. Grace dropped off a casserole last night, so you won’t be subjected to my cooking.”

Carlos leans against a marble counter, looking around at the beautiful kitchen, not a pot out of place, and knows instantly it’s his domain.

“You don��t cook?” he asks, getting a face back as TK pulls a glass dish out of the fridge.

“I mean, I wouldn’t starve,” he says as he turns on the oven, flashing him an amused grin over his shoulder. “And I have picked up some tricks from you. But we’ve both agreed it’s safer for our house and stomachs if you do the bulk of the cooking.”

Carlos smiles at the comment, entertained by it.

“This will take a bit to heat up,” TK gestures towards the oven. “Let me show you the upstairs.”

Carlos nods, trailing TK back out of the kitchen and up a set of stairs. He follows him as he shows him a room that seems to be part guestroom, part library, before continuing towards the end of the hall towards a master bedroom with a large bathroom attached.

“This bedroom is yours. I’ll be sleeping in the other room for now,” TK comments, standing back as Carlos looks around. From the open closet displaying their clothes together to the top of a black drawer with a series of pictures of them. Everything about the room tells the story of their life together.

Carlos picks up a picture frame. In it is a picture of him and TK on vacation going off the beach in the background. TK has a big silly hat on and a coconut drink in his hand, while Carlos has his arm wrapped around him, pressing a kiss into the man’s cheek. Both are smiling wide.

“That was Cancun a year ago,” TK says softly as he comes to stand next to him, looking down at the picture with him. “I surprised you with the trip and had to practically tape my mouth shut to not spill the beans before everything was ready. I’m not very good at keeping secrets, much less from you.”

Carlos looks over at TK, giving him a once-over. “You have no poker face,” he realizes, sure of it. TK proves him right by the startled look he gives him, letting out a huff a moment later.

“You always say that,” he tells him with an eye roll. “I just don’t see a reason to keep anything from my best friend and the love of my life.”

Carlos’ breath catches at TK’s description of him. “Is that what I am to you?”

“Yes,” TK answers without hesitation.

“We look so happy,” he says as he looks back down at the picture. There is no doubt in his mind as he looks at their smiles that he is in love with the man in the photograph.

“We are happy,” TK answers. He wavers for a second but then covers his hand holding the frame, and Carlos feels a shock go through him at the touch. “We have our moments like any other couple, sure, but we’re so damn happy, Carlos.”

Carlos twists towards TK, turning his hand to hold onto his. “I’m sorry,” he blurts out desperately, blinking back the stinging in his eyes at the loss he feels acutely, even if he can’t recall what he’s lost. “I’m sorry I can’t remember us.”

TK shakes his head at him, pulling him into his arms, careful of Carlos’ cast. “This is not your fault,” TK whispers firmly in his ear as he cradles the back of his head. Carlos sinks into his embrace, taking comfort in it. “We’re going to figure this out, Carlos,” TK continues as he pulls back to look at him. “I’m not saying it’s easy to look in your eyes and see very little recognition, but I’m not giving up on you or us.”

Carlos doesn’t know what to say to that, and it seems he doesn’t have to. TK gives him a small smile, pulling out of their hug while Carlos has to bite his tongue to keep from protesting as he loses TK’s touch, leaving him feeling cold.

“Come on,” he says softly, taking a step back. “The casserole should be warmed up by now.”

He follows TK back downstairs, watching him as he moves around their kitchen, serving up their meal, grabbing glasses when he points at the cabinet where they’re kept.

They sit down to eat the casserole quietly. It’s good, but Carlos barely tastes it, more preoccupied with sneaking looks at TK.

“You’re burning holes into me, Reyes,” TK says dryly as he looks up from his plate. “You know you can ask me whatever you want, right?” he questions gently. “I’m an open book. You just have to ask.”

“How did we meet?” Carlos questions instantly, dozens of questions ready to go on the tip of his tongue. TK seems to realize this by the smile on his face.

“On the job,” he says softly. “There was a car accident, a mother and son. We were the answering firehouse; you were the cop on the scene.”

“How long have you been a firefighter?” he asks, causing TK to wrinkle his nose at him.

“I’m not one anymore,” he answers. “I was one for over seven years between New York and here. But after almost a year in Austin, I switched from Fire to Rescue. I’m a paramedic now with Nancy and Tommy. You met them, right?”

Carlos nods, recalling the two women visiting him at the hospital.

“Tommy is my Captain, Nancy, my partner,” he continues with a smile that speaks of fondness for the women in question. “I became a firefighter in large part because I wanted to be like my dad, and I loved being one, but I always felt like something was missing. Becoming a paramedic was like finding the missing piece to the puzzle, you know?”

Carlos gives TK an understanding look, pausing for a moment before he asks his next question. “Did I ask you out, or did you ask me out?”

“Oh man,” TK chuckles, his cheeks turning slightly pink. Reaching for his glass, he takes a sip of water. “You need to understand that we didn’t start so easily as going on a date.”

Carlos raises an eyebrow at that, earning another smile from TK, this one bashful.

“Okay,” he starts, exhaling loudly. “So our story goes like this – ”

Carlos listens as TK tells him of Michelle inviting his team to the local honky-tonk after rescuing the mother and child from the car accident. He tells him about Carlos walking up to him in a ridiculously tight shirt and asking him to dance. He blushes as TK shoots him a look, telling him he looked so hot. And blushes even further when TK tells him of the two of them sneaking off to make out in the bar bathroom, exchanging numbers after kissing each other senselessly before seeing each other two days later and having sex on the floor of Carlos’ old living room.

“Not much time for courting,” he says dryly, unable to keep the smile off his face as TK grins back at him.

“In your defense, you did try to court me,” TK says gently, affection shining in his eyes. “You invited me to a midnight dinner the next night.”

“Oh,” Carlos says, relieved. “That’s better.”

TK winces slightly in return.

“Or not?” he questions, getting a nod back from TK.

“I kind of freaked out on you,” he says, looking deeply sorry. Carlos can’t imagine it could have been so bad if three years later they’re still together, but he waits for TK to explain.

“I had gone through a horrible breakup back home – I was getting ready to propose, and he was cheating on me with some guy from the gym. I wasn’t looking for anything other than some harmless sex, so when you made this lovely dinner for me with flowers and candles, and you looking so fine in a dress shirt and slacks. I turned into a jerk, and the dinner was a bust.”

Carlos quietly processes what TK has just told him. He feels a pang in his chest at the knowledge that TK loved someone else enough to consider marriage. He scoffs quietly at the silly jealousy he feels from it. It’s completely ridiculous to be jealous of some random man from TK’s past when TK is here now in their home with him. He tries not to think too hard about what it means to feel this way when TK is still essentially a stranger to him.

“How did we recover from that?”

TK cringes again, and Carlos has to keep from reaching out and poking his nose as it wrinkles adorably.

“I got arrested, and you were the officer to process me?” TK says in the form of a question, groaning when Carlos’ eyebrows both go up.

“That sounds like a conflict of interest.”

“That’s what I said to you!” TK exclaims, waving a hand at him. “Thank you for finally agreeing with me!”

“Maybe I made sure to get your paperwork when you were brought in,” he suggests, theorizing.

“Do you think you would do that?” TK questions curiously.

“If I really liked you and wanted a reason to talk to you, sure,” he shrugs, knowing that while he’s usually a by-the-book cop, he has an impulsive streak. “And something tells me I did like you enough to do that.”

TK looks away from him, but it doesn’t hide his pleased smile from Carlos. He feels warmed by it again, and wonders just how many times over the years has TK’s smile caused his stomach to flutter.

“So how did getting arrested help us after that dinner gone wrong?” he asks, clearing his throat. “And what did you get arrested for?”

“A bar fight,” TK answers, wincing when he shoots him an unimpressed look. “I know, I know. It was stupid, and trust me, you let me know how stupid you thought it was. But like I said, I was going through a bad breakup, I had relapsed on substances as a result, and I was looking for something to keep my mind off my life being shit that wasn’t alcohol or pills.”

TK sneaks a look at him, holding his breath as he waits for him to react to his confession.

“Are you okay now?” he asks softly, letting out a sigh when TK nods.

“I haven’t used since my relapse,” he answers. “There have been moments of struggle, but I have overcome them.”

“I’m proud of you, TK,” he says as he reaches for his hand, not sure if it’s his place but unable to stop himself.

TK gives him a slight quirk of his lips. “You always say that,” he whispers, offering his hand a squeeze. “And I’ll remind you now that you’re a big reason for my continued sobriety.”

“No – “ he starts to shake his head, freezing when TK grips his hand that much tighter.

“Yes,” TK answers firmly. “You are my biggest champion. Your unwavering faith in me has saved me so many times, sweetheart. I know you don’t remember it now, but you need to know that.”

֎֎֎

TK leaves for the basement after they finish their meal, claiming a need to do laundry. Really Carlos thinks he’s giving him space after the emotionally packed conversation they shared. Either way, Carlos takes the reprieve he’s given. He calls his mother to check in, assuring her he and TK are okay.

She gives him a loaded ‘hmm’ and an amused ‘nothing’ when he asks what’s that about.

After ending the call, he wanders around the house some more. It’s hard to find pieces of the life he does remember, but he figures losing everything in a fire will do that. He takes his time looking at the rest of the pictures around the house. He and TK are attached at the hip in just about all of them, more often than not smiling at each other instead of the camera.

TK comes back upstairs an hour later with a basket full of clean clothes. “Fresh towels,” he proclaims happily. “Just the way you like it for your showers,” he smiles before giving him a curious look. “We’ll have to wrap your arm with plastic for that – are you okay?”

Carlos nods, pointing at the framed photos on the wall. “Just looking,” he answers, pausing as something comes to mind for the first time and feeling silly for it. “Hey, do you know what happened to my phone?”

“It got wrecked in the accident,” TK answers as he crosses towards a cabinet. “But I got it replaced for you, and made sure everything was backed up from the cloud.”

He takes the phone from him, looking at it, and then looks back up at TK, who smiles back at him a little awkwardly. “Your passcode is my birthday,” he answers, rattling off the numbers to him before leaving the room again, heading upstairs with the laundry in hand.

“I really am a sap,” he mumbles to himself, punching in the code. He looks through his old messages first. Some are from his partner Mitchell, there is a recipe link from Paul, and a group message between him, his parents, TK’s father, and TK himself about dinner plans from over a month ago. The conversation between him and TK is endless, with many ‘I love yous’ and ‘be safe’ exchanged. There are also teasing remarks – quite a few racy enough to make his ears feel hot.

He turns to his camera roll and scoffs at himself at the sheer amount of pictures of TK in it.

“What’s that noise for?” TK questions coming back into the living room.

“I might be your stalker,” he answers, waving his phone when TK raises an eyebrow at him. “Pretty sure 90% of my phone is pictures of you, so yeah,” he points a finger at himself. “Stalker.”

TK lets out a laugh, throwing his head back, and Carlos can’t help but stare, transfixed by the image of him. It’s almost unfair how beautiful he is without even trying.

Looking back at him, Carlos can see his green eyes sparkle with amusement.

“You should see my phone,” he says unbothered. “It’s all you, all the time. Nancy teases the crap out of me for it. So we’re pretty even on that front, don’t worry.”

“There are some dirty messages from you here,” he tells him, biting down on his lip when it makes TK smirk, even as he turns a rosy pink.

“I would bet my car that there are more than just dirty messages saved in there from me,” he answers, his smirk growing filthier as Carlos’ eyes widen. “Sometimes you work nights, and I get bored without you,” he tells him, his blush growing stronger. “Bet you haven’t found those pictures yet.”

No, but he sure as hell plans on finding them later when he’s alone, he thinks, going hot himself at the thought. “So you like to tease me,” he questions, earning himself a suggestive chuckle in return.

“As I like to tell you when you call me a tease. It’s not teasing if I deliver,” TK points out, grin firmly in place. “And I always do.”

“Of all the things to forget,” Carlos grumbles, mostly at himself.

TK’s smile slips away, a flash of pain crossing his face before he can hide it away. “It will come back,” he says softly.

Carlos tilts his head, studying him. “You sound so sure.”

TK gives him a gentle shrug of his shoulder in return. “When it comes to us against whatever crap the world throws at us, I’ll place my bet on you and me every single time.”

֎֎֎

Carlos is in the bedroom waiting for TK to finish his shower before he can hop in himself. He smiles as he hears TK sing some song horribly off-key.

“Hey, rockstar,” he calls out when he hears the water shut off, grinning as TK lets out a shouted curse in surprise. He probably figured Carlos was still downstairs. “When you’re done with your concert, can you help me wrap my cast?”

He hears more muffled grumbling that causes him to chuckle at least until TK opens the door. His laughter halting in his throat as he takes in his boyfriend in nothing more than a towel, his chest bare with water droplets running down his defined abs.

“You weren’t supposed to hear that,” he scolds him with a pout on his face that has no right being as charming as it is.

“I understand how we fell into bed so quickly,” he blurts out, blushing as TK raises a questioning eyebrow at him. “You’re stunning,” he continues, unable to hold back the thought. “I must have taken one look at you and just fallen head over heels for you.”

TK stares at him for a moment before shaking his head, a small reluctant smile taking over his face. “Leave it to you to have no memory of us and still manage to be ridiculously romantic,” he huffs, chuckling softly to himself. “You’re dangerous, Reyes.”

“I’m sorry,” Carlos apologizes, feeling awkward. “I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

TK crosses the room, coming to sit down next to him on the bed. “The fact that you’re still attracted to me doesn’t make me uncomfortable. On the contrary, it gives me hope,” he tells him with a half-smile. “Hope that you’ll come back to me here,” he says, tapping a finger against Carlos’ temple. “And here,” he brings his hand down to tap against Carlos’ chest over his heart.

“Don’t give up on me,” Carlos whispers, and even he can hear the pleading quality in his voice.

“Never,” TK answers gently, his green eyes bright and hopeful, and Carlos might not know him well, but he can see the love he feels for him in those eyes – it leaves him breathless. He realizes with a start how badly he wants to lean in, to close the gap between him and TK and see if tasting him will trigger the memories he so desperately wants back. He realizes with alarming clarity that even if he doesn’t remember, he very much wants to know if TK tastes as sweet as he seems.

He takes too long deciding, and when he shifts an inch closer, TK is already grabbing the plastic and medical tape he has on the bed.

“Now, let’s get this wrapped so you can shower,” he says sweetly, reaching for Carlos’ arm. “You’re probably tired after the long day. I bet you go right to sleep afterwards.”

Carlos thinks sleep is probably not coming with his swirling thoughts, but he gives TK a nod anyway.

“I’m going to the farmer’s market tomorrow morning,” TK continues once his arm is wrapped up. “We usually go together on our days off. Think you’re up for it?” he asks, giving Carlos a hopeful look.

Carlos nods again, wanting to keep that look on TK’s face and the bright smile that follows.

“That sounds nice.”

֎֎֎

Carlos leans against the kitchen counter, staring through tired eyes as the coffee machine spits out a robust Colombian roast. Sleep, like he had expected, had been hard to come by the night before, with too many thoughts and too much space in his bed for him to settle in right. He might not remember sleeping with TK in their bed, but he has a feeling his body does, and it rebelled at the idea of TK being in another room away from him.

More than once last night, he had given serious thought to walking over to the guest room and begging TK to come sleep beside him. He hadn’t, and instead spent the night twisting and turning, flashes of moments running through his mind too fast to make a complete picture. It frustrates him while also giving him hope being home with TK will trigger his memories.

He hears footsteps coming down the stairs and turns his head just in time to see a sleepy, shirtless TK come into the kitchen, rubbing his eyes and grumbling.

“Need. Coffee. Now,” he mumbles, passing him, going straight for the coffee maker, only to let out a whine when he sees the pot is nowhere near ready.

“Good morning,” he says dryly, a smile tugging on his face at the adorable image TK makes, pout in full display as he turns to acknowledge him.

“Coffee,” he demands once more.

Carlos opens his mouth to tease him, stopping short as something comes back to him instantly.

He’s in the middle of bringing his cup to his lips when he feels TK slide up behind him, his arms going around his waist, his face tucked between his shoulder blades.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” he says fondly, twisting in TK’s hold to turn to him, smiling at his sleepy expression.

“Woke up without you,” TK pouts, his green eyes narrowed. “On our day off. That’s illegal; arrest yourself right now.”

“If I arrest myself, we can’t spend the day together,” he points out, chuckling as TK gives him a dry look.

“Maybe I just want you in handcuffs,” TK quips, a teasing smile playing on his lips when Carlos raises an eyebrow at him.

“We can play that game if you want. It was a lot of fun the last time,” he challenges back with a smirk of his own when TK lets out a sharp breath at his answer.

“Too early for this,” TK grumbles, his cheeks a pretty pink. “Need coffee.”

“If you let me go, I can get you a cup,” he offers, waiting as TK considers. Finally, his boyfriend shakes his head.

“Nope,” he answers, tucking his face into Carlos’ shoulder, pressing a kiss to his collarbone. “This is better anyway.”

“Hey,” TK snaps his fingers softly in front of his face. When Carlos focuses on him, he finds him looking at him with a curious and slightly worried expression. “Are you okay? Where did you go?”

“Nowhere,” he answers, trying to give TK a smile to ease his worry while inside, he’s reeling. The memory had been as clear as TK standing in front of him now, but more than that, he can remember what he’d been feeling at that moment. The love and adoration he felt for the man in his arms, not wanting to let him go even for a cup of coffee.

“Are you sure?” TK asks again, still concerned.

“Yeah,” he says again, this time his smile coming out a little easier as he wraps himself in the feelings caused by the memory. “Are we still going to the farmer’s market today?”

“Sure,” TK answers as he walks over to the coffee pot that is now full. He pulls out two mugs, pouring them both a cup. “If you’re up to it, that is.”

“I am,” he answers, taking the cup TK offers him. “I thought I could cook this evening,” he suggests, waving his cast at him. “With your help.”

TK shoots him a grin. “Sure, it should be fun to watch you bite your lip to keep from telling me I’m chopping the wrong way.”

“Do you chop the wrong way?” he questions, suddenly concerned.

TK shrugs a shoulder at him. “You seem to think so. You’re always warning me I’m going to cut myself and hover over me like the worrywart you are.”

“I’m suddenly reconsidering letting you help me,” he says honestly, getting another playful grin from TK.

“Too late,” he chirps. “I’m helping. Now I’m gonna head for the shower. We can grab breakfast at this bakery we like near the market.”

Carlos nods in agreement as TK starts to leave the kitchen. He’s about to let him pass when he notices a scar near TK’s left shoulder. “Hey, what is that?” he stops him, bringing a hand to the spot, running a thumb over it. He hears TK’s breath catch, but he ignores it as he realizes with a start what he’s looking at. “Is this a bullet wound, TK?” he asks, his voice coming out higher than usual.

He stares at TK with wide eyes as the man lets out a wince.

“Yeah…see what happened was – “

֎֎֎

“So you’re telling me you have been shot at and kidnapped?” he questions for the third time since TK finished retelling him his unfortunate work calls. Since then, they’ve stopped by the bakery TK mentioned, bought their breakfast – a spinach pie for him and a cherry cheese Danish for TK, and now are walking around the market, reusable grocery bags in hand. Carlos is still at a loss, having trouble understanding how TK can recall the moments so calmly. When Carlos on the other hand, is quietly freaking out and wondering how to hide TK away from the world hellbent on injuring him.

“Yes,” TK answers simply, lifting his hand to offer him half his Danish. “Trade? We usually do because you like the last taste in your mouth to be sweet.”

He distractedly takes the offered pastry, giving TK the last bit of his pie.

“Do I have blood pressure issues?” he questions, looking over at TK as he pops the last bit of food in his mouth. “I feel like I have to because my BP is skyrocketing right now.”

“So dramatic,” TK scoffs, rolling his pretty eyes at him. “As if I would let you have high blood pressure. My dad is a health nut. If you had a high BP, there would be no salt in the house,” he continues with a cheeky smile that makes Carlos huff.

“Cute,” he says sarcastically. “Have I tried to bubblewrap you? I think drastic measures need to be taken here to keep you safe.”

He winces as his voice goes a little manic at the end there, causing TK to stop walking, the amused but exasperated smile on his face dropping.

“Hey,” he starts softly, reaching out to touch Carlos’ wrist, pressing the pads of his fingers against his pulse point, squeezing gently, helping Carlos center himself. “I’m okay,” he says slowly, his eyes locking with Carlos’.

“Yes, they were scary moments, ones I would rather not repeat. But when I was shot, you were there every day waiting for me to wake up.” TK squeezes his wrist again, making sure he’s listening. “And when I got kidnapped, you figured out where we were, and you rescued me.”

“I did?” he asks breathlessly. Leave it to TK to get to the root of Carlos’ freak out. The thought of TK hurt or in danger and Carlos helpless to save him.

“You did,” TK answers. He lets go of Carlos’ wrist, but Carlos instinctively takes his hand before he can get too far.

“Is this okay?” he whispers, holding his breath as he waits for TK to decide if he should pull his hand away or not. He watches his eyes flicker between their joined hands and Carlos’ face, a flash of something too close to sorrow playing over his features for a second. He’s just about to pull away himself and apologize to TK when he links their fingers together, giving Carlos a slight smile.

“Yeah, sweetheart, of course it’s okay,” he whispers back, his smile more honest and less pained. “Take this as a blanket invitation to touch me when you want or need, okay?”

Carlos startles at the offer, staring at TK as he looks back at him.

TK shakes his head softly at him. He reaches up, touching Carlos’ temple gently with his other hand. “This is hard for me,” he admits, brushing one of Carlos’ curls into place. “But I can’t even begin to imagine what’s going on in your head. How scared you must be to have all these missing pieces in your memory. So yeah, Carlos, if holding my hand brings you any kind of comfort, if touching me helps center you, feel free to touch me anytime the urge hits.”

Carlos can’t speak in the face of such an offer when he knows TK hurts every moment Carlos doesn’t remember their life together.

“That might not be fair to you.”

TK gives him another gentle smile, his eyes shining with what Carlos can only call love. “You let me worry about what’s fair to me,” he tells him before wrinkling his nose at him sweetly. “Besides, I’ve never said no to your hands on me, and I’m not about to start now.”

They stay like that, neither moving as they get lost in the moment. It’s only when a sharp whistle pierces the air that TK breaks their eye contact, twisting around to find the source. Carlos doesn’t recognize the elderly woman waving at them from a few stalls away, but TK obviously does by the low noise he lets out.

“Shit,” he mutters, looking back at him. “That’s Martha; we buy jam and honey from her. She’s very old and very sweet and is extremely fond of us. She’s gonna take one look at your arm and fuss, and if we tell her about your memory issues – “

“She’s not going to take it too well?” Carlos finishes for him, getting a nod in return. “Okay,” he says, understanding TK is suggesting they pretend everything is fine. “Martha, you said?”

“Yeah,” TK bites down on his lip nervously.

Carlos gives TK’s fingers a gentle tug. “Let’s go say hello and get some jam. Does she have apricot?” he questions as they start to make their way over to her stall.

TK lets out a breath, smiling slightly as he leans into Carlos’ side. “Yes, she has apricot jam, which she always lets you taste even though we buy it from her all the time.”

“I like her already,” he says honestly. He can see the woman better now. He can see the happy smile on her face as they approach, followed by concern as her eyes stray to his arm.

“Carlos Reyes,” she gasps once they are close enough. “What in the world happened to you?”

“Car accident,” he says as she comes around her stall to get closer. He stands still as she touches his arm and then his cheek with gentle wrinkled hands as she peers up at him.

“Oh my dear boy,” she says softly, her tone caring like a grandmother. “Are you okay?”

He gives her a nod, tilting his head towards TK. “This one over here is taking very good care of me,” he says with a playful waggle of his eyebrows, smiling when she lets out a whistling laugh, her concern easing at his teasing.

“I’m sure he is,” she says with a laughing tone of her own. She turns towards TK, holding out her hands to him. TK places his hands in hers, holding on as she gives them a gentle squeeze. “You okay, dear?”

“Yeah, I’m okay, Martha,” TK answers her softly, sneaking a look at him. “He’s alive and whole, and that’s all that matters to me.”

Martha studies both of them with a gentle look. “Sweet boys,” she whispers. She pats TK’s hands again before letting go of them. “Your love is so special,” she continues with a smile that is then followed by a pointed look. “Beautiful, even though I see no rings yet.”

TK groans out the woman’s name through a tired smile. He looks amused, but it doesn’t hide the gentle blush taking over his face. “We’ve talked about this, Martha,” he reminds her, sneaking a look at him again before focusing on the older woman. “We’re happy the way we are, for now, there is no need to – “

“Rush things,” Martha finishes for TK, rolling her eyes at him. “Blah, blah, blah,” she mocks with her hand.

“Martha!” TK exclaims with a surprised laugh. Carlos looks away, not knowing what to say. He can feel his heart tick up at the subject. Obviously, it’s one the older woman is used to commenting on going off TK’s response, and Carlos wonders what his usual answer is. He doesn’t know. All he knows is that the mention of rings – his on TK’s finger, makes his stomach do a somersault.

“Young people,” Martha mutters as she opens a jar of jam, spreading some over a cracker before passing it over to him.

He takes it from her, popping it into his mouth, letting out a pleased sound as the sweet taste fills his senses. “Delicious,” he says to her, causing her to beam back at him. “Best jam ever.”

“If you put a ring on this boy’s finger already, I might give you my secret recipe,” she says to him, grinning brightly as he feels his face go red.

“Oh my god, Martha,” TK mumbles, turning his face to hide it into Carlos’ shoulder.

Carlos instinctively pulls him closer, trying to shield him from his own embarrassment.

Martha sighs deeply, pursing her lips at them. “Just the jam then?”

֎֎֎

They get home past noon. The ride back is quiet and a little uncomfortable. Martha’s teasing prompting some new questions Carlos is itching to ask.

“I left some chicken out for a southwest salad for lunch?” TK tells him as they place their groceries on the counter. “What do you say?”

“Sounds good,” he answers as he takes out the avocados from the bag, separating the two ripe ones for the salad.

“Great,” TK says, flashing him a strained smile. He starts pulling out what he needs from the cupboards, beans, and corn, while Carlos gets the rest from the fridge.

They work together around the kitchen quietly, Carlos’ assistance limited by his arm. Finally, as TK cooks the chicken on a cast iron skillet, he can’t hold in his questions any longer.

“Have we talked about it?” he asks, holding his breath when TK shoots him a knowing look.

“We haven’t planned anything officially,” he answers, not needing Carlos to clarify his question. “But you know how much I love you, and I know how much you love me. We both know we want to spend the rest of our lives together. There is no doubt about that.”

Carlos takes in a sharp breath at the certainty he hears in TK’s voice as he speaks about their commitment to each other in the present tense, not in the past before Carlos’ accident. TK’s absolute belief in them is humbling, and Carlos is left in awe that someone loves him as much as TK does.

It must show on his face by the way TK’s expression softens. He reaches out, touching Carlos’ side gently for a moment, offering him comfort.

“The chicken is done,” he says as he pulls his hand back.

Carlos doesn’t say anything. Instead, he just watches TK move around the room, getting their salads ready. He takes the plate offered, heading for the dining room table, following TK.

“I have a shift tomorrow,” TK tells him as they eat. “But Captain Vega said I can call out if you need me here with you.”

He looks at him questioningly, but Carlos is already shaking his head. “I don’t want you to miss work because of me,” he tells him. It’s bad enough that he’s on leave for the next few weeks due to his arm and head injury. “I’m healthy enough to be left on my own.”

TK opens his mouth like he wants to argue, pausing when Carlos gives him a pleading look. “Okay then,” he says softly, agreeing. “I’ll tell her I’m good to go, but I’m gonna check in on you.”

Carlos nods.

“A lot,” TK warns him, and this time Carlos smiles.

“I expect nothing less,” he answers softly, affection spreading through him for the man before him.

֎֎֎

They spend the rest of the afternoon and evening lounging around. Carlos’ parents call again, this time facetiming. He and TK press against each other as they talk to them, and Carlos catches the smiles his folks throw their way more than once.

“My parents seem to really like you,” he comments later as they lay back on the couch watching TV. They’re watching the end of an episode of house hunters, and TK has been complaining about the couple and their ridiculously high expectations for most of it. “How did that happen?”

TK turns to him, raising both eyebrows in challenge. “I’m sorry, do you not find me charming enough to win over Gabriel and Andrea Reyes?” he asks with a teasing smirk on his face. “Because I’ll have you know they adore me. Big fans of TK Strand those two.”

Carlos rolls his eyes even as he smiles. “I know. I can tell they love you,” he answers. “And I know you’re charming. You’ve already captivated me, and I’ve only been home two days with you.”

TK looks away from him at that, but Carlos can see the corners of his mouth tug upward anyway.

“I just remember how it used to be between my folks and me when it came to my private life,” he continues though he wants to forget the subject and focus on the smile on TK’s face. He wants to reach out and trace it with his thumb, hating how it drops as he continues. “I guess I don’t understand how we got to this point with them.”

“That’s probably more of a conversation you should have with your folks,” TK answers delicately as he fidgets with his fingers. “But I will say that though it took time, once they knew about us, they were very happy with our relationship, and it greatly improved your own relationship with them. That old hurt you’re remembering of not being able to share your life with them, that mended over time.”

“Thanks to you,” he answers softly, sure of it deep in his bones that TK had everything to do with it.

TK doesn’t deny it; he just gives him a kind smile. “I always have your back,” he tells him. “Just like you have mine.”

Carlos wants to say thank you, but it doesn’t feel nearly enough. The smile TK gives him lets him know he hears it anyway.

“I’m gonna hop in the shower,” TK says as he stands up from the couch. “When I get out, I’ll wrap your arm for you, okay?”

He gives him a nod and watches as he heads upstairs. He waits for a few minutes before he too gets up, turning off the TV and the lights, punching in the security code TK wrote down for him before heading upstairs himself.

A few minutes pass before TK comes out of the shower and into the bedroom, this time in a pair of sleeping shorts and a t-shirt, disappointingly not like the night before with just a towel around him.

“I didn’t even ask how you slept last night,” he says, running a towel over his head, looking at Carlos expectantly.

Carlos goes to tell him he slept fine, not wanting to burden him, but can’t bring himself to lie. “The bed is too big,” he says instead, getting a sympathetic look back from TK.

“We have slept together for a long time now,” he says softly. “We are used to our bodies next to each other. I didn’t get great sleep in the guestroom either,” he admits.

“You could – “ Carlos stops himself, biting down on his lip as his heart starts to race at the same thought he’s had since the night before. He can tell by the way TK’s eyes widen that he knows what he wants to say.

“Yeah?” he questions, pausing hesitantly as he licks his lips. “You wouldn’t be uncomfortable with me in bed with you?”

He lets out a small huff as he closes his eyes for a moment. When he opens them, he can’t help but smile. “I might not remember a lot of stuff right now. But I know for a fact that you have never made me feel uncomfortable, that much I do know.”

He tilts his head to the side as he studies the way TK has gone shy. “What about you? Will you be uncomfortable if we share the same bed?”

“More like relieved,” TK blurts out, going rosy in the cheeks as he speaks. “It’s been a long two weeks without you, sweetheart.”

His eyes darken for a moment, and Carlos feels his breath catch.

“Okay then,” he whispers, swallowing hard as his stomach clenches with anticipation, feeling a fundamental shift between them. “It’s settled.”

֎֎֎

He takes his time in the shower, and by the time he comes out, TK has settled into his side of the bed, his eyes half-closed as they follow him around the room that is dark except for his bedside lamp. It casts a low yellow glow that gives the space a dream-like quality.

“You should know I have been known to cling to you like a koala in the middle of the night,” he warns him sleepily as Carlos gets under the covers. It sounds nice, and he tells TK that, earning a tired chuckle in return.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he sighs out as he turns to his side, facing Carlos with his eyes closed.

Carlos mimics him, turning towards him without turning off the lights just yet, his face inches away from TK’s. He doesn’t mean to stare at him, but he can’t help himself. This is the closest he’s had TK since this started, and he can’t help but want to take him in. He must be staring too hard because after a few minutes, TK’s eyes flutter open. They’re tired but bright in the darkened room. Like two beacons of light, they pull Carlos in. He inches closer until his forehead is pressed against TK’s. Their breathing is loud and heavy, and Carlos can feel every puff that passes TK’s lips touch his face.

He reaches up, giving in to the impulse from earlier, running a trembling finger over TK’s mouth, finding it as soft as he imagined.

“Carlos,” TK whispers, and when Carlos looks up from his mouth, he finds his pupils blown wide.

TK lifts a hand, grabbing at his bicep to pull him closer.

“Are you sure?” he questions even as he wraps an arm around TK’s waist, pulling him tight against his body, his heart racing at the soft moan TK lets out in response.

“If you don’t kiss me, I’m going to lose my mind,” TK mutters, pressing his forehead harder against Carlos’.

Carlos lets out a low groan right as he covers TK’s mouth with his own.

It’s not a tentative kiss.

He might not remember their first, but his mouth and body seem to have no such problem as he sinks his tongue into TK’s mouth. Desperate from the first taste for more.

TK gives as good as he gets; he licks and bites on Carlos’ bottom lip, smiling into the kiss as it makes Carlos gasp. Then, he presses a smaller, gentler one over the sting to soothe it, and this time Carlos’ toes curl at the sweetness of the gesture.

“I must want to kiss you all the damn time,” Carlos whispers frantically as he clings to TK. It gets him a soft, loving laugh from his boyfriend as their kisses slow down to a gentle back and forth of their lips.

“The feeling is very mutual, sweetheart,” he tells him, giving him one last kiss, followed by two smaller ones at the corners of his mouth. He pulls back then, reaching over Carlos’ side to turn off the light. They settle in for the night, neither pulling away from each other’s arms.

He feels TK fall asleep even as he remains wide awake and accepts another sleepless night as TK gets even closer, his face tucked away into Carlos’ neck.

With TK in his arms, this one is already a hundred times better than the night before.

֎֎֎

Carlos is in the middle of mindlessly channel surfing when there is a knock at the door. Most of his morning has been aimless with nothing to do but think of TK and them waking up together in a tangle of limbs.

He had woken up to his breath being stolen by the beauty of a sleeping TK. He’d been helpless but to stare and study every detail of his face, committing it to memory, wondering how in the world he could ever forget such a perfect picture in the first place. Twenty minutes later, right before his alarm went off, TK’s eyes had fluttered open to find his gaze on him. The smile that took over TK’s face as he teasingly called him a weirdo for staring had caused something to squeeze tight under Carlos’ ribcage with a feeling he didn’t dare speak out loud yet.

Getting up from the couch, he opens the door to find his mother on the other side with a bakery box in her hands.

“Conchas?” she asks with a bright smile as she shakes the box back and forth.

Carlos smiles, giving her a head tilt toward the inside of the house, kissing her on the cheek as she comes in.

They head for the kitchen, and Carlos silently starts the coffee machine before pulling a jar of Nutella out of the cupboard.

“You remember that,” she says with a pleased smile as she grabs a knife and starts cutting the conchas down the middle to spread the Nutella over it.

“Mmhmm,” he nods, leaning against the counter, waiting for the coffee to brew.

She passes him a half of the sweet bread with a smile. “How’s it going, cariño?” she questions, her brow wrinkled with worry.

Carlos chews on his concha as he tries to think how to answer that. Physically he’s okay; his arm is healing, and he should have his cast off in a few weeks. Even mentally, the doctors aren’t terribly concern. They’re sure his memory will come back, and given the small but frequent flashes he’s had, he’s inclined to believe them.

Just this morning, he’d made TK’s banana and peanut butter shake – made with oat milk, two tablespoons of creamy peanut butter, and half a scoop of protein powder. TK had taken a sip from it, smiling as he told him it was precisely how he liked it, pausing for a moment as he realized Carlos remembered how to make it before his smile grew even larger. He was remembering, it was slow, but it was happening.

He could tell his mother all of that, but that wasn’t what was on his mind. What’s on his mind is the feel of TK’s mouth against his the night before and then this morning as he let him kiss him before he left for work. What’s on his mind is how right it felt to hold TK as they slept. What is on his mind is how TK’s smile or laugh causes Carlos to go warm all over.

“I think I’m falling in love, Mami,” he says softly, holding his breath once he’s let the words out.

Andrea puts down her treat, wiping her face with a napkin. When she lowers it, Carlos can see the hints of a smile playing on her face. “Well, I hope it’s with your boyfriend, or else this is going to get really awkward for you.”

“Mami,” Carlos groans at her teasing, getting a delighted laugh in return. He pushes off the counter to turn off the coffee maker, pouring the hot liquid into two mugs. “You don’t look particularly surprised by what I just said.”

Andrea smiles at him as she takes the mug he offers her. “Why would I be?” she questions. “Like temporary amnesia is going to destroy what you and TK have? Por favor.”

“What do we have?” he questions, curious to know how his mother sees his relationship with TK. If she really approves.

His mother seems to understand. She places her mug down, crossing the distance between them until she’s standing in front of him, taking his face in her hands.

“I will always regret not asking you more after you came out to us,” she starts, shaking her head when he goes to speak. “You were just a kid, my sweet boy, scared of what we would think, and we messed up so bad. Your father and I thought the best way to let you know it was fine was by acting like nothing had changed, when of course everything had changed for you. We should have asked about your romances, about your heartbreaks.”

“Mami,” he whispers, his heart in his throat as his mother gives him a sad smile.

“We didn’t realize we were hurting you by keeping quiet,” she continues. “I love TK as if he was my own, Carlitos, for a lot of reasons, but two above all.”

Carlos bites down on his lip, waiting for her to tell him her reasons.

“One,” she says with a teary smile. “Him coming into your life gave us a chance to fix our mistakes with you. He became so important to you, you couldn’t keep him from us, and as a result, we got to meet him, know him and get to know you too. The you we had been missing out with our ignorance, and I am so grateful for that.”

“And the second reason?” he asks, swallowing hard around the lump of emotion that has formed in his throat as he starts to get a picture of how he and his parents overcame years of silence about his personal life.

“The second reason answers your original question,” she says with a growing smile that is both loving and proud. “What you and TK have – it’s what I have always wanted for you since I first held you.”

With her hold on his face, she makes sure his eyes are locked with hers, letting Carlos see how sincere she’s being.

“You two have the type of love I always wished for you. Kind, patient, incredibly loving and tender, and above all else, genuine. You, telling me that you’re falling in love with TK all over again isn’t surprising in the least, mi niño. It was the only direction this story could go.”

֎֎֎

Carlos waves at his mother as she drives away after dropping him off at the firehouse. He walks through the bay doors, finding both fire engines parked but an empty space where the rescue 126 rig should be. He sees a few of the faces that visited him while in the hospital over by the back of the firehouse but hesitates about approaching them.

“Carlos? What are you doing here? Are you okay?”

Carlos turns around at the voice to find the fire captain – TK’s father, his brain supplies, coming towards him with a concerned frown on his face.

“Captain Strand,” he greets him with a nervous smile as the older man’s frown deepens.

“We worked long and hard getting you comfortable enough to call me Owen,” he says with a shake of his head. “I know you can’t remember that we get along great right now, but please, let’s not revert to Captain or sir, I beg of you. It’s just Owen.”

“I’m sorry, sir – shit – Owen,” he gets out, cringing a bit as he feels like a school kid in trouble with the teacher. “I’ll work on it.”

“That’s all I ask,” Owen tells him with a smile that doesn’t hide his amusement in the least. “What brings you by? Not that you’re not welcome anytime, of course.”

“I was restless at home,” he answers with a shrug as he looks around the place. “I figured I’d come and visit TK, but – “ he trails off.

“He and his team are answering a call,” Owen finishes for him, his smile growing fond and meaningful. It makes Carlos want to squirm under the man’s watchful eye.

“What?” he blurts out finally as Owen seems to grow even more amused with him.

The captain lets out a chuckle, holding his hands up in a silent apologetic gesture. “It’s just that nothing has changed. You might have trouble remembering a lot of things right now, but you still seek TK out when you’re anxious.”

“How do you know I’m anxious?” he questions, surprised. He gets a sympathetic fatherly look from Owen that seems vaguely familiar in the back of his mind.

“Because you and I are friends,” he answers, slapping his back gently as he gestures towards the kitchen with a tilt of his head, asking him to follow him.

Carlos does, sitting on one of the stools when Owen points to it.

“And hopefully someday soon we’ll be family,” he continues with a smirk when Carlos jerks his head up to stare at him. “Officially anyway, we’re already family.”

Carlos doesn’t say anything as Owen pulls a slim pitcher with green gunk in it out of the fridge.

“I’m usually a good listener,” the fire captain tells him, placing a glass of the green liquid in front of him. “You and I talk sometimes.”

Carlos brings the glass to his mouth, taking a sip, instantly making a face that causes Owen to snort.

“You usually hide your distaste for my power greens smoothies better,” he says to him, laughing when Carlos scowls.

“You know I hate it and still offer it to me?” he questions, getting a cheeky grin and a nod.

“Just waiting for the day you finally have the guts to tell me you don’t like it.”

“Well, that day has arrived, Owen,” he says dryly, even as he blushes in the face of the older man’s enjoyment.

“At last,” Owen smirks, and it’s so reminiscent of TK it forces Carlos to smile back reluctantly.

“Strand men, troublemakers to the core,” he mutters, his eyes widening moments later. “I remember that,” he whispers, catching Owen’s eyes. “You two are brats.”

“Hey, now,” Owen says with faux offense, even as he looks at him brightly and hopefully. “Hurtful, truthful, but hurtful.”

Carlos huffs, shaking his head with amusement.

“You’re starting to remember,” Owen says kindly, his expression softening as he says it, relieved as Carlos gives him a nod. “That’s so good, kid. We all miss you, but especially my son.”

Carlos licks his lips nervously, parting them to speak when the beeping of the ambulance coming back echoes through the place.

“Speak of the devil,” Owen says quietly, the corners of his mouth tilting upward. “Go on then. He’s who you came to see, and I know he’ll be happy to see your face. He’s been worried all day about being away from you.”

Carlos quickly gets up, flashing Owen a grateful look before heading back towards the front of the firehouse. He watches as TK’s partner and Captain joke with him for a moment before heading off together, leaving TK alone by the rig.

“Hey,” he calls out, watching as TK’s head snaps up at his voice.

“Hi,” TK says back, walking over to him quickly. “Are you okay? Did something happen? Are you hurt?”

“Hey, hey, hey,” he says softly, touching TK’s bicep, running his hand up and down his arm. “I’m fine. Nothing is wrong,” he continues, pulling TK towards him as his shoulders drop in relief. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he whispers, wrapping his good arm around TK, holding him to his chest. “I just missed you and wanted to see your face.”

TK pulls back just enough to look up at him from where he has tucked his face into Carlos’ chest. “Really?” he whispers, his green eyes bright and oh so pretty.

“Yeah,” he answers, licking his lips, his stomach clenching as TK tracks the movement, and he wonders if it’s okay for him to kiss TK here. If now that they have kissed, he can just kiss him when the urge hits. He thinks probably not, or he would be kissing TK nonstop seeing as the urge seems to always be there.

Instead, he takes a small step back to resist the urge to give in to the temptation and says. “Let’s go out tonight.”

TK raises an eyebrow at him, a small, shy smile playing on his lips. “Like a date?” he questions, his smile blossoming when Carlos nods.

“Yeah,” he exhales to calm down his sudden nerves. “Let’s go out on a date.”

“Okay,” TK grins, looking giddy. “I get off at 7. I’ll pick you up. I know exactly where to go.”

֎֎֎

“This is really where you want to have our date?” Carlos asks dubiously as TK parks in the middle of an empty field – the burgers and fries they had picked up in a brown bag on his lap.

TK kills the engine, flashing him a grin as he unhooks his seatbelt. “It’s a special place for us,” he says mysteriously as he opens his door, stepping out of the car and grabbing their drinks. “Come on,” he motions for him to follow him to the back.

Popping the flatbed, Carlos finds a blanket laid out on the back of the truck.

“You prepped for this,” he comments, smiling when TK gives him a shy shrug of his shoulders. He takes the food from Carlos to allow him to get in first, following him seconds later.

“This is nice,” he says softly, looking around, picking at a loose thread of the blanket underneath them while TK unwraps their food. “Why is this place special for us?” he asks curiously. The field is elevated, and over the edge, there is a nice view of the city.

“This is where you and I officially started,” TK answers him as he looks up at the night sky. “We laid on top of your car looking at the sky and really began that night.”

Carlos looks up at the sky too. They’re far enough from the city that the stars gleam brightly. They’re beautiful, but Carlos just knows they were stunning the night TK is talking about.

Different shades of blue and green streak through the sky, lighting it up above them. They’re one of the most beautiful things he’s ever seen. So stunning, and yet they pale in comparison to the man resting next to him on the hood of his car.

He looks up because he’s supposed to and has to resist the urge of turning his head towards what he really wants to be looking at.

“What are you thinking?” he asks finally, holding his breath as he waits for an answer.

“I’m thinking,” TK starts to say, his voice soft but pleased. “We make a pretty good team.”

Carlos’ breath catches his throat, a thread of hope spreading through him before he can tell himself to rein it in. Finally, he allows himself to turn his head, looking at TK, finding him smiling up at the sky.

“We really do, don’t we?” he asks, his heart skipping a beat as TK turns to face him, his smile growing the longer he looks at Carlos.

“’fraid so,” he whispers as he reaches for Carlos’ hand, intertwining their fingers together before he brings their hands to rest over his stomach.

Carlos blinks, but the memory doesn’t fade. If anything, it gleams brighter. He remembers leaning in closer to TK until their mouths were but a whisper away from each other. He remembers the half-moan-half-grumble TK let out the longer their lips didn’t touch until Carlos was chuckling into their kiss – moaning himself when TK licked into his mouth, pent-up passion engulfing them after weeks of being something like friends.

“You with me?” TK questions curiously as he takes a sip from his soft drink.

“We make a pretty good team,” he answers and watches as TK’s hand freezes midway to the fries between them. His green eyes snap to his, fearful, hopeful, and everything else in between as he stares at him.

“You remember that?” he questions, and Carlos can tell he’s holding his breath as he waits for Carlos to answer. So he does.

“We made out on the hood of my car like teenagers,” he says with a smile as the memory plays again. “You almost pulled on your stitches. I warned you that if you pulled them out again, you were going to have to call your father and explain how it happened.”

“I was excited,” TK grumbles, giving him a pout. “Making out with you is the most fun I have ever had making out with anyone. The stitches were fine but you invoking my dad totally killed the mood.”

“No, it didn’t,” Carlos counters with a grin. He pushes the food away so he can get closer to TK until their faces are only inches apart. “You kept kissing me. We kissed at every red light from here to your dad’s place, and then when we got there, we made out for another ten minutes until he turned the living room lights on and off.”

“That was so embarrassing,” TK groans, leaning his head forward to let it rest against Carlos’. They stay like that for a moment, their eyes locked on each other.

“You remember that night,” TK breathes out in awe. “It’s coming back.”

Carlos nods, his nose rubbing against TK’s as he does so. “It’s coming back, TK,” he whispers back, swallowing hard as he lets himself ask for what he fears the most. “Please don’t stop loving me.”

֎֎֎

Carlos wakes up after ten. It’s later than he’s used to, but with still being on leave at least until he’s out of his cast, he allows himself the indulgence of a late morning. He lets his good arm reach over to TK’s side of the bed. It’s empty, he knows, remembering the touch of TK’s lips to his forehead earlier in the morning before he left for work. Still, he touches the cool sheets, turning to press his face into TK’s pillow, breathing in his boyfriend’s scent, smiling to himself as he remembers the night before.

They’d come home after their date out in the field, kissing at every red light just like the first time, and by the time they pulled into the driveway, Carlos was vibrating out of his skin with desire.

He all but sprained his neck, nodding his consent when TK asked him if he was sure he wanted them to be intimate before his full memory came back. The smile on TK’s lips as he let out a soft chuckle was worth how red in the face he turned at his own eagerness.

He lets out an exhale, his good hand sliding down his body to cup himself through his sleep pants as he relives the night before.

TK helping him out of his clothes, laying gentle kisses over every inch of bare skin – he had laid back on the bed, his heart racing as TK took his own clothes off before he straddled his thighs, kissing him until he was a shaking mess underneath him. Only then had TK reached over to grab supplies out of the bedside table. And if he thought making out with TK was hot, nothing had prepared him for watching TK open himself up slowly for him with wet fingers, eyes fluttering shut, soft moans escaping his kiss-bruised lips as he found the right spot that made his thighs clench around Carlos’.

By the time TK was ready, reaching back to take him in his hand, lining him up to his opening, Carlos had been pleading, needing to be inside TK more than he has needed anything in his life.

Carlos lets out a low moan, tightening his hold on himself as he remembers the complete bliss he felt as TK sank down on him, taking in every last inch while Carlos stared up at him in awe as he started to move his hips.

Never in his life has he felt more connected to another person than to TK the night before.

He continues to picture it, recalling every beautiful sound TK made as he pushed them higher and higher, right up to the edge until he curved his body over Carlos’, his forehead pressed against his, his eyes wide as he stared down at him.

“I’m never going to stop loving you, Carlos,” TK whispered, drawing out a whimper from Carlos as he rolled his hips again. “Ever, I can promise you that. You can remember our life tomorrow or never again. I’ll always love you.”

Carlos comes in his fist with TK’s voice echoing in his ears just as he had done the night before. TK’s sureness of his love for him tipping him over the edge.

He lays there for a few minutes, waiting for his heart to stop racing before he gets up to clean himself. Without TK there to wrap his arm, it takes him longer to hop in the shower, but he manages. He has another week and a half with the cast on and honestly can’t wait to have it removed.

Once out of the shower, he’s looking through his dresser for clothes when his phone rings. Picking it up, he smiles as TK’s face appears on the caller ID.

“Hey,” he says, smiling into the speaker, his stomach doing a flip at TK’s voice, and he would roll his eyes at his silly schoolboy with a crush reaction if he wasn’t so happy and in love with the man on the other side of the phone.

“Hi,” TK says softly back, going quiet for a moment, and Carlos can just picture him biting down on his bottom lip. “I just wanted to check in with you. I had to leave for work early, and you were still mostly asleep. We didn’t get a chance to talk after last night, and I wanted to see how you were feeling this morning.”

Carlos smiles into the phone at the concern for him he hears in TK’s voice and wonders how he got so lucky to have such a caring partner.

“I’m good,” he answers as he keeps looking for a shirt he wants to wear. “I’m great, actually,” he continues honestly. “Last night was amazing.”

“No regrets?” TK questions hesitantly, causing Carlos to let out a snort.

“Only that we didn’t do that the night I came home,” he answers, grinning when TK lets out a laugh.

He pulls out a green shirt, throwing it on the bed with the jeans he’s already picked out. Then, opening the top drawer, he sticks his hand in to grab a pair of fresh underwear and socks, frowning when his hand finds a small hard box.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” he asks, and TK repeats himself as he suggests they do a movie night when he’s done with work. Carlos makes a sound of agreement as he stares at the small black box in his hand, his head racing as he realizes what it is.

A ring box.

“That sounds great,” he says, distracted, whispering a goodbye when TK tells him he has to go.

Ending the call, he places his phone down before focusing on the little box in his hand. He holds his breath as he opens the box to find a simple but beautiful wedding band, white gold or platinum, with a strip of small diamonds around it. On the inside is engraved ‘Eternally yours, te amo.’

The words hit him hard, and he has to take a seat at the edge of the bed as he realizes with startling clarity what he’s holding in his hand is his ring for TK.

He already knew he loved TK, has been falling for him all over again despite his lack of memory, and now, in his hand is the proof of just how much he loves him.

A hot tear lands on the hand holding the ring before he realizes he’s started crying, and by the time he reaches up to touch his face, he’s sobbing. It feels like the dam breaking after weeks of not even noticing it was filling up in the first place.

He cries over the moments he’s lost and is terrified he won’t get back. He cries as he realizes he could have lost so much more if he hadn’t made it out of the accident. He cries for TK, because if he feels this broken over a life he can’t remember well, he can only imagine what TK feels remembering it all. He cries in hope. Hope that forgotten life will come flooding back at some point. Finally, he cries in relief as TK’s voice promising to love him forever echoes again. Relief that even if the past doesn’t come back to him by some cruel twist of fate, he and TK still have a future.

He cries, and cries and cries some more, letting every last bit of it out.

֎֎֎

If someone had asked Carlos how he thought he would get his memory back, he’s pretty sure his answer wouldn’t have been ‘on a random Thursday morning while brushing his teeth,’ but that’s precisely how it happens. He’s finished his shower, happy to no longer need to wrap his arm in plastic after having his cast removed a few days earlier.

It’s been three weeks since finding his engagement ring for TK and the minor breakdown that followed. He didn’t tell TK of either thing, not wanting him to worry or make him sad at his discovery. He knows it’s not the right time just as much as he knows that eventually, he’s going to put that ring on TK’s finger, memory back or not. He’s in love with his boyfriend – has fallen for him all over again.

His doctors are happy with his progress and the memories that are starting to seep through more and more as the days go on. They promise him if he just keeps living his life, doing what he usually does, they will all come back soon enough.

Carlos believes them, but he’s still surprised as he stares at his reflection, and it all comes back in an almost blinding flash. One second it’s not there, and then the next it is. He spits out the toothpaste in his mouth, barely passing a wet hand over it before he’s running out of the bathroom and down the stairs, tripping in his need to find the one person he needs the most right now.

“Scramble eggs for breakfast? We should probably go grocery shopping today since I’m off,” TK says to him as he turns to face him with a cup of coffee in his hand.

“TK stands for Tyler Kennedy,” he blurts out, watching as TK makes a face at the name before he realizes what he’s said, and his eyes widen. “And you always make that put-out face when I use it, but it’s followed by a smile because as much as you hate your name, you like it when I say it.”

“Carlos – “ TK whispers as he puts down his mug, and he can see it shaking slightly.

“When you are nervous or restless, you chew on the strings of your hoodies,” he continues. “And you bitch about Texas pizza, claiming it’s not real pizza because it’s not from New York.”

“Oh my god,” TK exhales, bringing a hand to his mouth as his eyes fill with tears.

Carlos swallows around the lump in his throat as his own eyes sting. “You play with my hair when I’ve had a hard day. You blush when I turn my cow eyes as you like to call them on you, and I love that I can make you blush even after three years.”

“You remember?” TK asks, and it breaks Carlos’ heart to hear the fear in his boyfriend’s voice, too scared to hope.

“I remember everything, baby,” he whispers back, taking a step toward him and then another. “And I love you, I love you so damn much TK – “

Carlos lets out a small grunt as TK slams into him, clinging to him as he starts to cry. He holds him tight to his chest, pressing his face into TK’s shoulder, rubbing his back, trying to soothe him as he continues to cry. It takes a few minutes for TK to calm down; by the time he does and pulls back to look at Carlos, his eyes are red from his tears.

“You remember me,” he says softly with a trembling smile.

“I’m so sorry I forgot,” he answers, reaching up to touch TK’s mouth when his boyfriend starts shaking his head, ready to tell him he doesn’t need to be sorry. “I know I don’t have to be and that it was an accident, but I’m still sorry you had to go through this. But you need to know, TK, that even without my memories, I still loved you, almost from the start. I loved you.”

TK wraps his fingers around Carlos’ wrist, pulling his hand away as he gives him a teary but beautiful smile. “I know that, my love. I know.”

Carlos nods as his eyes sting again, a tear slipping down his cheek. “I love you, TK. Then, now, and forever.”

TK lets out a shaky exhale, and when he tugs Carlos forward, he goes easily, sighing against TK’s lips as he kisses him gently. “And I love you, Carlos,” he says against his lips with another smile. “Exactly the same way.”

#911 lone star #tarlos fic #911 lone star fic #tarlos #tk x carlos #my writing #long post

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