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azsazz · 4 months

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Midnight Muse (Part 5)

Azriel x Reader [Art School AU]

Summary: You and your best friend Feyre have just moved into a new apartment for your sophomore year of college at art school. What you didn't know when you signed the lease is that you'd be living next to three rowdy boys.

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 4,069

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Masterlist]

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“All I’m saying is that I think he’s pretty cute,” Feyre scoffs, defensively.

Since you’d moved in, it seems as though your entire life revolves around the boys living next door.

While you’d finally gotten the sleep you deserved last night, something had felt…off. The other side of the wall was almost too quiet as you lay in the darkness, still awaiting sleep to take you in its hold, even though your body had been aching for sleep for so long. All night, there wasn’t a peep from the asshole sharing the wall. You knew it had to be Az living on the other side, there was no way in fucking hell that it wasn’t, but the lack of music blaring through the walls felt like a dream, almost.

You shoved the thoughts from your mind in the early hours of the morning, hastily getting ready for your day. Your first day of classes, and you wouldn’t let him ruin even that. Now, the sun shines brightly on you and Feyre as you walk to your first class of the day, Drawing 201.

You had made your schedules match up as much as they could. With Feyre being an art student as well, she had declared her major in oil painting, whereas you aren’t sure what medium you’d like to get into. All you know is that there’s something drawing you towards the arts, and thankfully, you still have time to take electives and try new classes to see if anything sticks.

The only classes you hadn’t been able to take together were your non-art related ones. Feyre seems to know exactly what her path is in life, minoring in business because she wants to open a gallery one day and figured having an understanding of what goes into owning her own business would be helpful.

You, on the other hand, had opted for a creative writing class to fulfill that requirement for your college degree. It is a semester filled with imagination and artistry, searching for that missing piece of your soul, trying to find it along the way.

Feyre has her drawing pad tucked under an arm as she walks. Yours is held in a similar fashion, the obnoxiously large pad of paper bigger than your torso. Her golden-brown hair is tied back into a loose bun that she makes look effortless. If you were to try and recreate the same hairstyle, you’d look like a rat. She’s clad in a plain t-shirt and jeans, simple for the balmy weather, not wanting to wear something nicer only to have charcoal and paints splashed over it by the end of the day.

The two of you had been talking about your neighbors, having seen one of them driving off in his vintage car that somehow always seemed to be parked outside of the building. Its paint was red and rusted, metal rotting through. You weren’t even sure that the car was in running condition, but it gave a splutter of black smoke as he rolled away and you wondered if it would make it the few blocks down to campus.

It was the last roommate, the one you don’t know the name of. He’s large and bulky, muscles seeming to nearly split the seams of any shirt he covered his torso with. The one who had seemed to be the least volatile, that is, until he shut the door in your face for the final time that dreadful night.

The building is old, but the classroom is spacious and drab. Concrete floors adorned with paint that hadn’t come off, dried clay chipping into dust, the room shared with many different classes working with many different mediums. The white walls brighten the room, the sun casting through the windows bouncing off of it and creating intriguing lighting to work with. Art horses are lined up in a circle, surrounding a mattress with a navy blue sheet spread across its lumpy surface. It smells of both paint and graphite, the scent comforting as a part of you settles, shoulders relaxing as you revel in it.

Accustomed to the setup, you realize that you’re going to be jumping right into the class and will be drawing today. Last year, the most memorable moment in your first life drawing class ever was the oldest man you’ve ever seen being the nude model. Of course, that was the day that your professor had each student drawing a close-up of a specific part of the model’s body, and you’d so luckily gotten to draw his low-hanging, wrinkly balls. Lovely.

You shudder as the memory resurfaces, following Feyre to a seat. You drop your bag to the floor, setting up your own sketchpad, before pulling out the necessary materials you’ll be needing for class.

You roll your eyes in response to her statement. “I didn’t say they weren’t cute, I said that they’re assholes.” Despite your quiet night, you can’t help but wonder about Az, thinking about his brooding nature and stupidly charming face as you drifted off to sleep in the loud quiet of your room.

Students trickle in one by one. A group of girls stride in, laughing about something that happened at a bar over their weekend. Another girl follows, but it’s clear that she isn’t in their group. She’s pretty, with chic, ice blue glasses perched on her button nose, her striking white hair hanging loose around her shoulders.

Your attention shifts to the boy that follows her in, and your jaw almost drops.

He’s handsome—no, he’s much more than that, you just can’t formulate the words twisting your thoughts and tongue into knots. Maybe after your creative writing class you’d be able to describe his sheer beauty. He has the most luxurious copper hair you’ve ever seen. It cascades across his broad shoulders, a braid on either side, caressing his face. He’s tall, too, an entire head—maybe even more—taller than the white-haired girl he’s bounding behind. His straight nose is flecked with freckles and his fox-shaped face is utterly devastating.

When his gaze finds yours, you feel as though you’re pinned to the art horse beneath you. He has one russet eye, and the other is golden. You want to commit it to memory, curse yourself for not bringing your colored pencils, stare right into those very eyes until you’ve gotten each stroke of his iris’ perfect. He’s mesmerizing, and the closer he moves, you start to make out the fine scar that slashes through that gold eye and his eyebrow above. It’s his only flaw, but only adds to his intimidating aura.

“Hi,” he greets, sliding into the empty seat next to you. You have to look up at him, even sitting, and something in your stomach stirs. “I’m Lucien.”

“(Y/N),” you respond numbly, thrown by his beauty. He’s wearing a loose button-up in the color moss, dark trousers, and even nicer shoes. He doesn’t look anything like an art student. Law, maybe. “Nice to meet you.”

You fumble with your art case as he holds out his hand for you to shake. Cheeks heating, you give him a bashful smile, sliding your hand into his. It’s warm, encapsulating the entirety of your own, and the longer your hand sits in his, the wider his pleasant smile becomes. “You as well,” he responds, then leans over to introduce himself to Feyre. With your back to him, you give her an ‘oh my gods, look how gorgeous he is’ look, and she responds with an elbow to your side, acknowledging that she sees just how gorgeous he is.

This year is determined to kill you, with all of the handsome men you’ve seen so far. Lucien maybe even more so, with how delightful he already is.

You can hardly even remember what you were conversing with Feyre about now that Lucien has entered the room. You couldn’t even remember if one of your neighbors waltzed right into the roo—

Fuck.

Of fucking course.

It’s the one roommate you don’t know the name of. The one who’d been driving away when you and your roommate left for campus this morning, waltzing into the room as if he owns the place.

His frame takes up the entire doorway, and you find yourself wondering if that’s his thing. Precious Azzy’s is being loud, Rhys’ is that forked tongue of his, and this one’s is filling any space with his massive body.

He enters the room with a swagger that has all of the girls swooning, carefree and confident. He oozes masculinity, barrel chested and tall. You didn’t know that he was in this class, though. When Rhys has said that they were juniors, you thought they’d be in the 300 classes, not 200s.

Now might be as good a time as ever to ask, though, because his hazel gaze sparks in recognition when he glances your way, and he beelines over to you.

“Well, hello there ladies,” he greets with a seemingly genuine smile. He had been the nicest of the three when you and Feyre had almost knocked their door clean from its hinges, but he had also shut the door on you. Plus, with your not-so-great experiences with his roommates, your body is tense, prepared for the worst. “You’re taking this class?”

Feyre takes the bait on this one, and you’re well aware that Lucien is listening in, despite the fact that he’s pulled his satchel into his lap and is unloading his own supplies. “Yeah, it’s required for sophomores. Are you in it as well?”

The corner of his mouth lifts in a sinful smile. Wolfish, almost. “You could say that.” You open your mouth to speak but he’s turning towards Lucien, smile broadening into something practically wicked, sticking his hand out to introduce himself. “I’m Cassian, man. Nice to meet you.”

“Lucien,” he replies politely, though you don’t miss the slight grimace on his face when Cassian clenches his fingers in his own. You smother a laugh because Cassian looks like he could break all of the bones in Lucien’s hand with just a little more pressure if he wanted to.

The trifecta is complete. You finally have all three names, though you only know Az through his nicknames alone. Or maybe his name is Azzy. Maybe that’s why he’s so grumpy all of the time.

Whatever. You don’t care.

After introducing yourself and Feyre to Cassian, he leans in closer. He smells earthy, like freshly turned dirt and smoked wood. It reaches out to you like roots in the ground, and it’s refreshing, to say the least.

“I’m sorry about the other night,” he starts, and you nearly recoil. You were expecting him to come in here with the arrogance his roommates seem to share, not this sincere politeness dripping from his words. His hazel eyes are earnest as you inspect him, his soft smile a touch guilty, if anything. “It’s just that I’ve got to side with my roommates. You can understand that, right?”

“You don’t even know what he did,” you answer, trying not to grumble. Your brows are pinched and you watch Cassian take note of that. Az had been a complete prick for no reason, and that’s just not cool in your books.

Cassian winces, dropping back an inch or two. His voice is low, more of a whisper than you thought someone of his size would be able to make. “It’s not really my place to say, but Azriel had had a rough day. And no, that doesn’t excuse his actions, but you did threaten to tow his bike, and he doesn’t take that lightly. But hey, it had nothing really to do with me, so I’m willing to look past it if you are.”

Azriel. Aa full name to a face and well, it kind of suits him. The angel of death. A shiver wracks your spine.

With that permanent scowl, he certainly looks the part.

And, this isn’t the apology you expected, but it’s a truce, a peace offering between neighbors. Maybe, if you accept, Cassian will be able to pass along the message of ‘shut the fuck up after midnight’ to Azriel.

You share a look with Feyre, contemplating. It seems as though she’s thinking similarly to you because she smiles up at Cassian, agreeing. “We’d love that.”

Cassian beams, straightening to his full height. Fuck, he’s huge.

He looks as if he may say something more, but the professor enters the room and calls his name. He shoots you and Feyre a cheeky grin. “That’s me,” he jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “I’ll come get your numbers after class. Try not to enjoy it too much, ladies.” With a wink, he turns, gliding across the room with an ease someone built like a brick wall should have.

Your eyes follow him as he stalks towards the teacher, all grins and positivity. Maybe he isn’t like his broody, rude roommates. The teacher asks him something and he’s nodding along as if he’s done this before and is being reminded of what’s expected of him for this class. He roots around in the bag slung over his shoulder and pulls something out as he makes his way towards the door. Maybe he’s not enrolled in your class and only needed to speak to the professor?

“Welcome to Drawing 201,” the professor greets, clapping her hands together to gain the attention of the room. The murmurs soften as she speaks, students ready to have their talents molded by her intelligence. “My name is Ms. Woods, but you can call me Alis.”

You don’t miss Cassain slipping back into the room as Alis walks you through warm up exercises and best practices for the class. Your fingers are already coated with charcoal from where you’d roughly outlined shapes of Feyre’s body for warm ups. The curves on your paper become more and more fluid as you get into the familiar motions of drawing.

“What do you think he’s doing here?” you murmur to Feyre, still watching where Cassian is crouched low as if he wouldn’t be able to hear the professor from his full height. While you’re turned this way, you catch Lucien peeking at you over his shoulder for a fleeting moment, and before your gaze can snag his, he’s turning back to his own work.

Feyre shrugs, studying the lines of your face. “You don’t think he’s the—”

“This is Cassian,” Alis interrupts, stealing your attention from your roommate and your drawing. It’s nothing more than a mess of rough shapes, looking nothing like her at all, but you’re trusting the process. Only a minute's time isn’t long enough for more than that.

Cassian is no longer wearing his loose jeans and tight t-shirt. Instead, he dons a thick, gray robe. The fabric doesn’t nearly drape far enough down, his gloriously tanned and muscular legs on full display, showing off an intricate tattoo from his knees, creeping up underneath the fabric. Your mouth goes dry at the sight, following the lines of muscle all the way up as Alis continues, “He’s going to be our model for the day.”

You’re not the only one who chokes at the news. Girls and guys alike are blushing in their seats, and Cassian can hardly contain the smug smirk threatening to split his face in two. He winks over at you and Feyre who share a wide-eyed look. Lucien scoffs lightly, and your jaw snaps shut, pink heating your cheeks as well.

You busy yourself by flipping to a new page in your pad. It’s crisp and white, not at all as interesting as you’re trying to make it seem as you avoid Cassian’s mirth-filled stare. You smooth the paper with your hand, and it’s shaking slightly with anticipation. Your new neighbor who’s just offered a truce, and you’re already going to be seeing him naked.

Would it have been weirder to be mad at him and stare at his naked form, or now, when a ceasefire has been declared and you’re somewhat on the road to becoming friends?

You don’t have the chance to think further on it because Cassian moves into the circle towards the lone mattress on the floor as Alis explains how the time spent in class is going to be divided. There will be a few three minute sketching sessions where you are to get down as much of his form as you can, while Cassian continuously changes poses. Following that, there will be two fifteen minute sessions, a break, and a final longer session where you’ll focus more on detail than form.

He slides out of his shoes, and you swallow roughly as he undoes the ties to his robe. Thankfully, he’s not looking at you, watching your intent gaze pinned to his tanned skin. The fabric slides from his broad shoulders, down, exposing the muscles of his back. The less fabric that shows, the more tattoos you see, covering both arms and licking across his chest. His waist pulls in tight and you have to bite your lip to hold back a noise in the completely silent room. Rippling muscles line his body, corded and thick in all of the right places. You can’t help it, staring unabashed because he’s turned away from you, your eyes falling from the inky whorls of tattoos across his shoulders, down through the cavern of the muscle lining his spine, all the way down to his tight ass.

All of the students are entrapped by his beauty, as if he’s aphrodite reincarnated. Two dimples poke in the base of his spine that you want to lean forward and dip your tongue into, but then he’s shifting a little and his cock is on full display.

The stick of charcoal in your fingers snaps in half.

You hope you get that facing you for the few hours you’ll be here.

Next to you, Lucien tuts under his breath, but even he can’t seem to look away from the Greek God standing before you.

Alis instructs Cassian into his first pose and then addresses the class. “Alright, your time begins now.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•

You don’t know how you’re able to focus on anything other than the cock draped so prettily across his abdomen.

Cassian looks as relaxed as ever, splayed out across the blue sheet on the mattress, one arm tucked beneath his head, eyes shut, and breathing even as if he might have actually fallen asleep.

With the late nights you know he and his roommates tend to have, you wouldn’t be surprised in the slightest.

You lose yourself in the quiet of the classroom, nothing but the sounds of long strokes or chalk against paper, the scratch of quick sharp lines being drawn. There’s the occasional murmur of advice or comments from Alis as she makes her rounds, weaving through students spread throughout the room.

Drawing the contours of his muscle is no easy feat. Packed layer upon layer from years or hard work spent in the gym, you rub the dark soot into your drawing pad. It’s calming, sweeping the charcoal over the white space to create shadows the lighting paints across his body.

His tattoos take some effort, even though Alis had said not to worry about those, that getting his form down was more important, but you can’t help yourself. You’ve always been interested in people’s tattoos and the stories behind them, the significance or lack thereof for some, despite having none of your own. You draw them with an extra care, trying your best not to make up reasons as to why he might have them. Now that you’re going to be on friendly terms, maybe you can ask him the meaning behind them yourself.

Eventually, Alis’ timer goes off, the ringtone the same as your phone, and for a fleeting moment your body reacts as if it’s your own alarm going off, a slight twist in your stomach as your body locks for a moment. You put down your chunk of charcoal as Cassian sits up, dusting your fingers off and admiring your drawing, comparing it to the model once more before he tugs on his robe.

Feyre stands to stretch, her back popping as she twists around. You wipe the soot from your hands on a cloth and grab your water bottle, the crisp water wetting your parched throat.

Lucien leans over, copper hair cascading over his shoulder and almost brushing your arm in the process. You wouldn’t mind, it looks silky smooth and the smell of his hair oil makes you want to lean in a little closer. He studies your work as you drink and eventually, with a smirk, says, “You have quite an eye for detail.”

You splutter and he bites his pink lip, trying to smother his smile. He gives you the most innocent look he can muster, but he doesn’t know that you have a retort on the tip of your tongue, just as soon as you stop choking.

“You sound a little bit jealous there, Lucien.”

Feyre laughs and he gapes dramatically, “Maybe, a little.”

You can’t help but to chuckle at his antics, the rest of your classmates packing up around you. Cassian’s disappeared from the room already, probably in the restroom changing, and you wonder if he’ll be back for your number like he promised.

In the meantime, you pack your things away, stuffing your extra chalks of charcoal back into your case, along with your cloth and kneaded eraser. You feel confident in the work you’ve done today, so with a last glance at your drawing, you flip your pad shut, taking Feyre’s for her and walking with Lucien to stash them in the assigned drawer you and Feyre share.

“So, are you an art major?” you ask, waiting for the crowd around the shelves to dissipate a little.

He cuts you a suspicious look, but it’s playful. “You didn’t get a glimpse of my drawing, did you? I suppose I can’t blame you with a model looking like that, but it’s entirely awful,” he states, and you stare up at him in disbelief.

“Surely it can’t be that bad,” you argue, and his lips thin a little as he flips open his drawing pad just enough for only you to see. It’s difficult to hold in the laugh trying to burst from your throat.

Lucien winces but a puff of laughter follows that makes your shoulders ease. “I told you it was shit, your face only confirmed it!”

There’s no coming back from this one, so you decide to play into it.

“Okay, it’s not great, but I’ve definitely seen worse. You should’ve seen my stuff from last year.”

Lucien rolls his eyes, stepping forward in line. “Oh, I’m sure it was nothing like the gorgeous drawing you’ve managed to pull out of your ass in two hours today,” he scoffs, and you elbow him in the arm gently. “Your drawing literally looks like a photograph!”

It doesn’t, but your cheeks heat at his compliment anyway.

“I might’ve been doing this a little longer than you have,” you defend. Since you could hold a crayon, to be exact.

He huffs, stuffing his pad into a drawer and offering to help you with yours and Feyres. He pulls your drawer open and you slide the pads inside, stepping out of the way so others can crowd him as he closes up and follows you back to your seats. “Well, then you might have to help me out, because I thought that taking a few drawing classes would help me with my renderings for architecture, but those are all straight lines and circles and this is all curved lines and cock.”

You can’t help but laugh this time, leaning over your horse to pack away the rest of your supplies. Feyre’s all ready to go, face buried in her phone as she texts someone, fingers tapping quickly on the screen.

“You know, if you remove yourself from what you’re looking at, this is all just lines and circles too.”

Lucien slings his satchel over his shoulder, staring down at you with those mesmerizing eyes that shine when he speaks. “Would you want to explain that further sometime, over coffee perhaps?”

You’re a little shocked by his bluntness, but you grin and nod nonetheless. “I’d like that.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•

Midnight Muse Taglist: @going-through-shit @honeycriess @natashachelsea @thisisew @kennedy-brooke @cat-or-kitten @sourapplex @magical-mischief-makers @reiincarnatiion @ccucumbers @secret-ly-here @throneofsmut @cami26cami @torchbearerkyle @a-frog-with-a-laptop @sevikas-whore @endless-worldss @vellichor01 @bangtans-jagiya @kalulakunundrum @pinksmellslikelove @sakurafrost3-blog @imxnotxhere @bookishbroadwaybish @justdreamstars @i-am-infinite @whichwitchisthebitch @i-am-a-lost-girl16 @sia-r @acourtofbatboydreams @hannzoaks @judig92 @ilikefictionalmen @harrystylesfan2686 @dr4g0ngirl @vellichor01 @hirah-yummar @girl-who-writes-stuff @lees-chaotic-brain @konaanaria13 @emiler-love @yourdorkiness @azrielsstarlight

#azriel #azriel x reader #acotar #azsazz #acomaf #acowar #midnight muse #art school au #azriel au #tattoo arstist!azriel

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eat-limes-bitches · 3 months

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Love After War

PAIRING: Female Reader x FATWS! Bucky Barnes

SUMMARY: The mind has a way of playing tricks on you, images you thought to be real are just a figment of your past. But how to get back to the present?

WARNINGS: Angst, nightmares, PTSD, panic attack, cannon-level violence, torture, smidgen of fluff at the end

Word Count: 1239

A/N: soooooo this was supposed to be the start of my Febuwhump challenge but with the way my life is going right now I won't be able to finish all the prompts by the end of the month, BUT I will post the ones I have done, and I will keep working on some prompts as well but don't expect them to be in order at all.

Prompt: Helpless

Enjoy! <3

Divider by Rookthorne

The first thing Bucky realized as he came to was how incredibly cold he was. A shiver wracked his body, causing him to try and pull the flimsy material covering him closer to his skin as water poured down on him. Wait- water? He looked to find the source and realized he was in a shower. The cold water turned red as it ran across his body from all the blood there. Was it his or someone else's? Bucky couldn’t tell.

“SOLDAT.” A voice boomed from behind, causing him to flinch aggressively. He knew that voice, it was one of his handlers, and by the sound of the rapidly approaching footsteps, he wasn’t happy.

“Poydem s nami, soldat. Dok khochet tebya videt'” The voice growled and Bucky froze.

His frazzled mind still trying to work out where he was and what was going on. His hesitance must have been seen as resistance because the next thing he knew, a rifle butt was flying towards him.

Confused, Bucky blocked it with his arm, the clash of metal reverberated around the room causing more handlers to pour in, each one with a gun all pointing in the same direction. His pulse was starting to quicken, and every muscle in his body tensed.

He was so focused on what was going on in front of him that he didn’t notice the guard coming up behind him with a stun baton. The guard struck, causing Bucky to fall to his knees as he hissed in pain, the electric shock causing his arm to fall limp at his side he clutched the useless appendage in his right hand as he looked on in terror as they all started moving in on him. Two of the guards grabbed him and began to drag him out of the room. He knew where they were taking him and as those rusted double doors came into view he began thrashing as wildly as he could to get away but it was no use.

“Bucky?”

They flung open the doors, his senses on hyperdrive as the blinding lights of the room burned his eyes. Noise. There was so much noise, nurses scrambling around, guards shouting, and doctors preparing for whatever horrible things they had planned for him that day.

“Bucky!”

He tried to fight against them as they strapped him into the chair, but it was no use, he felt utterly helpless as they began tying him down. His metal arm, although useless, was cuffed in 4 different steel brackets to keep him from moving, the rest of his body bolted into place as the panels of the machine began to lower over his face and just as they were about to connect to his skin-

“JAMES!”

He sucked in a large breath bolting upright in bed and scrambling far away from where he was until he managed to situate himself in the corner of the room. His chest, slick with sweat heaved up and down as he tried to get oxygen to fill his lungs, but his heart was beating too fast for him to do anything but hyperventilate. There was a quiet sound from the other side of the room that made him realize he wasn’t alone, and he let out a whimper as their footsteps got closer, curling in on himself to appear as small as possible.

“Bucky?” This voice was soft and full of concern, a complete contrast to the voice he heard just moments ago. This intrigued him slightly, but not enough to make him uncurl himself to see who was speaking to him. There was a sigh from the other person and the floorboards squeaked as they moved their entire weight to the floor, sitting on the ground near him.

“Bucky? It’s me, baby.” The voice cooed gently, and with the next breath he took, the familiar smell of cedar and lavender invaded his senses. He peaked his head out from behind his knees and saw Y/n sitting on the floor looking at him with concern coloring her features and sorrow clouding her eyes. She noticed the small movement and smiled gently as her eyes caught his.

“There he is. Hello, my love.” She whispered, a gentle smile decorating her face. Bucky blinked owlishly at her, still not realizing who he was looking at, but still Y/n smiled.

Progress she thought before she started speaking again, “It’s just me, love. You are safe. We are in our bedroom, in our apartment, no one is going to hurt you.”

This made him cock his head to the side before looking around the room. There was no one else besides the two of them. Instead of the gurneys, there was a dresser. Instead of blood-stained floors, there was a soft, grey plush carpet. Instead of that chair, there was a bed, and her. Bucky took a deep breath, finally able to fill his lungs and when he did, his body began to shake. He would shake violently for a moment before his muscles would give out and relax before contracting all over again. Y/n watched him carefully and scooted a little closer.

“Can I sit next to you?” It was a simple question, and it might seem trivial to ask someone you were just sleeping next to if you could be in their space but it was important for Bucky to feel in control of his situation, if he was in control, he was no longer there. Bucky looked at her and gave a small nod and Y/n moved to sit next to him, her back plastered against the wall. Although she wasn’t touching him, Bucky could feel the warmth radiation from her body, another piece of proof that he wasn’t in the basement of a bunker in the Siberian mountains. The pair sat in silence for a moment, Y/n watching Bucky, and Bucky staring straight ahead at the wall. Y/n shifted, causing Bucky's eyes to leave the spot on the wall and look at her.

“Can I touch you?” She asked softly. Buckys hesitated for a moment, before nodding again. Y/n scootched closer to Bucky so that their bodies were pressed against each other and she reached over with a hand and ran her fingers through his shortened chestnut locks. That simple action seemed to bring new life back to Bucky and he began to uncurl, leaning into her touch. Y/n began humming a soft melody as she continued to massage Bucky’s scalp. His tremors became less and less until they were all but gone.

After some more time passed, Bucky wasn’t sure how much, Y/n stopped and gently stood up, offering her hand to him.

“‘C'mon love, let’s get back in bed. Your back isn’t going to thank you if I let you sleep in the corner.”

Bucky placed his hand in hers and allowed her to lead him back to bed. Y/n folded back the covers in a more orderly fashion before sliding under the soft grey sheets, motioning for Bucky to do the same. He did so, snuggling back into Y/n’s side listening to her steady heartbeat, reassuring him that he was safe. She began humming that soft melody again. Feeling warm and safe, his eyes grew heavy and he fell into a dreamless sleep. The last thing he remembered was the whisper of an “I love you,” in his ear.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes #bucky fluff #bucky x female reader #bucky angst #bucky barnes x you #whump #fatws bucky x reader

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sankttealeaf · 8 months

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unlocked

pairing ; astarion x (rogue) gender neutral!reader

summary ; a few failed attempts at picking a lock causes you more than enough embarrassment for you, yet Astarion finds it highly amusing.

other info ; based on a true story where my Tav failed 4 times to unlock a door and after switching to Astarion, he does it first try >:( Tav even had a guaranteed 7~11 bonus too. set in act one just as you get into the Underdark. first time writing for him be gentle please :')

warnings ; swearing, a kiss, and suggestive themes in this but nothing too wild!

word count ; 4.1k

The journey down into the Underdark had been tiresome. A few goblins remained at the camp that were hungry for a fight and after spending way too long trying to solve the puzzle in the temple, you were ready to rest. The outpost you found yourself at seemed to be a safe place to set up camp - tall stone walls, a portcullis with a lever on the inside, and whatever those beams of light were that incinerated an angry looking minotaur moments ago. Yes, it would be safer inside here. Everyone else seemed to think so, too.

Gale, Wyll and Karlach began the very important task of searching through the old crates and boxes to check for any edible food, while Shadowheart and Lae'zel took opposite ends to look for anything important that could aid you in your journey - notes, books, signs of life nearby. You decided to check for traps, not entirely trusting that this outpost was as safe as it seemed. It made sense to ask Astarion to join you, the ongoing joke about the two rogues being tasked to scout out everywhere before settling down repeating in your mind, but when you turned to ask for him you found that he was no longer standing behind you. No matter, you thought. You had enough trap disarming kits and lockpicks to keep you company.

The room to your left was bare, with only a few rotted crates and furniture that had seen better days. Lots of moon iconography too, though that was to be expected considering this was an outpost for Selûne. Part of you wanted to go check on Shadowheart and get her opinion on this place - for no reason other than pure curiosity.

You stuck your head out of the room to check to make sure no one had gotten injured or found anything of note down in the main room. Karlach had moved on from checking boxes and was now assessing a few weapons she had found, calling over Lae'zel to check them out as well. Shadowheart stood in front of the large statue, a frown on her face. You couldn't work out what she was thinking and the gentle pressure of your tadpole behind your eye reminded you that you weren't going to know. Not until you asked her in person.

You then spotted Astarion, ever helpful when it came to readying the new spot for camp. He perched on an old granite bench, lazily flipping through a book he had found. You were slightly irked that his attention was elsewhere but it meant that if you found anything interesting around you had first dibs. Darting across the walkway you approach the other gate. This one was locked, rusted and old.

A locked door couldn't keep you out.

You crouched to eye level with the lock, hands instinctively finding where you kept your lockpicks. It should be simple enough - you could pick locks in your sleep. The appearance of the lock was what concerned you, though. Rust had built up over the long years of abandonment and it could prove deadly for your picks if you weren’t careful.

Slowly as to not jam the lock, you began the intricate process of inserting in a pin, moving, waiting, listening for a click. The sound of the pins grinding against iron made you frown, pausing in your attempt to make sure nothing was breaking. With your picks intact, you continued turning.

A loud gasp caused you to flinch, breaking your steady grasp on your picks and hearing the dreaded 'snap' of metal. Shit.

You turned to see what the commotion was - Gale and Wyll stood around an old, rotted burlap sack, a handful of mouldy vegetables laying at their feet. Shadowheart approached them and you heard Gale explaining how an infestation of bugs were eating at an old carrot and it spooked them.

You rolled your eyes at the situation, trying to get back into the groove of it. Breaking a lockpick was bound to happen, it wasn’t that big of a deal. You pull out another pick, ready to try again. Sometimes locks were easy. Sometimes they were bastards to crack. This one was proving to be a pain in your ass as you heard the familiar sound of metal snapping again.

“Shit.” The tip of the pick had broken off and you were now down another. Best of three, you told yourself as you took out another lockpick and hoped to anything that was watching you that this would be the final attempt.

There was an uncomfortable wriggling sensation behind your eye for a moment as you lost focus, the sudden shift in movement from your tadpole causing your guard to go up. And for another one of your lockpicks to break. You’re blaming the tadpole for that one.

"I thought you said you were good at this?" Astarion's voice carried as you turned to look at him, not appreciating how now everyone knew you were failing at the one thing you were around for. It was just a bad streak of luck! The next attempt will be it, you could feel it.

You looked back at the lock. "I am." The scattered remains of old lockpicks said otherwise.

"That's the third lockpick you've broken. I'm starting to wonder if you even know what you're doing." He crouched beside you, a grin on his face. "Perhaps you should leave it to the professionals in future."

You grit your teeth at his comment, pulling out another pick for your fourth attempt. Growing up with dexterous hands and a knack for getting into places you weren't supposed to had prepared you for moments like this. Yet the one time you wanted a quick break the universe cursed you. Maybe it was Selûne looking down and preventing you from entering this room. Had you not wished to be smited by the God in a place dedicated to her you would show her a rather rude gesture right now. If your hands weren't full you would show it to Astarion, too.

The tension wrench felt heavy in your hand as you removed it from the lock, rolling your shoulders in an attempt to loosen up. Astarion hadn't moved, instead taking great joy at seeing you mess up a task you had bragged about being so good at many times before. This wasn't like you. You were quick to blame it on how tired you were feeling. That was it - you were tired. Tiredness, tadpoles, bugs. All excuses no one would believe. And now with Astarion looming over your shoulder watching you as you gently twisted the pick to position, you were determined to not mess this one up.

Your heart pounded in your chest, soon the only thing you could hear as you tried to keep focused on listening for the click of the lock unlocking.

“Are you actually moving it? Or are you hoping it will do the work for you?” Astarion asked, breaking your concentration.

"Be quiet." You shifted in your position and very slowly tilted your hand to the left. Nothing. No click of it opening and no snapping of the pick breaking. It was slow progress, but good progress. The pick was still intact - that’s all you cared about.

You could hear the smug smile as Astarion spoke up again, "All I’m saying is that it’s certainly a choice you're making."

"Hush." You twist it to the right. Still nothing. Maybe it wasn’t you, maybe the lock was the problem? It had to be, you were doing everything right!

“Have you tried--”

Snap.

You took in a deep breath, eyes closed to hold in your frustration at this stupid lock and its stupid inability to open. Was this how Karlach felt before she raged? Maybe you should ask her about it. Once you were calmer, of course. Right now you just wanted to get into this room and find something good and then go to sleep. Gods, you needed some sleep.

“What a shame. Bested by a rusty lock.” Astarion shook his head in feign sorrow, hand over his heart. “How ever are we to move on from this? Whatever shall we do?”

“I don’t see you making an attempt at it,” you mumbled, standing upright and giving the lock a glare as if that would shatter it.

He smiled, head tilted and arms folded. “But it’s already in such capable hands.”

“Do you want to try?” You gestured to the lock, knowing you only had one set of lockpicks left and that he most definitely had a few tucked away in his own bag somewhere. There was a time where you had a slight disagreement over who would be the designated lockpicker but it was decided you would alternate. Or it would be down to whoever found the lock - whichever was first.

“Are you asking for help?” he asked.

"No, I'm offering for you to have a go."

“So you are asking for help.”

You clenched your teeth, avoiding eye contact with him as you willed everything inside of you to utter the words he so desperately wanted to hear. “Will you help me with this lock?”

He held a hand up to his ear and you shook your head, refusing to indulge in this ridiculous game he was attempting to play. “Did you say something, my dear?” he asked, grinning as you crossed your arms over your chest and sighed deeply.

“Astarion, my dear, dear friend. Would you please do me the honours of helping me with this lock, for I simply cannot open it without you,” you deadpanned, though it seemed to be enough for him.

“Of course I’ll help. You only had to ask,” he replied with a gentle applause. “We’ll make an actor out of you yet!” He waved for you to step aside from the door, lockpicks in hand as he stood where you once were and assessed the situation. “I hope you’re taking notes.”

You watched as he got to work, crouching beside him like he did with you as he repeated the actions you were doing moments ago. He wasn’t doing anything different, in fact you noticed he was copying what he saw you doing on your third attempt. You waited for the snapping of metal, but it never came. He furrowed his brows as he leaned closer to the lock, and with one final twist you heard the sound of it unlocking. The lock hung loosely on the gate.

"Was that meant to be difficult?" He stood as the lock then fell to the floor, tucking his lockpicks away in a quick motion. “Honestly, if you wanted me to help you from the start you should’ve said something.”

You stood quickly, bewildered at how easy he made it look. The gate groaned loudly as he pushed it open, giving a grand gesture for you to enter first followed by a wink. If it weren't for the smug look on his face you would have thanked him for it; instead you sulked past him, irritated that he now had something to hang over your head for the next few hours. It was something you noticed he did early on, whether it was because you both had roguish tendencies and there was an unspoken competition between you both, or perhaps he enjoyed being better at something you wanted to do. Either way, you were not about to live this down anytime soon.

The room, now that you were inside, lacked anything interesting in it. A locked door always meant something good was behind it but the more you searched the less you found. Rotten food, old clothes, an old book with pages lost to time. The failed attempts at getting here hardly seemed worth it now. You lit the candles as you went, the warmth from the light putting you at ease. Everything felt a little safer now that you could see. Astarion lingered by the doorway, peering to his right to see what was inside an old crate.

“All that effort for some rotten food…” He nudged a piece of rubble with his foot and you turned, giving him a look.

“At least I was looking around for things,” you said. It was no secret that Astarion found setting up and taking down camp a tedious task - it was no one's preferred job to do but everyone had their role. You had found him on several occasions sweet talking Wyll or Karlach into doing all his heavy lifting, and there was one time you were swept up under his charm and ended up doing his washing up for him. There was one theory that was stuck in your head that he did it because he knew it got under your skin. He had made many comments about how amusing it was to see you irritated at something.

“And you found a room with nothing in it.” He huffed quietly and you turned your back to him to continue your search. There had to be something, why else would this room be locked?

You were about to give up and accept your loss when something caught your eye. Sitting atop a small alcove in the far end of the room was an ornate chest with delicate gold details engraved onto a dark wood. You noticed a keyhole but no key nearby. Of course it's most likely locked. Selûne must be having a field day watching you fail to rob her acolytes of anything worthy.

You caught Astarion's gaze as you moved with a speed only reserved for combat, heading towards the chest. When the lid of the chest didn't move when you tried to lift it up, you grinned. Now was your time to prove yourself. Not that you needed to prove yourself to anyone, especially Astarion, but the irritation of failure was eating away inside of you and you needed to show him you could do the one thing you thought you were good at.

No. You knew you were good at this.

"Are you sure you have it in you, darling?" His voice was low as he approached behind you, looking at the chest. “I would hate for you to break another set of picks.”

You had one set left that was intact. Who knew when you would be able to find another? The odds weren’t stacked in your favour. It was painful for you to do this. You picked up your pride and turned to face Astarion, the smile on his face only added fuel to the fire but you refused to stoop to his level. With a forced politeness you stepped aside, allowing him direct access to the chest.

"By all means, be my guest." You gestured to the lock as he approached, lockpicks in hand again.

"I'm always around for private lessons if you ever need a refresher on how to do this. You'll find I am very good with my hands," he said, repeating a similar motion to what he did at the gate. Your cheeks flushed at the comment and you forced away any images of what a private lesson on lockpicking would look like. For some reason you didn't think there would be much lockpicking involved.

“It’s just a bad streak. I’ll be back on my game in no time,” you mumbled as he hummed in response, pausing to look up at you. “And then you can go back to looking pretty while I do all the hard work.”

“Looking pretty is hard work. Someone has to do it.” He gave you a grin, going back to twisting the picks in different directions to see which would work. You watched him work, eyes darting from his hands to his face and then settling on staring directly at the keyhole. It felt rather intimate to watch him so closely, the way his brows creased in focus or how his head tilted to hear better. Nimble fingers made quick work of the lock, the satisfying click being music to both of your ears.

You were quick to lift open the lid before he could, having been the one to find this after all. Inside was a coin pouch, a few spell scrolls and a couple of gems that looked like they could be worth a lot. Was it worth all the effort? You were hoping for something incredible, but it was better than nothing. Reaching for the coin pouch your hand collided with Astarion’s, who had a similar idea to you.

“Now then, it’s only fair that I take a higher cut. After all I did most of the work here,” he said, taking a hold of your wrist to push your hand away. The cold touch caught you off guard, and though there wasn’t any hostility behind it you wondered what lengths he would go to to get a bigger share of the loot.

You frowned at him, twisting your arm out of his grip in a quick motion. “I found the godsdamn thing! It’s not my fault I had issues with the lock.” Glancing quickly back at the coin pouch, you decided to make another grab for it. Astarion had the same idea - rogues always seemed to think alike, you thought - as you both lunged for the leather pouch. Hands pushed hands away and shoulders tried to push each other away from the chest. A rather strong shove from you caused the chest to fall to the floor with a large clatter, the contents of it spilling out onto the floor in front of you. The shove had also caused Astarion to lose his balance, grabbing onto you as he tumbled backwards to the ground bringing you with him.

You landed on top of him, hitting your head against his shoulder with an uncomfortable groan. The coin pouch had fallen behind where Astarion laid and the spell scrolls fell out and landed elsewhere. There was a moment of silence as you sat up, the positioning of you both causing your cheeks to warm up in embarrassment.

"If this was your plan all along it would have been easier for you to simply say so," he said, leaning on his elbows once you had moved.

"You think I fucked up picking a lock just to try and get us into a compromising position?" you laughed, though it certainly looked that way to an outsider. Astarion sat upright, the both of you now almost flush with each other. You felt his hands rest gently on your hips, fingers digging in ever so slightly.

"Are you certain you don't want me to refresh your memory on the art of lockpicking?" he asked, a hand running up your side. "I'm a very good teacher."

You tried to keep your thoughts from wandering. It was proving difficult as you kept Astarion's gaze, his eyes moving from your own to your lips and back. "I think I'll pass for now. I'm normally good at it, you know this."

"Yet here I am, saving the day," he said with a grin, the annoyed look on your face only adding to his enjoyment at this moment. His hand brushed against your cheek, moving down to lift your chin up slightly. There was something different about all this yet you couldn't place your finger on what it was.

"My hero. However can I repay you?" you asked, not sounding at all interested in repaying him for helping. His eyes looked over your neck, and if you were going to repay him, at least it could be something you had done before. "Did you want to…?" You exposed your neck to him. It came as a shock to you when he shook his head.

"Later, perhaps. I would hate to use up all our fun here and now," he replied, running a finger down the main vein in your neck, the touch barely there. His hand continued downward, stopping at your chest. In another strange shock he laid it atop of your heart as you felt it quicken. It made sense why he would want to feel it, you supposed, but given the circumstances it did throw you off guard.

You placed your hand atop his, feeling the coolness of his skin against yours. The sounds of the others melted away until it felt like it was just you both in the room, hands on top of each other, listening to the rhythm of your heart beat. You wondered what he was thinking as you studied his face, trying to get a hint of his thoughts. His eyes were focused on your hand, and only when you shifted slightly did he blink and look up at you.

"Alright?" you asked softly, giving his hand a very gentle squeeze.

"Perfect," he muttered in response, pulling at the top of your shirt to bring you closer to him.

"This isn't going to give you a bigger cut, you know," you mumbled when you felt your nose bump against his. How quickly things changed between you, you thought. Somehow you always found yourself here, like this, with him. It was like some force was pulling you towards him constantly.

He smiled at you. "Ah, a shame. You foiled my plan." In one quick move, he closed the gap between you both. The kiss was unexpectedly soft, especially given the circumstances. Your hands rested on his chest and you felt one of his arms loop around your lower back, pulling you closer towards him. It was nothing like the hunger and desire you felt all those nights ago after the party. This was gentle. Delicate. Like one wrong move could break you both, the same way you had broken many lockpicks moments before. It was everything you didn't expect to feel when kissing Astarion, and you wondered why. He pulled you flush against him, your hands tangled in his hair and savouring the moment. He removed his right hand from you to prop himself upright, the other staying at the small of your back, keeping you in place. The moment was perfect; nothing could break it.

"Food is ready!" Gale's voice appeared in your mind, arcane echoes lingering behind as you recognized the use of the message spell. At least he didn't yell it out loud and gave away your location, you thought. You pulled away from Astarion, his face contorting into a look of annoyance as you assumed he got a similar message in his mind as well.

"I'd prefer it if we didn't hear the others in our heads when we do this," he complained as you climbed off of him quickly, not wanting anyone to catch you like this.

"Could've been worse. Could've used the tadpoles to tell us," you said, pushing yourself up to your feet and holding a hand out for Astarion to take.

"He would have been met with some rather…" he paused to look you up and down with a grin, "interesting images then." He took hold of your hand as you helped him up and didn't let go for a little longer than normal. You shot him a playful glare, letting go of his hand as you began to collect up the loot that had fallen on the floor.

As you picked up the final spell scroll, you noticed a lack of coin pouch. With a frown you turned to Astarion to ask him if he had seen it. He held it in his hand, counting out coins in the other. That bastard.

"How did you…" You approached him slowly.

He paused in the counting and grinned. "You're easily distracted."

"You know what? Take it. You deserve it at this point, with all the picking locks and distracting me," you said, waving him off. It was annoying but there wasn't much you could do at this point. You'd take the gems and hoped they would sell well. Once you had gathered everything up, you gave Astarion one last look. He held out the pouch for you.

"Your cut."

"Thanks…?" You blinked, and when he didn't elaborate you took it from him slowly, waiting for there to be a hidden meaning behind it. Your fingers brushed against his as you pocketed the money quickly, ignoring the feeling of warmth in your chest at the touch. There was a moment where neither of you moved, unspoken words left lingering in the air as you thought through what to say. After everything that happened between you both you could never find the right words to speak after a moment like this. Instead, you gave him a nod and left the room, heading back downstairs to the others.

Camp was slowly being set up. Most people had their tents sorted and Gale was serving up food, explaining in depth to Wyll what he had done with the supplies that were given to him. You placed the loot on one of the granite benches for the others to sort through later, spotting Astarion joining the group when you turned back.

He gave you a soft smile, and you smiled back.

#astarion x reader #astarion x tav #reader insert #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #astarion bg3 #tav x astarion #; tealeaf's writing

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auteurdelabre · 4 months

Text

CODE BROKEN (part 5/5) dark!Joel x f!Reader

pairings: dark!Joelxf!Reader (she's you!)

rating: 18+ (scram youngins!)

Words: 12.0k (wtf how?)

Warnings: femdom (if you squint), hands off, cockwarming, sweet dirty talk, Joel whimpers, sweet!Joel, fluff and angst, protected p in v.

a/n: Y’all this was one of those weird stories that I wrote and posted to A03 that no one commented on. Then just as I was giving up all these people on tumblr and then A03 started being like “we want more dark!joel!” and because I can’t deny you anything, I kept going. And now we’re here and I’m actually kinda heartbroken I won’t be writing about these two anymore. Anyway, I thought this concluded things nicely and if you agree (and even if you don’t) please leave me a comment because I don’t make shit on these. It’s all for the love of writing (and getting’ comments).

Code Broken Parts 1 - 4

==========================================

Code Broken: Total Eclipse of the Heart

Trish's wedding is beautiful and sentimental and everything you knew it would be. Seeing her in the dress you spent months making, beaming as she kisses her husband Cliff makes your heart swell.

When the group throws the multicolored confetti and it lands like snow in her rust colored hair you think it's the most beautiful sight you’ve ever seen.

They've decorated the old church basement beautifully. Handmade bunting hangs from rafters; lopsided cakes made from whatever could be spared from the kitchen line the tables. The children of Jackson are shrieking and laughing as they spin around the crowd of people, darting between legs with icing smeared over their mouths.

You're tired after all the lead up to this event. Exhausted after the preparation, the decorating, and the assurances to Trish that it was no trouble to do it all. Trish holds her son in her arms, smiling up at her husband who presses a kiss to her forehead.

You sit back in your chair at one of the tables watching the crowds drinking and dancing as a few of the locals play a surprisingly in-tune melody with the instruments they possess.

"You did a wonderful job," Maria tells you as she walks by. "Wish I'd had you around for my wedding."

You smile and thank her before you lean back; eyes sleepily half-open as you watch the couple nearest to you spin together.

Mark gives you a wave from across the room, his arm around the waist of Jenny, one of the newer people to have moved here. She gazes are him adoringly and this makes you smile as you return the wave.

You’d never say it, but it makes you feel a bit like an outsider seeing all your friends coupled up. Even though you never needed anyone else, the thought of another person sharing in your life has its appeal.

"Hi there."

The husky voice behind you is quiet and careful. Low enough for only you to hear. You crane your neck to look over your shoulder. Joel is standing there looking down at you seated at the table.

Joel is dressed like most of the men here in jeans and a button up. His hair is combed back and he smells good. Spicy like cologne, a rare commodity in Jackson.

The sight of him pulls at your lower belly. Despite the weeks that have passed since you saw him last, that desire you carry around for him hidden behind your ribs seeps through.

He's staring at you similar to how he was the last time you saw him, dark and heated and you momentarily shrink from his intense gaze.

You haven't seen him since that day in the stables when you rushed off and you expected to be more furious with him. Instead you just feel gentle irritation mixed with a lust you wish you could will away.

"Hi."

He's got his hands in his pockets, standing awkwardly like he's nervous. Joel nervous? You think you must be misunderstanding because Joel Miller is never* nervous.

You've seen him break unruly horses, heard stories of him taking down clickers and Raiders. Why would he be nervous talking to you?

"You look beautiful tonight," he murmurs.

What the fuck?

You blink up at him confusedly. Did Joel Miller just call you beautiful? When you don't answer you see him swallow, eyes going to your shoulder before coming back to your gaze. He looks like he's about to say something but then another voice breaks in between you like a knife slicing through the air.

"Hey come dance with me!"

You both look over to see Mark approaching you with an expectant look on his face, hand held out towards you. His girlfriend Jenny is dancing with some of her friends to the music the band is playing and she gives a cheery wave in your direction followed by a mouthed: "come dance!".

You feel Joel's eyes boring into your profile as you look up to Mark.

"Sure!"

You stand, taking his hand as he tugs you to him. He must notice Joel standing there, half encased in shadows because he starts.

"Oh hey Joel," Mark says with a broad smile. "I didn't see ya there. Just gonna steal this one for a dance."

You can see Joel's cheek tic as Mark spins you away, Joel's dark eyes fixed on you as Mark tugs you around in his arms on the dance floor. You feel strangely giddy at the moment. Almost delighted that Joel is watching you being swept away by another man, even if it is platonic.

You want Joel uncomfortable. You want him to be just as miserable as you've been these past few weeks. Because you can't get him out of your head, you can't stop thinking about it. Can't stop thinking about the softness of your last interaction.

Mark is a very bad dancer, but not as bad as you. He does goofy over exaggerated facial expressions as he kicks out his legs. You laugh breathlessly, clutching onto him when he twirls you around in his arms.

You catch Joel's eyes on you a few times, but resolutely turn your attention anywhere else. You notice Tommy comes up to talk to him, but Joel's eyes never leave Mark's hands on your body. They skim over your hips and you can see Joel's fingers tighten around his drink glass.

Mark guides you towards Jenny and the rest of the group. Trish and Cliff are dancing up a storm and Cliff surprises you by grabbing you by the waist and raising you into a spin that lifts your feet off the ground. You give a shriek of laughter, clutching to his shoulders before he sets you down again. Finally the song is over and you are breathless and sweaty at the temples.

"Thanks, I needed that!"

Mark flashes you a grin before waving you off and going to pull Jenny into a tight embrace from behind.

The music slows and you watch as everyone begins to pair up on the dance floor, hands slinging around waists, heads balanced on shoulders. It makes a tear go through your heart, a sudden feeling of awkward isolation.

You're about to leave the dance floor when you feel the heat of another body behind you. You smell him, wood shavings and leather.

"You wanna dance?"

You turn to see Joel standing there, mouth fixed sternly as he gazes down at you.

Shock floods your system at his words. Is he really asking you to dance with him? He wants to hold you and spin you around on the dance floor in front of all these people? He wants to publically be seen with you?

Joel doesn't dance. He barely attends events like this. You've never seen him at the summer dance party. If he is dragged to an event along with Tommy he sticks to the wall, arms crossed nursing a drink. What kind of game is this?

"Are you serious?"

He allows this insult, amusement clear in his eyes but not the rest of his features.

"I was, yeah."

You think of how shitty he's treated you over the past year. The way he's fucked you every which way and never kissed you. You think of how he's taken you and used you and you sneer up at him, feeling prickly.

"Never."

Joel's mouth twitches into a deep frown and you can see red creeping up his neck. You've embarrassed him.

Good.

Nearby couples are watching this exchange with curious looks. Both of you seem to notice this at the same time.

"G'night then."

Joel gives a sharp nod, backing away from you slowly before his long muscled legs are carrying him out of the church. You watch him leave, your stomach twisting before you throw yourself into a nearby chair, head spinning.

What just happened?

You spend the next hour making polite conversation with the people who pass you, giving Trish a hug when she comes to thank you for the twentieth time for everything.

"I want to have you over for dinner next week," she says, eyes filled with thankful tears.

"You're on."

You make your way back to your house, passing by the still partying group smiling and waving.

When you round on Rancher Street you think about Joel tonight. Of his nervousness and his calling you beautiful. Of asking you to dance in front of everyone. Didn't he care about the gossip? He’s notoriously private.

You can see a light is on in his house and this gives you pause. You consider going home and forgetting everything. Ignoring him for the rest of your days. But then something unknown sends your pulse spiking, something that leads your feet to his door and commands you to knock loudly.

You hear his footsteps pad slowly to the door, opening it and looking at you with surprise. He looks tired and you wonder if you’ve woken him. He’s wearing the same clothes though so you assume you caught him napping on the couch.

"What're -"

You push your way inside, not waiting to be invited. Joel allows this, watching you in confusion as you go to his sofa and shrug off your jacket.

You're looking around at his place, at the empty fireplace and the cracked mug on the coffee table, the book tented beside it. Your fingers absently strum his guitar as you pass it, a small smirk on your lips.

Joel walks towards you slowly, footfalls heavy as he regards you from behind curious eyes.

"Take a seat," you say casually motioning to the sofa as he approaches.

Joel doesn't move, doesn't indicate he hears you. You watch his wide hands twitch at his sides, his dark eyes set on you. You tilt your head back, face serious.

"You owe me this much, Joel."

Joel's tongue goes to one side of his cheek as he considers this. This feels like a standoff, a battle of wills. You wait until he finally gives a nod and lowers himself to his sofa, eyes never leaving yours.

You feel such a mixing confusion of emotions for the man looking at you. No, he's gazing at you. Eyes that were always cold and peering now seem softer around the edges. It confuses you.

You're still standing by the empty fireplace, holding your trembling fingers against the mantle. You take a sharp breath in, quietly.

"Take yourself out of your pants."

Irritation flares there in Joel's features. You've pushed too far.

"N-"

"Joel if you ever want to see me again you'll do this," you say sharply. "I mean it."

You hope that it doesn't come out as breathless as you feel because right now you can barely breathe. This is a big gamble. There's a very good chance he's going to kick you out as he's always done.

But then you think of him calling you beautiful and asking you to dance. You think of the looks he gives you when he thinks you're not looking and you consider that perhaps he might acquiesce.

You school your features, sure not to look shocked when Joel's hand finally goes to his belt, undoing it with one jerked movement of his hand. Then he stills as if waiting for you to admit that this is a game that he doesn't have to continue.

But you square your jaw and cross your arms in front of you. You raise a brow and find yourself getting aroused at the power shift. For once you're telling Joel what to do and much like you were that night in his house, kneeled in front of him, he wants it just as badly as you do.

Slowly his zipper is lowered, his jeans shifted and you watch as he brings his cock from underneath his boxers. You blink slowly.

"Already hard," you say approvingly as your eyes scan his already weeping cock. "Good."

Joel isn't smiling, but he isn't furious either. He's just sitting there, arms moving to either side of him on the back of his sofa. It's as if he's relaxing, about to watch the TV he doesn’t own. He continues looking up at you with big brown eyes, his cock rosy and resting on his lower belly.

He isn't trying to look intimidating. He just naturally is.

He watches you tug down the panties from under your dress, stepping out of them and shoving them into your dress pocket. His eyes move from your pocket to your face as you move to the sofa on trembling legs. He watches as you stand in front of him, knees touching. You take a deep breath, lifting one leg over his until you bracket his thighs.

"What is this?" Joel asks tone icy even as he shifts to accommodate you.

"I need something to come on tonight," you tell him. "And I've decided your cock will do nicely."

He says nothing. He doesn't move, doesn't deny this request. He simply continues to stare up at you. His lack of reaction unnerves you, but you plunge ahead regardless.

"You got a condom?"

Joel reacts slowly, tongue pushing into the side of his cheek once more. He considers your question before his hips shift up as he reaches in and pulls the square foil from his back pocket. He holds it out to you.

"Expecting to get lucky tonight, Joel?"

"Nope."

You raise a brow in disbelief. Joel sighs through his nose irritably.

"Was hopin', not expectin'."

You make a scoffing noise in the back of your throat before you motion to the condom with your hand. You expect defiance from him but he slips it on without question, his movements slow and measured as you watch.

You've always thought his hands were beautiful in a large, masculine way. Tonight is no different watching him hold his thick cock as he pinches the end of the condom before rolling it down.

When he's finished you move him to your entrance, eyes fixed on his face. He continues to stare in silence until you slide your already dripping cunt down his cock.

Then he reacts.

"Fuuuck," Joel groans, head tilted back and eyes slammed shut. You work your way down him, humming as his ridges bump inside, creating delicious friction before you come to rest against his hips.

You can tell he's waiting for you to move, to make noise, to do something. But you just sit there with your legs on either side of him, wrists balanced lightly on his shoulders. For once you'll be the one watching him unravel.

You peer into his face, your eyes sliding along the strong nose, the creases at the corner of his eyes, the fullness of his lower lip. You long to reach out and nibble it. It's sinful to have a mouth that kissable on a man so recalcitrant.

Joel's eyes remain closed, his pulse ticking away in his neck. You see his throat bobbing and then he groans. His broad hands rest gently against your waist, urging you against him. His hips shifting upwards to fuck into you. Your hands go to his chest and you push back from him.

"You don't move. You don't touch."

Joel's eyes snap open, head lifting to stare into your face. You're on his lap, almost at eye level now. You see the fire starting, burning in the dark coals of his eyes. The air is thick with tension, his body almost vibrating against yours.

"And if I do?"

"I'll jump off your lap so quick it'll make your head spin," you tell him sharply. "Then I'll leave and never come back. And I'll make sure my bedroom window stays locked."

This heavy threat hangs between you. To your credit you say it all without trembling. You sound self assured, confident. Even with Joel buried to the hilt inside you, his thick cock pulsing, you manage to stay composed.

Joel considers your proposal but not for long when he feels you begin to rise up off of him. His hands remove themselves from around your waist, returning to the back of the threadbare sofa.

You watch him tense before nodding, his mouth in a grim line of frustration.

Good. He fucking deserves it.

You lower yourself slowly back fully onto his lap, his cock warm and thick as you welcome it between your thighs once more. You sigh softly as it nestles there, filling you deliciously. He always feels so good.

"So I just sit here?" Joel murmurs; his eyes shuttering as he forces his hips to remain still.

You find that his voice is just as potent as his cock, your head tilting forward in order to catch every syllable that passes between those pouty lips of his.

"Uh huh," you say plainly.

Joel gives a solemn nod at this, his eyes not leaving your mouth. His arms are still hanging along the back of the sofa but his hands are tightening against the ridge of it. He braces himself, watching with hawk-like focus as your hips begin to shift again.

You smile at the way he struggles to remain still when your thighs spread over him, flashing the glossy sheen of your inner thighs and cunt. You're already drenched with arousal.

You groan as his length grazes your clit when you move. Your wrists once more go to his broad shoulders for purchase as you begin to bounce slowly in his lap. Your head falls forward slightly, your back arching as you slide along his slick cock. You feel his mouth at your ear, husky and deep.

"M'I allowed to ask for anythin'?"

You pause your motions in surprise by this soft utterance by Joel. You shift your head slightly to find his face inches from yours. He doesn't let anything show in his eyes good or bad. You regard him, body stilled atop his, almost breathing into his mouth when you speak.

"What do you want?"

"A kiss."

The sibilant sound of his request echoes in the following silence. Joel's eyes register hope now, a subtle kind of need that you haven't seen before in him.

You find you can't answer him.

Instead you take him deeper into you and Joel makes a soft humming noise, it seems like it slips past his lips unwillingly. He bites down on his full lower lip, stopping himself.

You can see he's trying not to give in, not to make a sound as you slide up and down on his hips in achingly slow movements. His eyes are closed and his jaw is clenched so tightly you're shocked he doesn't break a tooth.

Your head moves forward, lips grazing his temple.

"You like that, Joel?" You huff against his ear. "You like me using this cock of yours to come on?"

He lets out a shuddering sigh, chest heaving.

"F-f..fuck. Yeah."

Then you feel it, his hand creeping between where you join. His fingers desperately sliding over your clit.

You stand abruptly and he slides out of you so rapidly his hips stutter midair.

"What are you---"

"I told you. Tonight you don't move and you don't touch."

Joel's neck is a blotchy red, his forehead is dotted with perspiration and he looks absolutely wrecked.

When you step back towards him he inhales sharply, eyes on the glistening vee of your legs. You align him to the entrance of your cunt and then slide back down the length of his shaft almost angrily.

"Fuck.... Fuck ... " Joel groans helplessly, doing everything in his power to keep still. You hear the squelch of your cunt as you ride him.

You grip the back of Joel's neck, fingers harshly digging there and forcing his gaze down to where your bodies join.

"You fucking watch," you tell him, cunt squeezing him as you rock against his hips. "You watch and you don't touch."

Joel watches the slick of your cunt drooling down his cock and he almost whimpers, but it's overtaken by a groan.

"Why are you punishin' me?" Joel asks through clenched teeth, eyes fixated on your clit dragging along the hairs at the base of his cock.

"I'm giving you everything you gave me," you tell him with poison dripping from every word, sliding up and down. "Using you to make myself come."

"I never did that," Joel says breathing heavily, eyes now fixed on yours. You can see how they roll slightly back with every twist of your hips.

"Never, Joel?"

"Once," he relents. "Only once. Rest of itttt---"

He breaks off into a guttural grunt as your hips swivel. You feel his cock nudge that sweet spot deep within you and your hips rut against him. You make a whining sound of surprise that you think goes down his spine because he quivers.

"The minute you come I'm fucking you over this sofa," Joel warns, mouth at your throat, lips grazing your jugular.

"I don't think so," you tell him, fingers laced behind his neck. "Once I come I'm going home and going to bed."

Joel's head is heavy against the back of the sofa, his lidded eyes on your face. You move slower over him, wanting extend this. Needing to watch the flicker of his eyes when you hit a good spot, needing to relish the moans that turns into deep pants. When you ease off a moment, your cunt slippery with want his voice drops an octave rumbling through his chest.

"You ever think about me fucking you in your bed, pretty eyes?"

"Yeah," you admit after a pause. "Sometimes."

"I can do it now," Joel purrs up at you. "Make you feel so good."

"Nice try."

You've started to swirl back around his cock and he moans lowly. Your thighs are starting to burn with the effort of bobbing up and down on him. Joel's eyes snap to your mouth, watching it part as you pant and give soft little whines of pleasure.

Joel's eyes blow wide, desperation and hope mingled there. His hairline is damp, his restraint obviously hanging by a thread.

"Wanna come for you," he says, voice quiet.

Having Joel at your mercy feels good. Having him looking at you in the same way you looked at him over the passing months feels like vindication. All too soon you've pulled back, only allowing the tip of his cock to graze your clit.

"Beg for it," you tell him as your hips roll, making him grunt and pitch forward. His hips rise, plunging deeply into you, his body unable to stop itself. You allow it, jolting from his thrust a few moments before you pull yourself off of him, scowling.

"I'm not saying it again, Joel."

Joel groans and his body trembles, actually physically trembles. His head is sagging forward, his eyes looking up at you through his dark lashes.

"I don't ... I can't keep goin'," he says raggedly. "I'm gonna come."

"You’d better not."

Now you turn and face away from him, lifting your dress to bunch at your waist. You look down over your shoulder at him, seeing him looking over your exposed ass with awe. With your back to him you slowly back up and your legs bracket his again.

Joel whispers something urgent under his breath as you lower yourself onto his cock, sitting in his lap. Your legs spread widely, hinging over each of Joel's thighs.

His cock hits you different now, tighter, nudging that pleasured core inside that makes you cry out. Your hands go to Joel's knees, bracing there as you urge his cock deeper into your slippery cunt.

"Please," Joel says through gritted teeth. He's panting now, breath sweet like peppermint huffing against the back of your neck. You twist, eyes cast over your shoulder at him.

"Please what?"

Joel's head lolls forward, eyes slowly cracking open. You looks absolutely ruined and to you, Joel Miller has never looked sexier.

"Please lemme make you come," Joel all but whimpers. You can hear the desperation creeping into his voice. "Then let me fuck you properly."

There is a wild moment where you consider denying him. Where you think of pulling yourself off of him and never seeing him again. Making him ache for you the way you ache for him in those dark, quiet times.

"Please baby," Joel whispers, his fists clenched so tightly at his sides his knuckles are almost translucent. "Fucking need to make you come. Please."

Joel Miller is begging you.

Begging.

Something snaps in you, desire licking between your legs. You tilt back until your spine is flush with his front, his cock still buried in your cunt.

He's gazing down at you, steady and dark and if you didn't know better you'd say your pose could almost appear loving. Your head balanced back on his shoulder, your palm going to stroke his cheek. He swallows at the contact, his mouth drifting towards yours.

"Go on then," you tell him, lips nearly grazing his. "Make me come, Joel."

The words aren't even out of your mouth before he thrusts his thighs apart. Your legs are slung over his, so you feel them parting luridly, exposing your glistening sex to the night air.

One of Joel's hands is sliding up your dress to cup your breast, the other slipping over your thigh to thumb your slick clit between your puffy pussy lips. You quiver at the immediate pleasure of the sensation his touch brings, your cunt tightening around his cock.

"Goddam you feel like heaven," he groans into the back of your neck making you preen.

His hips begin a slow but deepened pace, jostling you in his lap. You groan against his neck, eyes closed languidly.

"That's right," Joel croons when you gasp deeply. "Fucking go on, baby. Take it. S'all for you."

You begin to whimper, shaky needful sounds as your hand clutches at his neck, your forehead braced against the side of his jaw as he fucks into you from behind, holding you there in his lap.

"So good," Joel says in that husky drawl of his. "You're so fucking gorgeous like this."

All too soon you feel that heavy thump between your legs, the building crescendo. Joel groans as he feels you edge your climax, his body quaking under you. He holds you against him tighter, his rumbling moans vibrating against your spine.

"Wanna make you feel so good," Joel rasps in the shell of your ear. "Wanna give you everything. Please come for me, baby. Lemme hear you."

At his last words you begin to shatter against him, an unholy sound breaking from your throat.

"Oh yeah- just like that pretty eyes," Joel says grinding deeply into you, his voice husky in your ear. "Fuck, just like that, yeah. Yeah, fucking use me, baby. Take what you need."

Your hands grip his tightly against your front and you both move together in some carnal dance. Him thrusting deeply into you as you arch back into him. Your throat is exposed and your mouth parts, an inchoate cry on your lips.

"That's my girl," he groans in your ear before pressing sloppy kisses to the side of your bared neck. "That's right baby, you keep goin' just like that."

It's cathartic and overwhelming as everything that has been tensed in your body suddenly releases. It momentarily frightens you in its severity and you cry out.

"Joel!"

"I've got you," Joel soothes, arms holding you tightly against him almost in a bear hug. "Just ride it out. There you go, there you go. Feel all of it, c'mon baby. I've got you."

You do. You ride it out, body shaking against him as you chase your pleasure chanting his name over and over as he murmurs gentle praise against your temple.

"So good....so fucking beautiful... All for you..."

Finally the trembling ceases and you sag in his arms breathing deeply. You feel wrung out, totally exhausted in both body and mind. Joel's soft mouth is on your shoulder blade pressing a long kiss to it. You melt into the sensation, warmed by the feel of his lips on your body.

"Mine."

It's whispered, not meant for you to hear, but you do. It makes your spine straighten and your body lurch from him.

On jellied legs you struggle to a stand, tripping over your own feet as Joel tucks himself back into his jeans, cock still hard when he pulls off the condom.

"Baby, wait -"

But you don't. You're not his baby. This isn't love. This was payment, this was retribution. This wasn't an act between partners or even friends. You're practically strangers to one another.

You push his door open and stagger home, muscles tight. You still can't believe what you just did. The way you just demanded pleasure from Joel. The power you'd felt when he begged to come. You feel heady, you feel...

Empty.

Empty because now as you collapse onto your own sofa you feel tears prick your eyes. Yeah, you fucked Joel Miller. But it doesn't change anything. You're still here in your house alone.

All alone.

You go to the bookshelf, bringing down the album you so often flip through. You open it to the photo of you and your sister at age eight, arms linked as you squint in the sunshine, gap-toothed smiles on display.

You love that photo because you can sometimes remember that day. Remember how the sunshine felt on your bare shoulders, how your sisters arm linked in yours was coated in coconut-scented suntan lotion.

You flip to a photo of you both bent over a pink frosted cake, your sister's sixteenth birthday party. The last photo you took before the outbreak. You think of that night spent laying on the trampoline out back, looking up at the stars.

"I wanna marry a man that looks just like Johnny Depp," your sister said, cheeks red from the days sun. "But he'll be a model too. And he'll take me all over the world."

Your sister had always been about flash, just like your mother. You were so different from them, more serious, more thoughtful.

"What about you?" She asked, candy-scented breath next to your face.

"I want someone who reads and likes the same music, as me," you replied, eyes trailing dreamily over the night sky. "Someone more serious…Someone like Mr. Rochester in Jane Eyre."

"You're so weird," your sister had announced, giggling in your ear.

You look at the album; your sister’s laugh still ringing in your ear. You look at the empty house around you. You think of how much you lost in the outbreak, how little you have now and then you allow yourself to cry.

///

Later that week you go to work, mechanical and distracted. You work only half your shift before telling your co-workers that you'll finish up the rest at home. That you're feeling a bit under the weather.

You gather the fabric into your arms, bidding farewell. Your mind is full, stuffed to the brim with thoughts of Joel Joel Joel as you wander the streets back to your house.

You're so distracted that you don't notice the tall woman in front of you until she calls your name. When you see who it is you stop abruptly, eyes wide.

"Hey," Tess says giving you an awkward wave as she saunters over to you, a bag of bread in her arms.

"Hey," you say equally uncomfortable. You struggle to find something to say, terrified that she's going to start a scene. Does she know about you and Joel in his house?

She can't. There's no anger in her expression or disgust. Just a polite smile that you yourself would use on any other member of Jackson City. You shift the fabric awkwardly in the crook of your arm.

"You uh, you weren't at the wedding."

Her light eyes drop to the ground before slowly making their way back to your face.

My guy was on patrol," Tess shrugs, blushing prettily. "Wanted to be there for him when he got back."

You smile at this, recalling what Trish told you about Tess. Her new partner.

"Besides I still don't know many people actually," Tess forces a smile. "So it seemed weird to go."

A new kind of guilt assaults you. The kind that reminds you all the time she invited you over for drinks, all the walks that you declined with her. The desperate bids for friendship that she threw your way and that you continually ignored.

"Everyone's invited to everything around here," you say, shifting the fabric to your other arm. "Next event we'll go together. I'll introduce you to the group."

"Yeah sure," Tess says with a real smile. "I'd like that."

"Good."

Tess looks momentarily uncomfortable licking her dry lips before fixing you with a serious expression.

"You know you and Joel don't have to hide that you're together for my sake," she tells you with an earnestness that makes you feel choked up. "I'm happy for you both. That's what I keep telling him! But he keeps telling me to mind my own business."

It's like a bucket of ice cold water has been thrown over your head. Tess seems to want to say more when she registers your reaction but she stops, wan smile on her face.

"There is no me and Joel," you finally tell her flatly. "Never was, never will be."

Tess, looks completely flummoxed. Her hands stem at her hips as she looks at you, her brows heavy.

"You sure about that?"

You open your mouth to say something but then pause. Tess waits, head tilted. You find your voice, but it's quieter than before, less certain.

"I barely know him, Tess."

"He's worth getting to know," Tess says simply, no guile in her eyes. "Even if he doesn't agree. He'll show you though if you give him the chance."

You're struck by the woman's sincerity. Guilty about what went on with Joel, ashamed that you could have done it. Confused because it's like Joel is tattooed on your insides, a continual reminder that he exists every time you draw a breath.

"Joel doesn't let a lot of people in," she adds when she sees the conflicted feelings clear in your face. "When the old world ended it changed how we all saw the future. I don't think Joel ever really saw one where he was gonna be happy again. Makes it hard to be pleasant sometimes."

You don't say anything further, unable to come up with a worthwhile end to the conversation.

Tess decides that she'll be the one to end things with a nod and a murmured goodbye. You watch her leave, amazed that Joel could ever let her go.

///

That evening you watch the sun set outside your window. It's a beautiful light orange that sets everything it touches in golden rays.

It's the kind of night where you want to curl in bed and read with the window open. But you haven't unlocked that window in months.

You won't. You can't.

But you think about heading down to the river in the back lots. It's a trek but maybe you need to clear your head. Everything that test told you this afternoon is replaying in your mind over and over.

Did Joel say something to Tess about caring for you? Why did she assume that you were together?

A knock at the door draws your attention. You towel off your hands and stride over to it, pulling the door open slowly.

Joel stands there on your doorstep, a nervous look on his face.

"Can we talk?"

His hands are thrust deep into his pockets. You can only assume that he's here to pay you back for your visit to his and the thought sours your stomach.

"I'm not fucking you, Joel."

"S'not why I'm here."

He seems earnest when he says this and it gives you pause. You see the sweat dotting his forehead, the strain in his expression. This isn't the face of a man who wants to demand something from you.

Silently you open the door further, signaling with your tilted head for him to enter. He does, shooting you a quick, thin-lipped smile and nod before his broad-shoulder-ed frame is inside.

You watch him enter into your home, his tall frame loping towards your fireplace. He glances at books resting on your mantle. His forefinger goes to touch one, the spine of one before he moves on.

He moves around this place casually as if he belongs here. As if he isn't an interloper in your home.

His eyes dart down to your coffee table.

He points at the album opened up to the page you had paused over last night.

"Family photos?"

"Yeah."

"You're lucky you have so many," Joel murmurs, his dark eyes roaming over the many faces of your family.

"My mom grabbed the album before we left," you shrug. "The only thing I still have from before."

You don't know why but you allow Joel to flip through your family album. He smiles gently when he gets to a picture of two girls with missing front teeth holding ice cream cones on the beach.

"You and your sister?"

"Yeah."

He nods, brows heavy. He doesn't ask but he seems to know all the same.

"Watched her turn," you tell him regardless. "Watched my mom kill her."

Joel is staring at you, eyes wide. His hands twitch at his side. If this was the world before, he would offer condolences but on this utterly broken earth they serve no purpose. Instead he stares at you looking both uncomfortable and overwhelmingly sad.

But you don't care how Joel feels. You're tired and you want to go to bed.

"What do you want Joel? Why are you here? You wanna learn about my family? You wanna hear how after my mom killed my sister she killed herself?" You shake your head. "Is this some new game for you?"

Joel shakes his head. "Was never a game to me."

"Right."

Joel can tell you don't believe him. He frowns deeply before lowering himself onto your sofa. He looks expectantly at you, tilting his head to the empty seat next to him.

"I'll stand thanks."

"Suit yourself," Joel says tightly and you can see that familiar need for control in his features. It pleases you to upend it.

"S'never a game to me," Joel repeats. "Can't say the same for you, though, sneakin' into my house to move my shit around. Why'd you start that by the way?"

Now it's your turn to look sheepish. You consider sending him away just so you don't have to answer. But then you think of him coming here after everything that’s gone on the last few days and you relent.

"You hurt my feelings and…I wanted your attention, I think."

"You already had it."

"Not that kind of attention with you being all grumpy," you roll your eyes. "I wanted you to look at me without scowling. I wanted to be friends. The first time you ever noticed me you were so rude!"

"Noticed you long before that," Joel promises. "Noticed you the first week I moved in."

"Huh?"

Joel sighs, as if what he has to say physically pains him. His foot absently taps against your wood floors, giving him time to collect his thoughts.

"I was carrying boxes upstairs to the bedroom. Your window was open I think. I just glanced over cuz something caught my eye. Maybe your curtains or somethin' moving in the breeze." Joel looks almost embarrassed at all the ancillary information he's offered.

"Anyway I saw you sittin' on your bed and you were readin'. Totally focused, didn't even notice me watchin' you while I unloaded boxes."

You narrow your eyes on him with suspicion. "Why would you watch me read?"

"Was relaxin'," Joel shrugs briefly, honestly. "Whenever I caught sight of you, you were just so comforting. I can't explain it properly. . . But then time went on and I happened to see you when you were readin' or cookin' or just out walkin', you were just so calm to look at."

You feel your mouth parting. Joel had been watching you for so long. Much longer than you even had begun to watch him.

"And it wasn't just calm I felt. It was happy. It made me happy to watch you, especially when you smiled," Joel's mouth curves into a small grin as if recalling a specific memory. "You got such a gorgeous smile. Makes your whole face light up."

You're openly gaping at him now. Shocked at these ready admissions of a truth hidden for so long. Confused at this softness, this tenderness.

"I've never seen someone smile so fucking much. Sarah would have just loved you. You and that friend, you smiled and laughed all the time." Joel grows somber, brows saddling. "But you don't smile half as much anymore.. is it cuz of me?"

Yes.

Because I hate that I want you.

"If it is... Tell me," Joel insists. "I don't wanna be the reason you stop smiling, pretty eyes. I'll leave you alone forever if it gets you smilin' again."

He's got puppy dog eyes now. Wide and sorrowful looking. They almost don't fit with the harsh planes of the rest of his face.

"Why do you call me that?" you ask exasperatedly. "Do you not remember my name or something?"

"Course I know your name," Joel says, whispering it now. The sound of it slides over your body like a silk sheet. "S'a beautiful name."

"So then why-"

"I call you pretty eyes because you see beauty in everything. Nature, animals, people. You always wanna help. You want the whole shitty world to be a better place," Joel is shaking his head. "You know how terrifying that is to someone who's given up?"

You don't know what to say.

Joel stands, reaching into his back pocket. He closes his eyes, wincing before he crosses over to you and forces something into your hands. You hold it to your face. It's a photograph, a small one, the kind you yourself used to get in school, sent home glossy and overpriced for your mom to purchase.

It's been folded, creased, lovingly looked at thousands of times, you can tell. It's of a young girl with bright eyes and a brighter smile. A girl with a dimple in her cheek that matches her father. Your finger traces the sweet curve of her face.

"That's Sarah," Joel tells you after a beat. "My daughter."

"She's beautiful."

“She was, yeah.”

Joel's face holds a myriad of emotions all at once. The most prominent of them all however is regret. There's a story there likely similar to your own. You hand him back the photo and he places it back in his pocket.

"I kept going after she was... Taken from me," Joel explains, obviously not wanting to use the real word. "I didn't wanna keep going. But I felt like I had to. I did what I thought I had to and I survived. And when I got here to Jackson I was all alone and all I could think was what was the point? What did I do all this for?"

You nod. Understanding more than you think he'll ever realize. Joel moves back to sit on the sofa, his body tense.

"I thought existing was enough. But then that night I caught you in my closet.... It's like I felt alive again. The good kind of alive- not just needing to live for survival. The kind of alive that has my heart hammerin' and my blood pounding. Makes food taste better for Christ's sake, I don't know how, but it does," Joel is going pink at his neck and cheeks.

"S'like you brought me back from the dead."

You feel the tension, the animosity, the agitation that has been tightening your muscles suddenly release at his words.

"I did?"

Joel nods and he doesn't move closer to you but you have a feeling he'd like to.

"The day after we... The first time," Joel has the good graces to look embarrassedly down at his shoes. "I thought it was better if I stayed away from you."

"Why?"

"Because I was ashamed of myself for how I'd treated you," Joel looks sick as he remembers it, eyes lowered. "But then I saw you that day in the shop lookin' at books and...I just... I was shaking when you walked by me but I just wanted to be near you. I just couldn't stop thinking about you."

You feel like your stomach is doing somersaults. You've never heard Joel talk so much. It makes your head spin. It makes the world feel tilted. Joel is looking at you, concern clear in his features.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," you croak, feeling your legs growing wobbly. You slowly lower yourself to the sofa. Joel joins you and you swallow when his knee brushes yours.

"I've done a lot of things," Joel says. "Things I'm not proud of. Things that someone like you shouldn't have to be around. But I wanted to be around you."

Joel takes a deep breath and you're surprised to see the sheen to his dark eyes. You allow his hand to slowly cover your knee, his thumb giving you soothing rubs.

"I thought about you every day."

Your heart is pounding at his husky admission. But then as those words settle within your mind you grow sullen.

"What about Tess?"

"You were suddenly all chummy with that Markus. The two of you looked like a couple n' you were always with your friend and her husband. You seemed happy and I didn't wanna interfere." Joel frowns. "I knew Tess from way back. Thought it made sense. Wanted it to work. But I couldn't stop thinkin' about you."

You make a scoffing sound.

"I really couldn't," Joel insists, his voice pained. "The night you left my place? I told her I was..." Joel swallows. "I told her there was someone else. She said she'd figured."

"Did you tell her we-"

"No," Joel shakes his head. "You can call me a coward if you want. But it seemed cruel to tell her. Almost as cruel as doin' it in the first place."

You nod in agreement.

"I was terrified when you weren't at home after that. Took a lot of askin' around to find out you were staying with your friend." Joel frowns, eyes limpid. "Was it cuz you didn't wanna see me?"

You can see real fear there in his eyes at your answer and you know that what you say next could potentially devastate him. But the anger you've been carrying around with you like a second skin has fled. Right now you want to be honest like him.

"Not completely," you answer truthfully, shifting uncomfortably on the sofa. "I was also scared I was pregnant."

Joel's head ducks slightly and his voice drops so lowly you don't hear what he mumbles. You ask him to repeat it and Joel exhales slowly.

"I was hopin' you were."

What. The. Fuck.

That was about the last thing you ever thought you'd hear from Joel Miller. You stare at him unblinking, unsure that you've heard him correctly. The entire lower half of his face is flushed, like he's just exposed his biggest secret. Which in a way, you suppose he has.

You think back to that night. Of Joel emptying himself into you with a groan and disgust crosses your features.

"Did you mean to-"

"Fuck no!" Joel answers, the truth immediately apparent in his horrified expression. "Just got carried away that night. No fuck, I would never ... No. Not on purpose. Not without talking to.. Was just after... when I was thinking about it that the idea just .. If it did happen... It maybe didn't seem so awful to me..."

"Jesus, Joel."

Joel nods, grimacing. "I know. I just. . . Thinking of you carrying my baby? Belly swollen and everyone knowing you were mine? That I made you a mama? I wanted it. Wanted that life. I know it was selfish, I know it's fucked up, but it's the truth. I'm trying to be as honest as possible here. No lyin'."

You hate the way this pulls at your lower belly. The desire that licks there. Joel wanting to put his claim on you in the most permanent way possible has you slick between your legs. Despite how fucked up it is, despite how wrong, you can't help but feel turned on.

What is wrong with me?

Logic and reason prevails and you feel your resolve strengthening. You tilt back from his hand on your knee, pulling your legs against your chest as you press against the arm at the other end of the sofa. Joel watches you retreat from him, face falling.

"Joel you just like fucking me." You spread your arms wide. "That's all this has ever been."

"For you maybe," Joel shakes his head. "S'not just that. Not for me."

"How would you know?"

"Cuz I wanna spend time with you," Joel explains, bright eyes on yours. "Be near you. Not just fucking."

You don't know what else to say. How would you ever know if that was true? Too much has happened between the two of you.

"Can I show you?"

You glance up at Joel, brows raised. Show you?

"Show me what?"

"What I wanted more than anything since the last time I saw you?"

It's a trick. A way to let him further into your home. Payback for what you did to him.

No no no. Don't let this happen again you fool.

And yet you barely hesitate. After everything he's confessed to you there is no ire left in you.

"Okay."

Joel's sudden smile is wide and warm and so damn grateful that it pulls at your heartstrings. He stands, holding his hand out to you. You look at his palm briefly before you take it, feeling as his large, warm hand wraps around yours.

He holds you tightly and the both of you pad upstairs. The stairs creak under your combined weight but you barely hear it over the rush of blood roaring in your ears.

Joel is in your house. Joel is touching you. Joel is being tender. Joel Joel Joel. The man you couldn't stop thinking about. The man you hate yourself for wanting because he’s so cold. But tonight he’s so warm.

You reach the threshold of your bedroom and stop, looking at him curiously. He gives a nod, silently asking for your trust.

Despite everything you give it, walking into your bedroom and waiting as he follows you.

"Where's your nightclothes?"

You point to a dresser drawer. He nods, going over to it and pulling it open. You watch in quiet fascination as he pulls out a pale yellow nightdress with ruffles at the shoulders.

"S'pretty," he murmurs looking at it. "You like this one?"

"Yeah."

You're confused when he takes your hand in his again and walks you to the bathroom. The wide, aged tub in there is turned on. A luxury you don't often take advantage of because you prefer showers.

While the warm water is filling, Joel places the nightgown beside the sink. He turns to you and you can see him take a nervous inhale.

"Can I undress you?"

Again you barely hesitate. You nod and he closes the distance between you.

His blunted fingers move slowly over the buttons of your cardigan, your skirt. You watch Joel's face the entire time, taking in the way his mouth twists lightly to the side as he concentrates. He undresses you with quiet patience, his eyes warm and soft. Your clothes are slipped gently from your body, folded (much to your gentle amusement) and placed on the counter next to the nightdress.

You watch him take a deep inhale before his hands skim around your bra to unhook it. Your breasts fall, released from the cotton fabric. Joel looks at your flushed face, his breathing shuddering. But he slips the bra off your shoulders and places it with the rest.

Your heart is thundering in your chest. You feel your nipples tightening as his eyes fall over them, a look of reverence in his features. You wait for his mouth to descend, or his hands to knead them.

But instead his fingers come to rest on your hips, thumbs curling around the band of your panties. You feel your breath growing uneven at the thought of being completely bared to him. He hears it, registers it and his dark eyes flit to yours.

"This still okay?"

You nod, trying to steady your breath. Joel smiles, eyes going to your mouth. You know he wants to kiss you but instead he blinks and lowers himself to kneel in front of you.

There on his knees before you, like you're his own personal altar, Joel slowly begins slipping your panties down your thighs, your calves, until you step out of them with your hand on his shoulder for balance.

Finally you stand there in front of him naked. You feel vulnerable and turned on all at once. He's still kneeling, eyes drifting everywhere as if he's trying to memorize you. Your face heats as his wide eyes slide over every piece of exposed flesh.

His finger trails over the scar at your ribs, unseen to him before now. His eyes go to your face as he stands, hand coming to drift over your cheek.

"You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," he murmurs huskily. But he doesn't make any further move to touch you.

You think that this is what he's been after since you arrived back home. That he's just wanting to fuck somewhere new. That this was an elaborate way to break down your barriers. You fold your arms over your breasts, hand coming to hide your sex.

You watch in confused silence as Joel strips as well, tugging off his shirt and jeans and boxers until he's standing there in front of you naked, his cock semi hard. He stands waiting, letting you have your turn at gawking. Despite the vulnerability of his nakedness, be excudes a powerful dominance, his frame large.

His masculine body is beautiful, his shoulders broad and the skin golden and littered with pale scars. You can't help but touch the swell of his biceps, fingers trailing over and down to his wrist. He shivers when you touch him and you see his cock hardening. He goes to cover himself.

"You're gorgeous," you blurt, heart swelling when you see him give a shy grin at your words. He tilts his head away from you, his face pinking. Shy.

Joel Miller is shy.

The tub is full now and Joel turns the tap to stop. He steps in first, testing the heat before holding a beckoning hand to you. With a quirked brow you take it, allowing him to lower you both to sit in the tub. You go in front and his long legs go to either side of you.

You marvel at the gold skin of his legs and the dark hair that grows there. This skin, previously a mystery shown to you up close. You can't stop yourself from reaching a hand to his ankle and brushing the delicate bone there. His damp hand skims up your spine, he too marveling at this new piece of you exposed to him.

Eventually he urges your back against his chest and you let out a small whisper of a groan his fingers come to your neck and begin to massage.

"This okay?"

"Mhmmm."

You go boneless as Joel's hands work your neck and shoulders as the water surrounds you. The warm bath feels so good and Joel's touch is so comforting.

Finally his hands are removed, once more going to urge your back against his front. He holds you loosely, fingers trailing over your forearm.

You sit for several moments in the quietly lapping water, feeling Joel's chest constrict and expand as he breathes behind you. Your eyes fall shut, lulled by your surroundings and you hear him fumbling with a bottle before you hear the squeeze of your shampoo bottle.

His wide hands go to drag the shampoo through your hair. The sensation of his fingers carding through your tresses makes every hair on your body stand on end in pleasure.

"You've got beautiful hair," Joel says softly, marveling at it as he rubs your scalp. "Thought so the first time I saw you."

You think of that day with the book when Joel had approached you, when he had smoothed a wayward strand of your hair between his fingers.

"Thanks."

You go limp against him, body melting into his light touch. When he talks it reverberates through your back. You muse that you could fall asleep like this. His chin grazes the top of your head.

"You enjoy that Jane Eyre book?"

He speaks gently as if he doesn't want to disturb your serenity.

"Yeah I did," you say smiling genuinely. "It was one of my favorite books from before."

"Mine too."

This surprises you a moment that he remembered until you recall the books he was going to lend you months ago. He'd had so many that you yourself had loved.

Joel seems so closed off, a hermit, almost a luddite in your mind. But he plays beautiful music and he reads wonderful books. There's so much to uncover about him.

"What do you think is Bradbury's best work?"

"Easy," you can feel Joel smiling behind you as he continues lathering. "Fahrenheit 451."

"You're crazy," you insist with an amused laugh. "It's the Martian Chronicles!"

"Never," Joel insists with a playful tug of your hair. "I bet you'll say Dandelion Wine was good."

"It was!" You insist, craning your head to face him with a faux outraged expression. He's grinning back down at you, his face glowing in the gentle light of the sunset outside the window.

"S'okay," he murmurs with his soft eyes sweeping over your face. "We don't have to agree on everything."

You nod, and he turns his attention to the pitcher next to the bathtub.

"Tilt your head back, pretty eyes."

You do so, eyes closing as Joel scoops water up into the jug and rinses the shampoo from your hair.

You feel at ease here in the water with Joel, you both just existing in the gentle warmth. You wish you could straighten your body out over him. You feel like a cat longing to stretch out in a sunbeam.

It makes you feel soft and gentle towards Joel. You find yourself wanting to know more about him, about the life he had before everything went to shit.

"What did you do before everything?"

"Contractor." His fingers make sure not to miss a strand of your hair with the water. "Tommy n' I had our own company."

He tells you a bit about the construction company, about how it was fun and exhausting being his own boss. It's easy to imagine Joel hammering away at wood planking, driving a beat up old truck down some winding streets.

He asks you about yours and you muse that the only job you had before the outbreak was working at a video store.

"Must be why you like those movie nights here," Joel muses. You look up at him, grinning, delighted that he remembers this fact about you.

"Yeah."

His eyes drift lazily down from your eyes to your mouth and you know what he wants because now you want it too. Desperately.

He won't make the first move, you can tell. So it's you that tilts up to press your lips against his. You feel your entire body tingle as he sighs against you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders from behind.

It's a sweet, soft thing that ends with him pulling back and pressing another gentle kiss to your cheek and forehead before he moves back to working on your hair.

You talk quietly back and forth about life before the outbreak. He tells you that Sarah always fell asleep during movies, even the ones she picked out. He tells you that he was almost married but then his fiancée backed out and left him with his infant daughter. You tell him that your sister was your favorite person. You tell him that your first kiss was under the bleachers at school.

When he begins to massage the conditioner into your scalp your head falls back and you let out a whimpered moan. It feels heavenly to be cared for like this. You've never had this.

At the first strains of your cry you feel Joel's cock hardening further against your lower back. Arousal pools in your belly and your hand moves under the water, instinctively going to grip him. He twitches at the contact.

"Not tonight, pretty eyes," Joel murmurs, gently urging your hand off of him and pressing a gentle kiss to your temple.

You continue sitting there between his legs confused as he rinses the last of the conditioner from your hair, his hardened cock pressed between your bodies.

He's hard and he doesn't want you to touch him?

He shampoos and rinses his own hair before he stands, pulling you from the water tenderly by the hand. He drains the tub, moving to grab your towel from the hook by the door.

With a softness you didn't expect from him, Joel gently towels you off, drying each inch of your flesh before tugging your nightdress on over your body.

He pulls on his boxers before you both pad back to your bedroom. He pulls back the covers of the bed, urging you to crawl in. You do so and you look expectantly up at him, noticing his hesitation as he lowers the blankets around you, tucking you in. He takes a moment to look at you, cheeks pink from the steam of the bath, eyes sleepy.

He leans over, kissing you full on the mouth in a way that's all sweet. It's a kiss of tenderness that has you exhaling into his mouth.

This version of Joel is so fucking appealing. This open, soft Joel that talks to you about everything. This Joel that touches you with no aim other than to make you feel good and cherished.

"I'm gonna get dressed and go," he says in a whisper as he pulls back from your lips. His knuckles trace your cheek as he smiles serenely down at you. "Can I see you tomorrow?"

You realize that the bath, that tenderness is what he'd wanted. He hadn't been expecting sex at all and for that reason alongside many others, you want him to stay. You reach out from under the covers, grabbing his wrist.

"I don't want you to go."

He pauses, his dark eyes scanning yours. He's hesitant and you know that he's worried you'll see this evening as transactional when you know it's been anything but.

"I want you to stay, Joel."

Joel contemplates a while longer before he finally nods. He pulls back the covers, climbing between the sheets beside you. He's warm from the bath and you instinctively snuggle back against him. His arms eagerly wrap around you and in them you feel a security you haven’t felt in decades.

Joel strokes your arm absently, kissing your shoulder only once before his head is back on the pillow, the two of you watching the moon hanging low in the sky. From where you lay you can see the roof of Joel's house. You think of how this started and you hold in a laugh.

"Sometimes I'd watch your house as I was falling asleep," he tells you, feeling bold in the darkness. "If your light was on I felt like everything was okay in the world. S'like your light was my moon."

You smile at that. Under the covers you're both warm, your hair damp. It feels domestic, not rushed or dirty. It makes you feel vulnerable as your bodies press next to one another in the bed.

You look behind you at Joel in the blue darkness, your hand brushing an errant curl from his forehead as you twist to face him. Your mouth finds his again and you sigh as your lips move against one another.

You assume that this is when he'll fuck you or at least make gentle love to you, but he does neither. He just holds you, bringing you against his body and curling around you, as if he's protecting you from the elements. It seems natural to him, to be a protector.

"You told me you weren't a good man," you whisper to him in the darkness. "But I think you might be."

"I'm not. I've done terrible things," Joel grimaces. "You know firsthand."

He strokes your hair, hand heavy before he continues.

"I'm so sorry for how I treated you. I.... I didn't know how to act. I'd wanted you so fucking long and you were there and I couldn't help myself. But s'not a good reason. I was a fucking asshole. I don't blame you for hating me."

"I don't hate you Joel," you say with honesty. "Don't hate anyone, really."

"That's what I lo- like about you," Joel says, voice catching. "Not a mean bone in your body."

"I dunno about that," you shrug. "Took great pleasure in refusing to dance with you the other night."

You can hear Joel smile at that behind you. "S'okay. I deserved it."

The silence stretches on a little longer.

"I'd say yes," you say in a quiet voice. "If you asked me again."

Joel doesn't reply, but he pulls you tighter against him, burying his face in your damp hair.

You've never slept with someone in this bed. You think that it will be a hardship and you're shocked at how easily you fold into his embrace, how calm you feel and you drift into a peaceful slumber.

When you wake up the next morning he's still asleep, dark lashes fanned over caramel cheeks. His arm is slung over your waist, as if in sleep he's worried about you leaving.

You watch him breathing slowly, his full mouth parted. You think that he looks so peaceful like this, so open. You can't help yourself and you graze a kiss against his lips.

Joel's eyes flutter open to see you staring at him with glossy eyes. His mouth curls into a sleepy smile and he brushes his knuckles against the curve of your cheek.

"Mornin' pretty eyes."

His voice is low and rumbling with sleep. It's a sound that feels good in your ear. A sound that travels down between your legs and pulses.

You kiss him again, a little longer this time. His hand is at your jaw, holding you lightly. There's no harshness in how he touches you now. You pull back, resting your head on the pillow next to his.

You both gaze at one another, eyes locked. You think you can see eternity in the dark galaxy of his gaze.

There's something about this moment that feels safe to you. Safety. And something else. Something that feels too early to speak aloud. A feeling that eluded you for so long. Tears spring along your waterline.

"Joel .. I-" you don't know what to say or how to say it. But Joel understands because he feels the same. His smile turns serious and you watch as his own dark eyes begin to grow damp.

"I know, baby," Joel rumbles. "I know."

With tears in your eyes your mouth seeks his out again, your hands going to his bare shoulders and gripping.

He holds you against his chest, both of you kissing for what feels like hours. He holds your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks. As if he's trying to atone for all those times he never kissed you, never cherished you properly.

"I want you," Joel murmurs against your ear as you nestle against him. "Want you to read with me on my couch in front of the fire and sit next to me at those movie nights. I want everyone to know you're my girl. Wanna make up for all those times I was an idiot. Wanna make you laugh and smile like you used to. Can I?”

Your heart expands, your own hands cupping his cheeks. This man that you've wanted, that you've denied yourself wanting. He's looking at you with those big eyes, the ones that often seem so sad and so serious.

"I want that too," you murmur. "Want you to teach me guitar too. Promise I won't hide it anymore."

Joel grins against your lips, recalling how all of this first began. He licks into your mouth as you whimper, the desire for him overwhelming you. There will be more discussions, more moments where Joel will fight to prove himself worthy of you. But for right now you simply want him.

Languid movements against each other turn into both sets of hands seeking bare flesh and moments later after your gentle urging of a condom into his hand, Joel raises himself above you, mouth on yours as he slides between your thighs slow and sweet, murmuring how much he wants you, adores you. His voice holds you, warms you as you keen, arching against him.

He takes his time, brushing the thankful tears from your eyes with his lips. You kiss his away from the corner of his eyes. He watches your body move underneath his with awe, as if he's actually seeing you for the first time. In a way it's like you both are.

And much like the bath last night Joel holds you tenderly, makes you feel beloved. He doesn't take, he just gives, over and over kissing praises into your skin, pressing devotion between your legs.

"I want you to take it," he whispers against your neck as your thighs bracketing his hips begin to tremble. "It's all for you, pretty eyes. Everything."

You know what he means.

When you two fall back against your pillow breathing unsteadily a short while later you can't help but smile in disbelief. You tilt your head to see that Joel is doing the same and you roll into his waiting arms, giggling.

Your window stays unlocked after that.

#joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller #dad joel miller #fanfic #fanfiction #pedro pascal #smut #mean!joel #dark!joel x reader #dark!joel #dark!joel miller

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blueparadis · 4 months

Text

❝ GHOST TOWN ❞ + GETO SUGURU ❪ playing ⌗4, ⌗5& ⌗6 ❫─── via radio line ❛ anatomy of emotions ❜〳 from this is what ____ feels like !

[ content & themes ] ::abo au + modern au, f!omega!reader,strangers to strangers sharing one-night-stand, unrequited feelings,abo marriage & courting rituals, hurt and angst, misunderstandings, smut, mcd. 10k word count.

[ synopsis ] :: Years after, you get a wedding invitation from one of your childhood friends; hoping to rekindle some old flames, you decide to attend the wedding yet the looming shadow of tragedies still followed you. But this time, there was someone who would lick your wounds.

[ notes ] :: i started this wip around june and since then it has been full of battles for me. Feels good to finish the first part of this. I really hope that next year is kinder than this one. thought i would not be able to finish until the Feb'2024 but here we are, so enjoy and tell me how you liked it :)) & if you have made this far then, congratulations. Stay tuned for next part, dk when will i'll be able to start writing on it, but I do wanna write part two badly SO please don't jinx it. \\ REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED \\ tagging @onisae @orchid3a

This year again, there is spring; flowers are blooming on every branch of those lonely trees, the sun is smiling, and the chirping of the birds can be heard. People are soaking themselves in this nice weather, they are welcoming it as they should, walking hand in hand in the neon-pinned streets during evenings, leaving footprints on the sand, taking selfies, and making memories to remember for the years to come, as they should; as they hope it to be. Yes, Everything is so hopeful; everything is outrageously lustrous. But for Geto Suguru, it is not. For him, the earth had already stopped turning since the advent of last spring as if the cogs of the winter suddenly started to rot with rust and now it is just blocked; the winter never stopped weeping since then and the spring never came to soothe the mourning. Geto takes a glance at the clock in the room. Nanami is busy picking up the dresses and sorting them by the hierarchy as well as the theme of rituals of the marriage ceremony which is about to commence within an hour.

“C’mon, you can’t leave just like this. The ceremonies. . . the rituals. They’re going to start soon. You can’t just leave. We need you. You’re important.” Kento finally stopped fidgeting with the clothes when Geto bothered to glance at him through the mirror amused by his tone. It is not common for Nanami to lose his composure. He is always calm and collected and never loses his cool. But today is different. Today is his day. He is going to marry the love of his life, Miss Haibara. So, he is supposed to panic, isn't that right?

“I’ll be back before you know it,” Geto conceded, adjusting his hair to tie it up in a bun. Nanami’s mouth parts in a form of protest but he is slower than usual. Before Nanami could follow him, Geto was already out of the dressing room lost in the crowd.

"But where exactly are you going, Geto-san?" Yu Haibara asked blocking his way as he turned up through the back door.

"To meet a friend," Geto remarks in a low growl and leaves.

Seeing his dearest friend, Nanami frowns he quips, "That's okay. Worry not when I'm here," keeping his hand on Kento's shoulders as a sign of assurance.

"Shouldn't you be with your sister?" Nanami quipped with pinched eyebrows.

"Well, boys are not allowed there." Haibara saunters around the room and then settles on an armchair situated on the balcony. "Plus you look like could use some help."

“I just need a house tour,” Nanami claimed as he shuffled through his clothes again. His eyes peered and stilled at his soon-to-be brother-in-law. "do you know your way around here? I mean have you been in Geto-san's house before?"

"Oh! you can trust me on this one." Haibara chuckles nervously realizing how his dearest friend and soon-to-be brother-in-law asks for that one thing he can not help with. Nanami smiles. It is amusing how he is so worked up for his sister's wedding and is trying his best to keep it together rather than sabotaging it, unlike certain someone.

"Sure. Whatever you say, Pal."

Geto hops onto his jeep staring at the crowd of the elderly people who came to give their blessings. He specifically went through the back door of the house to avoid any kind of attention, especially attention from those elderly people who would not hesitate to question his whereabouts. And that is exactly what he needs to avoid for now. Questions. Stupid questions. He had enough of his own on his plate that demanded answers. With all the waves of memories crashing at the shore of his mind he passed through those familiar streets of his hometown. It has been a year and a half since the incident yet it lays heavy on his mind, like a freshly dropped flower. He halted near the graveyard. The Sakura trees surrounding the graveyard are blushing. He walked into the cemetery, hearing cries and howls of agonies as he passed by some gravestones. There is something with these hospitals and cemeteries that always makes him uncomfortable. Of course, it is supposed to make anyone uncomfortable; death and loss are two sides of the same coin. You can not go at the expense of the other. He has always hated visiting his mom at the hospital when he was a kid. His mother was at the hospital not because she was sick but because she was expecting, but at such a tender age Suguru could barely understand the seriousness of it all. For, his mom left him and when she came back, she would be with his father and his baby brother. But they never came home, just like the spring. When he halted in front of a particular burial his cassette of vague childhood memories ceased to play.

The tombstone read:

SATORU GOJO.

7TH DEC 1989 - 27TH DECEMBER 2016.

“THE ONE AND ONLY.”

Geto tasted bile at the back of his throat. It has been a year and six months already. Still, he has not checked any of the things that Satoru left behind, not even talked to his mother and neither was at his funeral. This is the first time he is visiting Satoru’s grave. During their high school years, there was not a single instance when Geto looked at his right side and found it empty. Satoru was always there beside him, whether busy talking the on phone or busy picking on him or was just there. Now, Geto stands with no one by his side. After high school, they parted ways due to work. And one day, when he collected his phone from the icing centre on his way home after a long day of work, his phone had died with messages, voice missed calls and emails. All of them said one thing: 'Satoru Gojo is dead.'

Solitude is lethal. It is very addictive. It becomes a habit after one realizes how peaceful and calm it is. It is like when one does not want to deal with people anymore because they just drain energy in the end. But noin yn has grown bored in the bubble she has created around herself. Now all she wants is to burst the bubble without hurting anyone, not even herself. But on the other hand, if thinly did take a wild turn then what more could add to your irrevocable loss that would hurt you to the point of disintegration?

The cab halted with a huge jerk. Turning his head the driver bore an apologetic smile. After a few futile attempts, it was evident from his face that the cab broke, and that too in the middle of nowhere. Still, you hoped for him to fix it because it would be a hassle to carry all the luggage towards the venue. The place is morbid and dull. You travelled as far they could and Bingo! There was a Jeep parked outside a cemetery but other than that there was not a single soul. You, the driver, and the broken cab. The Jeep suggested someone should be nearby but after walking a few steps toward the end of the long stretch of the cemetery, you did not see anyone. Running out of options, you checked the destination on Google Maps. It is almost okay. But with all the luggage it would take you half an hour and booking another cab or waiting for another supplementary ride seemed tiring. After ten hours of flight, you just longed for sleep. Without wasting further time on thinking you started to walk reluctantly. After almost ten minutes you heard the noise of a car, a Jeep. You waved in the hopes of getting a lift but he did not stop. He took the turning into a smaller road. With his sunglasses on you could not tell if ly saw you or not. It is hard to miss a person on an empty road but you're experienced to be different. His lips were moving, so he might be busy talking and seemed to be in a hurry or a rich jerk who was perhaps humming ignoring a damsel in distress.

When you reached the venue you noticed the same red jeep parked in the backyard. The numbers are the same. Realizing the guy is also a guest in this marriage ceremony made you scrunch up your nose. Of course, what did you expect? Wherever you go, trouble follows. The preparations were still going on. You stood at one corner scanning through the crowd hoping to see your friends. A staff was distributing banners and some guests were getting ready for photos. He handed one to you. The place was crawling with alphas and omegas. Even Betas. You still could not see any familiar faces and certainly, it made you restless. You turned on your heel to ask one of the staff for help but something blocked your path. A man, tall and broad, radiating off an awful scent shamelessly; an alpha. You looked up, up and blinked once, twice and thrice. He is wearing a thin white shirt and black slacks, a typical staff uniform but he can not be just a staff here with a lavish red jeep and an aura full of arrogance. His buttons are unevenly done, plus, there are lipstick marks under his collarbones. This man who ignored you at the turning of the road extended his arms as if he were to carry you in bridal style.

“Excuse me,” you yelled, taken aback by his behaviour.

Geto Suguru who noticed you from afar, your restlessness scooted backwards. “And, then the girls say we, the men, don't listen to women.” Pointing towards the banner you held in your hand he pouted. It read — “PICK ME UP” Reading it you let out an awkward laugh. “Oh no! I was just standing here. And one of the guys handed this to me— Suguru closed the gap between you and him again, extended his hands in the pretence of scooping you again. “Hey. Listen to me. I — am — still — talking,” You stammered leaning away from him. Suguru smiled at you, amused at your reactions and the symphony of his laughter managed to reach your heart. He looked like the moon who was searching for the sea waves.

“Y/N.” Your ears perked up on that familiar high note. You would not forget that voice even if you wanted to. “Utaah!” you screamed merrily running towards your saviour. Utahime hugged you. Shoko, who was hiding behind Utahime, peered at you. Her eyebrows jumped twice in amusement. She has not changed a bit, the same unbothered eyes and lack of enthusiasm in her body. “What took you so long?” The bride squealed, dragging Shoko in a group hug.

“Sho, are you okay?” you asked. She always used to run away from hugs. Guess, people do change in the company of others. Shoko managed to pull out her hand to give you a thumbs up with a smirk laced upon her face. She has not changed, not even a bit.

The bride, Miss Haibara immediately called a few staff to help you with the luggage and your room. She did not even have to say anything. All she did was to wave her hand and you knew you did not have to worry anymore. For a Beta, she is one of a kind. Everything is sorted now. You need not worry anymore except for one thing. That guy; managed to get on your nerves earlier and is now actively involved in the preparations, quite interactive with the groom. From their interactions, you could tell they had known each other for years. Maybe since childhood. Things are not looking good from this angle.

The guests kept arriving till the evening. Generally, it would have been different if this was an actual wedding venue. But, a week ago the manager informed Nanami that they booked the wedding venue twice on the same date. There were some technical faults in the system due to which the software did not show that the date was already booked so, one of the parties had to cancel. Unfortunately, it was Nanami and Haibara's family. Surprisingly, one of Nanami’s friends owned this massively gorgeous house to do the deed without any hassle. But, they had to make some changes and now here you are, sitting by the pool going through your schedule as they fix the lights in your room. Five days. Within five days you should be hearing from the company you applied for the job. Locking the phone, taking a deep breath, and stretching your muscles you intended to go to your room, but a squared blue sachet caught your attention. It was near one of the feet of the table. ‘DUREX’ was written on it. A moment later you saw Geto coming outside and scanning the place. He strolled towards the table. You hid the condom under your notebook as he inspected the table. Not to seem suspicious and rude you asked, “Are you looking for something?”

“Yeah. A friend.” Geto responded with a reflex as he looked under the table.

“Uhm, under the table?” You exclaimed with a meek laughter, unable to hold it in anymore.

Geto stood near you tilting his head at you. He supported his weight by keeping one of his arms on the table and leaned towards you. “Where is it?” He asked, his voice deeper than usual.

“What was the name of your friend again? Doesn’t it start with ‘C’?”

He crouched down a bit, repeating his demand. “Give.it.back.” You could almost hear him growl.

“Didn’t you forget to say ‘please’ ?”

The crease on Geto’s forehead increased further. He stood with his hands resting on the back of his waist, his tongue swirling inside his mouth thinking if there would be any store open nearby. He would rather buy another one than say please but then again, he hates to keep the omega waiting. “Can I have it back?” He bit the corner of his bottom lip before finally caving in, “Please?”

“Good boy.” You chimed looking away from his piercing gaze, shifted the pages of your notebook so that he could take it. He snatched it in a flash and walked back towards the building.

“You’re welcome. Have fun” You yelled, making him pause. He probably rolled his eyes again but you could not have known that.

“Oh, I will.” He shouted back. “I definitely will,” Geto said under his breath, growling.

It was two o’clock and you have been staring at the ceiling for a while now. The network was down otherwise listening to music and going to sleep would be easy. Shoko and Utahime were probably sleeping like a log. Your friend and bride was perhaps awake but tomorrow is her day so she probably took a pill and went to sleep. You were barely ten when you met them, and the cogs of fate turned against you when you had to leave this town at the age of fifteen. But those ten years would be the most refreshing ones you had in this lifetime before the tragedy befell. With all those memories bubbling at the back of your mind, you could not sleep. Maybe a walk in the lawn might tire you out. With that in mind, you headed out of your room into the pool area. The adjacent grassy lawn was crowded with lights. They were flickering but as you walked past those lights, they stopped flickering. Those lights were not there before when you were drawing the designer dresses. There was also a glass of chocolate milkshake on the table. Without bubbles sedimenting on the skin of the glass suggested that it had already reached at room temperature.

“Not bad,” A voice turned up. As you turned around you were blessed with the sight of the man who managed to tick you off this morning. “Could have been more beautiful but yeah, that will do.” He added fixing his eyes on you and then gauging you that did earn him a glare as well as a questioning tilt of your brows. Geto understood the congestion of your confusion. You must be thinking how audacious of him to try to flirt with you just after having freshly fucked. “Oh no. not you. I meant the lights,” he added. You did not budge.

He offered, “Chocolate milkshake?” holding the glass. Still no pinnable reaction. You walked towards him and stopped at an arm’s length saying, “I think you need it more.” eyeing him up and down, from his well-built shoulders to his torso and then, backwards. “For stamina,” you added. With that as you walked past him.

“Why don’t you check it by yourself?” he whispered but you could hear him anyway. You bit the inner flesh of your lip holding back the response at the tip of your tongue because you knew he is just testing the waters, caging you into a corner and assessing your reactions, your heightened senses, and everything. You would hate it if you purposely gave what he wanted, whatever he desired from you to get by ticking you off. You will be leaving this god-damn town in a few days, forever and the last thing you want is a random hook-up that could keep your hopes up. You clicked your tongue. Swearing under your breath you murmured, “I’m already bored anyways.”

The next morning when you woke up, Shoko was already in your room. She was sitting at the foot of your bed scrolling through her phone. “Morning butterfly.” With her stoic face, she kept herself busy on the phone while you rolled to a side soaking in the warmth of the blankets and half-asleep state. “It’s already 8:30. You’re late.” You sprung up on your bed like a cat with its mouth hanging open. Shoko smiled. “Oh dear! Do you still fall for this? You’re still such a baby.” Your heart was pounding against your chest, blood rushing through your veins vigorously as you were still sinking into reality.

“Shooo, I was having a nice dream,” You whined getting out of bed. After taking a shower and getting ready you accompanied her for breakfast. Utahime, Haibara, Nanami and his bride were already there. Someone was missing but given the circumstances of the last night if he did not show up at all during breakfast you would not be so surprised. Greeting everyone good morning you took a seat next to Utahime. Shoko sat beside you. This mansion, owned by that guy, looked so different during daylight. There were no people, no hubbub no prying eyes and most importantly, no questioning faces and company which seemed to be present in abundance at such occasions like this.

“Nice house.” You remarked with a smile looking at Nanami. You have only seen him in video calls, whenever your friend used to call you but now that you are seeing him in person you can feel how much he is every bit of the goodness she spoke of.

“It’s Geto’s.” He responded taking butter toast from the master plate.

“What’s his full name?” you asked drinking in the beauty of his house as you fidgeted with your plate.

“Suguru Geto.” a male voice emerged from your back.

“What?” You gasped. Suguru was standing behind you. His presence was so overwhelming. He was standing right behind you and you did not even feel it like other times, like those two encounters. So, he has control on his pheromones; he is not just some spoiled rich brat.

“My name. Suguru Geto” He repeated as he stood beside you for a second, locking his eyes with you, and then continued to walk away from you to take a seat opposite to you. You smiled to yourself as embarrassment seeped deep into your bones. Shoko cleared her throat giving you a knowing look. Suguru kept piling up food on his plate while you were almost done with your breakfast. Six slices of butter toast, two half-boiled eggs, and a bowl of chicken soup. When he looked for the salt, his eyes landed on yours which were on his plate.

“I have a big appetite this morning.” He uttered in low breath reading your thoughts. Your eyes immediately flashed at him, nose inflated as you grabbed a glass of juice shooting him a warm smile. You excused yourself as soon as you could. Any longer than this, and you would have to talk with him. You better flee before he tries to spin another web of his chram around you. Something tells you he is not good as he seems to be.

Nanami is dressed in hakama, wearing a face mask covering his eyes and nose, not the mouth. The bride has the same mask but of different color, color of her choice. He stares at the phtoframe laying on the bed side table. It has a picture of a woman, he knows her. Suguru enters his room, halts noticing Nanami fully dressed and staring at the phto.

"isn't this gojo-san's mother?" Nanami asks looking at Suguru who is busy adjusting his hand cufflings.

"Yes."

"Oh! these anklets, i remember these anklets." Nanami points out touching her feet in the picture. "Gojo-san had all of us begging to get him these from his mom and then finally he asked you." Nanami looks at Suguru posing a question, "don't you remember?"

"Yes. I do." Suguru answers gravely taking the photo from Nanami's hand and giving him a box. It contains a necklace which he is suppossed to give it to his bride, tonight.

Nanami's lips went flat, he knows he is stepping into a place where he should not yet he asks, "don't you know to whom Gojo-san gave those anklets?" Suguru keeps the photoframe inside the cupboard feezing in place. The door of the cupboard is still open and he has not turned around. He knows, if he does he has to face something he does not want to, his last meet with himself, his last words to him, a constant loop he often sees in his sleep.

"Let's go, everyone." Haibara yells filling the deadly silence. "The ceremony is about to begin." And then walks away shooting both of them a smile. Nanami clear his throat and checks himself for one last time in the mirror.

"Don't worry. You look just fine," Suguru exclaims with tight smile on his face. Nanami just shakes his head releasing an exhale and then, leaves. Suguru closes the cupboard and follows. The less he opens that particular cabinet, the better.

People have gathered here for this auspicious ceremony. Nanami and Miss Haibara will be tieing threads on each other's hands after removing the mask that they were supposed to wear throughout the whole ritual. Geto watches them as they slowly walk towards the centre of the venue, thinking was it all so necessary to do this? He even asked Haibara about it and he said how some traditional rituals are need to be done to be a part of the clan, and they themselves wanted to do it so the other family members are just showing their support by being present in the ceremony. The main modern wedding would be held two days later. Geto notices that you walk away holding a glass of chmapange as soon as the ceremony begins. You have been drinking for a while, he has noticed it. You went towards the exit, outside the house where there are no crowds, no eyes, no people and no questions.

Haibara leans towards Geto whispering, "Now, they're going to exchange traditional jewellery that has been passed down since generations."

Geto just gives him a nod and suddenly, Nanami's words echo at the back of his mind,"don't you know to whom Gojo-san gave those anklets?" He gulps, his vision becomes blur for a second and before it gets worse he stands up, smiling towards Haibara he excuses himself out of the ceremonial arena. He walks towards a less crowded place where nobody can see him, nobody will know about him and then he picks up a sweet alluring scent. He lets his eyes scan the place around,and then spots a woman dressed in red dress standing by the pavement.

"Hi" Suguru greets and his eyes go wide seeing you. He notices a whole wine bottle in your hand. Ahh!that's why. He must admit you have a very oddly sweet scent. But why are you here? Maybe you are waiting to meet someone, perhaps your lover, or your alpha otherwise why would you let your scent hit the air so freely. He can not help but think why you are alone, here, out in the cold.

"Oh! hi" You greet.

"waiting for someone?"

"what?" You say and then pick up on his cue. "No, no. Just having some fresh air,"

"Do you mind?" He asks letting his eyes scrutinize your body from head to toe extending his hand to his collar, freeing the button.

"what?" You yell."absolutely not. what're you even thinking?" Suguru scoffs as you misunderstand his intentions, giving you the shawl to you. "This is ridiculous." You add and then turn on your heel to leave but a warm shawl wraps around your body. You look at him and find him inches away surprised that he picked up on the fact that you were cold; not only that, you were cold and drinking to keep yourself warm, even got your hormores worked up for that, but generally it is said that an alpha's presence soothes an omega but what exactly would you hope for when everything around you keeps dying?

"I don't know if it's the alcohol, but you don't seem that bad now." you mutter.

"Thanks?" Geto shoots you his heartwarming smile. "How drunk are you?" He can smell the alcohol on you now.

"Can I kiss you?"

"WOAH! A lot, okay." he exlaims with utmost amusement but then, notices that you are staring at him, and as you do your smile keeps stretching. 'okay. now YN is just teasing me'. You laughter finally breaks as you finish the rest of the champange.

"Are you really laughing at me Miss Y/N L/N?"

"umm-hmmm" you nod and glup before saying, "What're you gonna do about it?" Geto looks at you, studies you, thinks you really do not have any idea who exactly you are you messing with. He takes a few steps towards you taking the bottle from your hand.

"Nothing. do you want me to do something about it?" There is a pout on your face; your eyes are not at him anymore but a little downwards, on his hand upon the bottle he is holding.

"No,"

"but you're thinking about it," Geto presses further.

"nope." You shake your head in denial.

"so, you do not think about me?"

"nuh-huh"

Geto inclines a little, near your ear and whisperes, "but i have so many improper thoughts about you,YN." As he retreats he watches your eyes go wide, eyebrows stretch upwards and lips part. Geto could not control himself anymore. It was his turn to laugh seeing your face fall like that as if you have seen a ghost. "God. i can't belive you fell for it," You let him drink in the petty victory he just had and then carefully ask so that he does not mis-hear neither misunderstand.

"what did you mean when you said you had improper thoughts about me?"

"It was just a joke-he says and you take a step towards him. He backs away. As you take another step you notice him grabbing the bottle of the neck firmly and step away.

"So," you utter,"you think about me? Well, there is nothing wrong with that but," You pause and he waits for you to continue.

"What would you do if i said yes?" Geto asks unable to bear what were you about to say next and whatever that may be.

You smile and it ticks him off further. "How about i show you how improper are my thoughts about you?" He watches your smile fade instantly and then silence surrounds you both but not for long, "Its such a shame, that i can't show you 'cause i don't think you can . . ." He mouths the rest, "have sex with me."

Naturally you protest. Nobody likes losing at bed so Suguru grabs your hand and drags you to the nearest room in this mansion. It is a spare room perhaps, at least its clean and there is a bed.

"what're we doing here?" He asks pushing you onto the bed. You sit at the edge of the bed.

"you tell me," Your words slur a little. "you dragged me into this room." Your heart beats pick up the light-speed as he locks the door.

Geto chuckles at your half-drowsy state saying, "If you are so hesitant to say the word, will you even do it right ?" He stands at the edge of the bed, tucking your hair as you look at him . . . so blur with each blink . . . and so big

"Why not? Why not I do it? I do it multiple times," Geto licks his lips holding back his smile.

"And what's that gonna be?" He puts emphasis on 'what' pulling away the shwal that covered the beauty of your off-shoulder dress. He gets on his knees to get a very view of your expressions, because you keep avoiding his eyes. It's adorable.

"Sl-sl-sleepex"

"What?" Geto's laughter echoes in the room. "You can't even say sex,"

You glare at him and wrap your arms around his nape. "sleepex" you repeat.

"Stop. you're making it sound cute,"

"Say that, i'm hot."

"i'm hot," Geto says with stren voice, serious look on his face watching you glow in laughter like a pearl in an oyaster. "Y/N, are you sure you wanna do this?" He carefully lays you on the bed with one of his toned muscular arms wrapping around your waist while your hands wrap his shoulders.

"Of course i'm. i'm not doing this because i dont have to prove anything to anyone. I'm doing this for myself. I'm strong enough to do this," You move your eyes towards him, continuing "it's supposed to get better, right? but when? when does that happen? and when it happens please tell them. will you tell them?"

"umm-hmm" Geto just hums.

"Yes, please tell them." You murmur, your chest heavs and then as you exhale exhaustion lulls you into sleep.

"Y/N?"

The next morning as you wake, a terrible weight attracts your head back to pillow.

"Morning babe," A deep voice jerks you awake. Geto Suguru, half-naked, standing near the bed holding a glass of maybe a hangover cure

"what're you doing in my room?" you tartly ask. "and why aren't you dressed?"

"well, i wish i could only if you give me back my haori,"

"what exactly happend last night?"

"don't you remember?" Geto sits at the edge of the bed, his hand chinning you up. "I have never heard my name in so many acoustics," Your eyes go wide and just when you are about to say something Geto puts a finger against your lips, but does not touch them. "You were drunk, you fell asleep and i slept in the other room,"

"who changed my dress?" you ask doubting him unable get off this feeling of uneasiness.

"I did," Shoko answers entering the room. She pulls Geto's ear saying, "why did you tell her so soon? The fun was just getting started," Geto grabbed her hands and pulled her into the bed, and the jumping out of the bed. Before disappearing, he exclaims, "I'll tell why,what, where and everything if you tell me about how long you and Utahime have been fucking?"

"You stupid boy. Its called dating," she protests and jumps out of the bed following him leaving you alone with your thoughts. what the fuck just happened? moreover, uta and sho are fucking, dating? for how long?

Today there is no ceremony but a celebration for annoucning the wedding in different clans. Those who value and only prefer traditional wedding, they are here today. When you finally join the guests, you spot Geto swarmed by men you do not recognize. He looks a little disturbed, restless. You have not been able to talk to him since the failed prank night. Part of you is grateful for not taking advantage of you in your drunk state, while the other part is just curious to know what would he have done if you were not drunk. So, you cook up some courage and finally when he is alone you walk up to him to talk.

"Hi,"

"Hello"

"I just wanted to thank you for-"

"-for not taking advantage of your drunk state?" He finishes your line and then bites his bottom.

"Yeah. however, improperly you thought of having me," You add further.

He clicks his tongue,"about that," and then a chuckle follows.

"Getou-san," You call him pasuing his laughter, having his eyes on you, "I'm not drunk today,"

"Yeah? but we have a lot of -

"Perhaps you didn't hear it well,"

"I'm not drunk today," He repeats your words realizing the meaning behind it but then his eyes shift towards Miss Haibara who is currently speaking to Mahito. Mahito, that fucker, who invited him here?

"excuse me, i'll just be back in a minute," As he excuses himself you notice him talking to the bride for a while and then he dashes out of the arena. When you follow him, you find him standing against the pool side alone looking at the water.

"Geto-san?" you call but he does not answer. So, you touch his arm and he jerks it off instantly. "Relax, its just me," you say but when his eyes fell on you, it is so distant as if you are seeing him for the first time. He seems like a totally different person.

"Tsk," Geto clicks his tongue and then leaves without saying a word. You stood there for a while and then, quitely you joined your friends. Yeah, that is what you have been doing since day one, talking and chatting with friends, catching up with them. But they are all busy, Shoko and Utahime are together at a table, Haibara is talking and attending the guests, Mei-Mei busy getting some guy's attention. He must be someone rich. You are just all alone. Your eyes scan all the guests and then stills at a particular figure. A tall man with white hair, eye so as blue as the sky, wearing a wedding suit, the diamond shining on his ring finger and he shoots a smile at you. You start to walk towards him but something stop you, Shoko's hand. "Y/N you okay? you look as if you've seen a ghost," she is so blur right now. You close your eyes and then open looking at his direction; he is gone. It has been a while since Satoru has not visited you for a while. Even now, as you try to uproot him from your life he comes boucning back. When this is going to end? when will be over him? why did he had to leave anyways that day?

It is almost midnight. You are as usual at the pool side, but today you are here for a reason. The sky tonight is adorned with stars and among those million stars two of them would be your parents. You heard a set of footsteps knowing full well in your gut that who could it be. "can't sleep?" You registered his presence as he sat beside you but you did not bother to answer him right away. "I was looking for you," Suguru added; turning your head in his direction you smiled. He swore his heart just stopped for a second. Maybe you are angry or gonna yell at him or slap him or maybe do nothing at all, just ignore him which is the worst.

"In the middle of the night? what for?" You pause to inspect his expression for a moment. Suguru tries to say something. He still feels bad about how he walked away from you in the middle of the ceremony. He will get an earful from Kento and Yu tomorrow for abandoning the ceremony like that, but what unsettles him is the fact that he hurt you; he knows he did, and he can see it on your face even now. He has fucked omegas, even betas before and never before has he had to cross so many bumps. Perhaps, it is harder because you are connected to his friend's circle.

Suguru's eyes glanced downwards. He picks his nails before grabbing your hand to pull it upon his face, "I wanted to see you."

"I think I missed you." There is confusion lingering in his eyes as your palms remain fisted. You slowly let your fingers touch his skin pushing him to the point of closing his eyes. His head arches, and tilts before his lips peck your palms.

"I don't have your friend with me tonight." You say and it seems that he knew what exactly you meant. He does not answer just stares, longer than usual. Did he think that you'd let him fuck without protection? It is such a shame that you think so; did Suguru want to see you just for the sex, just to keep the end of his bargain or whatever silly challenge you two had? He is now more confused than before; like are you angry at him or just upset? He stands up without letting go of your hand.

As he guides you to his room, you remember the previous failed attempts but his deep, commanding tone interrupts. "Don't worry. I have it with me." He lets you enter the room first, still holding your hand; placing a kiss on your cheek he makes you twirl once and lets go of you. He pushes the door with his foot without averting his eyes from you, leaning against it.

"What was that for?" You chuckle and ask. There is slow jazz music playing. You look around till you find the source, an old vinyl player.

"Wanna dance?" Suguru asks. "With me?" and all he gets as a response is a dip in between your eyebrows, a long hum and an upside curve of lips. He chuckles at your expressions and walks towards you.

"I don't know, can you?" you say as he tries to put his arm around your waist.

Another challenge. So amusing. You bite your lip as he leans towards you. There is a fair amount of space between you and him, still, you swayed back, just a little. "um. You wouldn't know unless you try," he said flattening his palm before you. You narrow your eyes on him, giving him a look full of scepticism but as you keep your hand in his he lets out a throaty chuckle.

"what's wrong?" you ask but that just expands his laughter.

He cleared his throat, and scratched his nose before saying, "Your hands are so small." You look at your hands and think how funny it is that he noticed it now even though he had a lot of chances to map his hand against yours. Your nostrils flair up in embarrassment with a slight tinge of anger making you pull away your palm and step backwards.

Suguru's instincts kick in. "Backing down from a challenge so soon, huh?" He asks holding tight on to your hand before pulling you into his body. He seems so firm against you. No wonder your small hands made him laugh. You wanted to say something but as you opened your mouth to speak, you realized how dry your throat is. Wetting your lips you guide his hand around your waist. As both of you start to dance, it seems that your body is practically glued against his. The feeling of skin against the skin with just the barrier of clothes in between, breaths hitting each other, and some wild thoughts running behind those eyes as they look into each other. His hand which you guided at your valley of waist has now travelled upwards enough to undo the zip. You think he is gonna unzip your dress but rather he lets you one slow twirl and then pulls you into his body again. He leans into your ear and you think he is finally going to kiss you. Maybe there is a 'no kiss on the lips' rule or he starts with a neck, or behind the ear but you hear his hoarse whisper, "Are you on suppressants?" You open your eyes, surprise takes control of your body. You blink, and you bite your bottom lip.

NO. "should I have been? I mean people don't generally use suppressants anymore. And, my heart cycle is not unruly but maybe I should have been. . . but who knew I'd sleep with an alpha...and your thoughts keep spiralling. Geto takes your silence as a 'YES' and takes this opportunity to grab your face and kiss your lips. The sweet scent of wine lulls your spiraling thoughts and you grab onto his wrists deepening the kiss. You whimper as he pushes his tongue. Okay, so he likes to take things fast. why did you think it otherwise again? He unzips your dress swiftly. Without finding the hook of your bra, he breaks the kiss, a little bashful about how ready you are: oozing with a desire to mate, not taking suppressants; he wonders if he will find a panty under your dress if he ran his fingers up along your inner thighs.

"Kiss me again," you demand and as both of you recollect breaths, you stand on your toes trying to kiss him but he moves his face away. Suguru licks his lips. You are going fast, and he does not want that. He wants this to be agonizingly slow, so slow that you have to beg him and when this is all over everything will be drilled in your mind. The rejection does not surprise you, nor hurt you but it does make you nervous. Maybe he is the type to fuck only after getting a blow job. Your hands are now upon his chest and his around your torso but when you try to push him away, you fail; he does not let you. What he does sure tingles your skin. He keeps up with your eager curious eyes, and his index and thumb pinch your half-aroused nipple. Just another whimper escaped from you before it became fully aroused. But your parting mouth, closed eyes as he touches you more, squeezes your boob harder threatens him to give you what you want and silence those needy whimpers but instead, he lets his instinct take over. Suguru kisses your neck, slowly, as his hand abuses your boob. Your body arches a little and he pushes his leg in between yours. The sucks start to get strong before his teeth come to play while his knee nudges your vagina. As your hands run through his long shoulder-length hair he presses his knee against your cunt and he feels your warm juices coating his slacks. He takes a break from bruising your neck anymore only to say, "Seriously? no pants either?" Just how desperate are you, yn?

"Ugh! I had no idea that we'd do this today after you-" You pause noticing a crease in his eyebrows and regret accumulates at the pit of your stomach.

"Yeah, about that. I just needed to cool off." He lets his nose nestle against your cheeks as he whispers, "Sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you." You let out a short-lived chuckle thinking how he thought it hurt you. It did, but not too much to lose your sleep over it so that Geto finds you sitting by the poolside at midnight.

"umm-hmmm," a quiet hum before his hands travel under the skirt of your dress. He cups your bare cunt before ruthlessly pushing his finger inside you. You grab his loose t-shirt as he starts to move his finger, slowly, in and out. The veil of pleasure slowly starts to encapsulate you making your legs weak. Unable to hold himself back, he starts to kiss you again because every time he does your nose and lips become a little red. You can not see them but he can; the parted lips, reddened nose and lips, and that panting face craving for more is just the other side of a full moon.

"wanna take this to bed?" he says pulling just a thread away from your lips. You just give him a nod. He cleans his middle finger by licking them, watching your face fall. "What?"

"never do that again," you exclaim with surprise as he drags you to his bed. There is an adjacent bedroom where Suguru generally brings his girls but not tonight, tonight is not just special but just different from his other one-night stands. He sits at the edge of the bed, pulling you into his lap effortlessly. It takes you with so much surprise that he has such strength in him.

"You think, we would do this again?" he asks pulling your legs to one side.

"what? no"

"why 'no' why not 'oh yes' ?" and both of you share a laugh before he sternly commands. "put your hands around me, in." And you do, you listen to him. You curl your arms around his shoulders and at the same time, feel two of his fingers push inside you. He does not make you wait much as he picks up the pace. Two fingers move up and down, rashly and your mind becomes mushy again. Suguru lets out a chuckle as your hand grabs onto his shirt. You let out a sharp moan, feeling his teeth on your nipple over your dress. He desperately sucks on to them over the cloth.

"wait, lemme just," and you push your dress down to your waist without any hesitation. Sure, Suguru likes bold girls but you are not just bold, you are a little unaware of the consequences of such bold, unfiltered coupling and that too without being on suppressants. Suguru takes his fingers out of your cunt and grabs your boob which has been neglected till now. While his mouth sucks the other, his palm starts to massage. Part of him thinks, maybe you are entering your heat cycle. Sometimes coupling with an alpha might commence an omega's heat cycle; the other part of him thinks that a feisty girl like you would be able to sense if one is entering into a heat cycle. Besides, it would be a hassle to have sex with an omega who is about to enter her heat cycle. Some people might love to do it, but not him. Some omegas become too demanding at this state and with the minimum time he has spent with you, it would be a gamble to predict how you would be in bed during the heat cycle. Suguru pulls away from sucking your tits and looks at you. You let his hair lose, carcasses through his wavy locks, skim through his hair and finally tug at his hair exposing his neck this time. He has you now seated cross-legged on his lap. He feels the strain in his sweatpants. All he wants to do is to have you all on fours and fuck you till he feels the high of it. But he lets you do what you are trying to do: following his patterns. Omegas generally do it, while being in the heat or the advent of it but you would not do it. You are not in your heat cycle, are you? As you kiss him, suck his skin and bite near his collar bones one of his hands supports you while the other aid to the strain in his pants but he fails at that deliberately because every time you buck your hips.

"Wait, stop. Lemme just make it easier for you." He barks and scoots backwards against the headboard. You get rid of your dress and discard it on the floor. Suguru's eyes travel up and down your body. Your body is not spotless, there are moles, stretch marks, and cuts and he leans forward to find out how it would feel against his lips and tongue you stop him. You run your hands from between his collarbone and his navel bottom. "Haha fair enough," he says and gets rid of his t-shirt. You take his cock out of his pants rubbing the foreskin, touching the tip before adjusting it to your entrance. Suguru grabs the condom from the drawer but sees you struggle to sit on his cock, the same question reverts in his mind. The answer to it could only be yes and at the same time, you would not realize the gravity of your state would be because this is the first time you are having sex with an alpha. So, carefully he chins up your face and asks, "Yn, is this your first time with an alpha?"

"Yes." Finally, you said something instead of nodding. He was starting to get worried. Wait. what? You said what? A yes? Oh, a thousand heaven fucks!

"Is that bad?" You ask seeing him glitching like that.

"Nope. Not at all," He quipped. He scratches his forehead in frustration with his thumb because he is sure he is responsible for your current state since you were sober and perfectly in your senses just a while ago; Fuck! he knew it was a bad idea to fuck you in his room and also not to let you take suppressants. He curls his arm around you immediately he lays you flat on his bed. "Alright! yn. Listen to me and Listen to me very carefully," He says and you smile like a baby, like that day when you were drunk. He hates this. Oh God! he hates this so much. "If you feel anything is gonna hurt you, just tell me. You get it?" He stares down at you as you watch him intently with your eyebrows congested. He pushes aside your hair and clusters them in his hand. "You understand. You nod." You give him a nod, saying, "Sure. Got it." You thanked the heavens for being able to respond properly. Not only this is your first time with an alpha, but also like the 'first time.' ever. Geto is gonna flip out if he finds out about that too. He grabs two pillows, one he places under your head and the other under your lower back. He captures all his hair and ties it in a bun. "Tell me if it hurts," he says before pushing the crown of his head inside your feminity. You grab the pillow in anticipation but slowly feel him pushing inside you, filling you and you release a full long breath as he starts to move in and out, slow and steady so it would ease your entrance. He hunches down, his nose grazing against your hot skin along your cheeks and he starts to pick up the pace a little."You okay, yn?"

"Yeah, I'm okay." You answer and feel an immediate strong push against your hips. Suguru grunts feeling you sheath him. "Suguru," you call his name softly, hesitantly.

"Am I hurting you,yn?" He asks with a worried tone.

"Uhmm. no. no. I think you didn't wear a condom," you exclaim showing the packet. And it strikes him that he could use your state to his advantage. Your senses are dull, you are vulnerable, needy and so very tempting. why should he resist you when he is barely holding back?

"Well, shouldn't you have told me before I put us inside you?" he exclaims menacingly watching the light in your eyes fade. "Don't worry I'll pull out." He scoops you into his lap starting to buck his hips against you. "I'm good at that," Well, of course you are, Mr.Cassanova; that worried you for a second, bringing back flashbacks that you ought to keep sealed, flashbacks that seemed memories of another person, flashbacks that are like yellow snow.

"you can get louder, can't you?" Geto rasps before he grabs your forearms, tightly as you bob up and down. You bite the inner flesh of your bottom lip tp hold off your smirk. Looking down for a bit, you notice that half of his cock is still not inside of you and, all you want is to milk him dry, fuck him till he passes out. You look at Suguru again, asking, "I can?" resting your hands over his shoulders testing his waters now. He just shoots you a cocky smile before putting his mouth against your skin. This time its so abrupt, so brutal that it makes your eyes go white, teeth abusing your lower lip and hands trying to push him away. Suguru feels your nails scratch his shoulders as he goes down taking your pebbled nipple into his mouth and sucking it so hard that it makes you release a welp followed by a shriek. "See. You can do a lot better" He says peering at you. The glisten in your eyes makes his heart thrum faster. "Ahh!fuck this," he growls before shifting his hands on your waist to provide more force to your thrusts. And after a few long and strong thrusts he leans against the headboard watching you pick up the pace. It just hits the right spot with so much precision that keeps you going. Watching you bounce, seeing every lavicious expression you make. . . he is so going to come back to this memory if he ever has to take care of himself. His watches you as he interlaces his fingers with yours. He can feel it, how close you are, the stronger your grip grows in between his hands, the slower your thrusts get pushing you closer to the high and then, as you recoil like a bow wetting his cock it becomes harder not to blow his load inside of you. "Sorry," he mutters under his breath before freeing one of his interlaced hand from yours to hold you as he lays you flat on the bed again. You squirm, you writhe as he plunges deep inside you. You just came, and now feeling his cock move in and out, it aches your muscles yet you still grab onto his biceps, nails digging as he thrusts his hips. He is panting so hard, you could feel his breath hitting your face everytime he thrusts; without thinking you curl your free hand around his nape, pulling him into a kiss, sucking his lips and pushing your tongue while he keeps thrusting. But the moment you wrap your legs around his torso, he starts to get vocal and fidget. Pulling away from the kiss, he unwraps your legs and holds your calf muscles, gently and keeps up with his loud estatic pumps until he finally lets his head arch back, let go of your legs, pulling his cock out of you spreading his seed over your belly and bosom. Both of you stare at the ceiling as both of your breathing becomes even.

Suguru gets up from the bed and checks his watch. It is almost three in the morning. Yeah, he might just miss tomorrow which would have some grave consequences. "water?" he asks turning around finding you standing behind him. It startles him. You have cuurently taken hostage of his favorite shirt. It fits you perfectly, just a little oversized. You are still oozing with desires, he can sense it and he feels horribly guilty for doing this to you. At dawn, when you will be rested and fresh, it would all come back to you. He closes the gap in between you two, " drink some water," You hesitantly take it and finish the whole water bottle.

"i'm hungry. i should just go back to my room, freshen up and eat something." You murmur to yourself handing him the bottle. You feel estatic, lighter than usual, yet you feel each and every vein running under your skin is on fire.

"Nah! don't go, yn." Geto exclaims hugging you from the back, "This is my house, remember? you wouldn't know where to find food at this hour." He says placing a kiss on your forehead. He puts something on and tells you to freshen up before disappearing out of the room.

When he comes back, he finds you standing in front of the balcony all refreshed, dressed in a white short frock with frills. He has never taken care of someone when they are in heat. He keeps the tray full of food and stands beside you watching the stars. There is a shooting star sailing across the sky and you say, "when i was a child, i used to think that my mom and dad are gonna travel back to me, like that." A scoff and then you look at Geto. "Thanks for the food you say," before grabbing the tray full of food and sitting on divan that had an extension to use as a table. Before you start to eat, you say, "I've already drawn a bath for you. Go freshen up,"

"Yeah right."

"Oh!" you exclaim grabbing a grape, " and suguru. . ." you throw the grape to his direction and he catches with his mouth. "Aren't you forgetting something?" Geto keeps on chewing the grape knowing perfectly well what you were trying to say.

"No, I don't think so," he exclaims with a smile stretching up to his ears. is he blushing?

"cool then," you concentrate back on your food.

Standing under the shower Geto traces back his decisions. He should not have fucked you today or tried to keep you off suppressants. He never should have pursued you because now all he is filled with is nothing but the guilt of pushing you into heat. Wait, isn't that a good sign? He to never fucked an omega without them being on pills, but now that he did it was only natural that it would turn out this way. He will just ask if he can help you with it or not when he gets out of the shower. Geto hears a sharp click and he starts to feel empty like one side of an hour glass. He quickly wraps a towel, and walks into his room but he does not spot you anywhere. You were just gone. Surely, he would see you at the breakfast but at least you could have said something before leaving or could have slept with him. He would have kept you warm, comfortable and sane rather than some pills. Why didn't you think of that? Well, whatever he could just ask you tomorrow that if he can help with 'it' since he is responsible for it; going to your room now would make him seem too desperate, he does not want that. He takes his phone to text you. should he? His eyes fall on the shirt that he made you wear on the prank night and picked up his phone.

[ you forgot your dress, ] and with that he went to sleep. Tomorrow he is gonna ask about how he was he. . . and one more thing.

A few minutes later, the phone awakes; a reply came : [ no. i didn't. at least check before you say that . . . or is it that you miss me already? ]

227 notes · View notes

daisynik7 · 7 months

Text

Iris

And I don't want the world to see me, ‘cause I don't think that they'd understand. When everything's made to be broken, I just want you to know who I am.

Pairing: Eren Jaeger x f!reader

Rating: Mature – MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Word Count: ~4.5k (I went way over than I was supposed to, lol)

cw: switching POVs (2nd person reader, 3rd person Eren), canon-universe, VERY canon-divergent, consider this a what-if scenario, major AOT spoilers up to season 4, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, smut – PIV sex (cowgirl position), fingering

Summary: At the Battle of Fort Slava, Eren Jaeger, hell-bent on launching his ultimate attack on Marley, injures himself to pose as a wounded soldier, granting him admittance to the hospital to finalize his plans. You, an Eldian volunteer working at the hospital, start treating this new patient, nervous about his mysterious demeanor. Eventually, you learn that you have much more in common with each other than you think.

Author’s Note: Thank you @ichinosejager13 for your second request for the y2k karaoke party! I did something totally different this time; I wrote a fic set in the canon universe. I thought it fit well with this song, so I hope you like it! While it’s set in the canon universe, it is very obviously canon divergent, so please remember I took a lot of liberties with this. I am in no way suggesting that any of this is what I wish happened in canon. I just think it was an interesting idea to write. Also, I understand that this will seem very out-of-character for Eren, but let’s just roll with it because it's all in good fun, lol.

Like, reblogs, and/or comments are ALWAYS appreciated! Thank you for reading! MDNI banner by @/cafekitsune.

Fort Slava, huddled in the trenches. Blade through his leg, bullet in his eye. This is the last vivid memory Eren can recall as he stands in line outside the hospital, waiting to be admitted. Some asshole Marleyan imitates explosion sounds, causing all of those around him to fall to the ground, cowering in fear. They suffer trauma from the battlefield, and even Eren, with a clear conscious now, is affected by it. A kid, another Eldian dawning the same yellow armband as he is, steps towards them, kneeling down to help them up. He even assists Eren, correcting his armband to his left arm instead of the right. Luckily, it goes unnoticed by everyone else, which is exactly what he wants.

It's all part of his plan; the attack on Marley. It’s been in the works for months now, starting with his infiltration of the army, fighting alongside Marleyans and Eldians alike. He thought he’d have better clarity of the situation, maybe get convinced to call the whole thing off after bonding with other solders through the tragedies of violence and war. Unfortunately, it’s only made him realize how much more he needs to follow through with it. Nothing will ever change in this cruel world unless he’s the one to do it.

There are days when he gets cold feet. He’s tempted to re-evaluate, find a way back to his home of Paradis, reunite with his friends, devise a better plan and figure it out together. But in all the futures Eren can see, his current plan is the only one that will work. The only one that will grant him the freedom he’s been chasing his entire life.

The process is slow to get a room in the hospital. Luck remains on Eren’s side when he’s assigned a private room. It’s barren; a single-bed, just long enough to accommodate his stature, withered sheets and rusted iron on the frame. There’s a small nightstand beside it with two drawers to hide his belongings, which is essentially nothing, and atop is a small lamp, illuminating the room in a dreary glow. It’s not luxurious, but it’s enough for the time-being. Because that’s all Eren needs right now: time.

Eventually, Zeke will find him. They’ve been contacting each other for a while now, and Eren has a firm grasp on what his older brother is trying to convince him to do with the Founder’s power. While he doesn’t agree with his idea to euthanize the entire race of Eldians, Eren needs to entertain it long enough to manipulate Zeke into letting him use his royal blood.

It's all convoluted and fucked up, he’s aware of that. Somedays, he wishes he could escape this curse without doing anything at all. That one day, he’d be gone from this world, liberated from his Titan power, saved from this burdened life. This isn’t what he imagined while reading all those books he and Armin would marvel at as kids. This isn’t the freedom he was hoping for.

He rests in his pathetic, yet oddly comforting bed, staring up at the ceiling, unable to fall asleep. His leg and eye are still wrapped in bandages, so a nurse should be coming soon to check on him. There’s a faint commotion out in the hallway, but Eren is too lazy and too uninterested to investigate. Soon, it subsides, and the door swings open, revealing a women around his age, wearing a nurses uniform and the yellow Eldian patch on her left arm. He recognizes the attire from battle; the army had a few nurses stationed at the fort for casualties.

“Mr. Kruger?” she asks.

It takes him a second to remember the alias he decided to use. He confirms it, nodding his head silently.

She gives him a warm smile, introducing herself. “I’ll be helping you from now on.”

~~~

You started working at the hospital a few months ago. For Eldians, it’s nearly impossible to be accepted into higher education, so nursing school was never an option. With opportunities so scarce, your best bet was to apply for a volunteer position at the hospital in hopes of using that as a steppingstone for an actual paying job. You don’t expect a promotion any time soon, not even in the near future, but at least you’re spending your time helping others.

While it’s rewarding, it isn’t glamorous or pretty in the slightest bit. Because you lack the proper education, your tasks mostly include bathing, feeding, cleaning up any accidents or messes. Occasionally, if your patient is open to it, you spend time with them chatting, doing activities with them, listening to their stories. This is rare, though. Most that are admitted are Marleyans who refuse to speak to you because of your status. Some are even reluctant to have you help them in the first place. The Eldians, sadly, are usually too traumatized to open up, so you do your best to make them comfortable however you can.

When you meet your newest patient, Eren Kruger, you don’t expect him to be any different from the rest. You are, however, surprised at how young he is; he can’t be any older than you, judging by his appearance. His records show nothing except for his name and his status as an Eldian, which isn’t unusual, so you don’t think much of it. “Mr. Kruger, I know you must be hungry,” you start. “Lunch will be arriving soon. If you need assistance, I’ll be here to help you.”

He acknowledges you with another curt nod, remaining silent. You can’t help but notice how brilliantly green his eyes are. Have you ever seen irises like his before? You let the inappropriate thought vanish quickly before you ask, “Would you like me to bathe you now or after you eat?”

At this, his brows tighten. “Bathe?”

“Yes, Mr. Kruger. We can bathe you before or after lunch, it’s up to you – ”

“I don’t want to bathe,” he says, avoiding your gaze.

You blink at him, unsure how to respond. “Surely you must want to be clean – ”

He interrupts you again, muttering, “How can I, when I’m like this?”

You understand his hesitation now, not needing further explanation. Sometimes, patients with missing limbs have expressed concern submerging themselves in a tub full of water, not wanting to get their bandages wet. Quickly, you clarify, “It would be a sponge bath. We can do that while you’re lying in bed, actually. And your bandages will stay intact.”

This seems to be the answer he’s looking for. His expression relaxes when he says, “After. I want to do it after I eat.”

You smile softly at him, noting it on your checkboard. “Understand. I’ll go check on your meal now. Is there anything else you need from me?”

A beat passes before he replies, “Pen and paper. For letters.”

You write it, reminding yourself to bring it when you return with his meal. “Got it.”

A few minutes later, you return with a tray of food along with a wad of paper and two pens. You set it on his nightstand beside him, waiting for him to move it. When he doesn’t, staying still, staring blankly at the foot of the bed, you clear your throat. “Mr. Kruger?”

“I’m not hungry,” he murmurs.

“But you haven’t eaten all day. You need nourishment if you’re going to get any better.”

“And who says I want to get better?” He glares at you, startled by the intensity in his gaze.

You swallow hard, nervous, but still resilient. “You have to eat. You owe it to yourself after what you’ve been through.”

“And how would you know what I’ve been through?” His voice is steady, a hint of venom, barely enough to sting. But you’re determined. You sit at the edge of the bed, careful not to touch him. Reaching for the tray, you set it down on your lap, sighing. “I don’t know. I have no idea what war is like out there. All I know is that it’s not great for us here. At least out there, you’re fighting together as a unit. Marleyan, Eldian, it doesn’t matter. You’re working to defeat our enemy. And who knows? If we ever win the war, maybe life will be better for us here.” You shove the tray towards him, glaring back at him. “So the least you could do is try to see it through and survive, right?”

He studies you carefully, contemplating how to respond. Glancing at the tray in front of him, he smirks, scooping a spoonful of mashed potatoes into his mouth. You ease up, tension releasing from your shoulders.

After a few more bites, he speaks. “Who do you think the enemy is?”

Just when you thought you were in the clear, he asks you another question. “It was the Mid-East Allies. That’s who you fought at Fort Slava.”

“But who do you think the real enemy is?” He’s finished with his potatoes, now moving on to his meatloaf.

“Well, I suppose it’s whoever the government says it is.” You’re unsure what kind of answer he’s searching for.

“And if they say that we’re the enemy, then what?” He points between you, leaving you confused.

“We…?”

“Eldians. Devils.”

“No, no. The Devils are on the island. We’re…we’re not like them.”

“Are you sure?” He stuffs the rest of the meat into his mouth, chewing and swallowing it all down. “What makes you think you’re any better here than you are there?”

Your face feels hot now, and you start to stammer. “Because…because that’s what we were told. We’re on the right side. They’re on the wrong.”

His plate is nearly clean now. He slides his fingers on the remnants, licking it off before chugging half a glass of water. “What if I told you there’s a place for people like us? A place where you wouldn’t have to walk around with an armband. A place where you were treated fairly. Would you want to go to a place like that?”

You feel yourself drawn in by his words. The idea of it sounds impossible. Ever since you were born, you were taught to know your place in this world. That place was here in Marley, destined to be a second-class citizen. You were told that the island across the sea was full of devils like you, but because you’re here, you’re better. You can’t deny that you’ve been curious what life is like out there. All this time, you thought it must be worst, secluded on an island, hated by the rest of the world.

But is this life any better? Secluded in your own community and still hated by the rest of the world?

You pick the tray up from his lap, muttering, “I’ll go get your sponge bath ready.”

He doesn’t add anything else, watching you silently. You walk towards the door, ready to leave. Before you do, you say, “And to answer your question: I would.”

~~~

It was supposed to be innocent banter, that’s what Eren intended. He figured he could chalk it up to the trauma speaking for him, that she wouldn’t even be remotely interested in what he had to say. He thought she’d be like all the other naïve, brainwashed Eldians, ignorantly believing everything that was told to them. He realizes soon enough that he was wrong to underestimate her.

She comes to him every day, fulfilling her volunteer duties. Their daily routine begins with breakfast, then a morning stroll in his wheelchair out in the courtyard. Sometimes they’ll play chess at one of the tables, sometimes it’s checkers. Lunchtime comes, and then it’s time for a bath, one of Eren’s favorite parts of the day. Her hands are always gentle, gliding along his skin with a damp sponge. They’ll do another stroll outside, this time on his crutches, where he practices how to walk. Dinner arrives when it’s already dark out, and occasionally, he’ll ask her to read the latest news from the paper.

While all this happens, they talk. They talk a lot.

As expected, she figures out that Eren is from Paradis, though he bends the truth about his true intentions for being here. She doesn’t know about his Titan powers, thinking he’s a refugee seeking sanctuary here. Surprisingly, she isn’t offended about it; in fact, she’s curious. They spend most of their time together sharing stories of their childhood. Eren describes life in Paradis, she describes life in Marley. While there are stark differences between their upbringings, there are also blatant similarities. And together, they come to the gut-wrenching conclusion: Eldians are terrorized wherever they are, whether it’s here, or across the sea.

Eren has only sent one letter in the past two weeks, and that was to his friends back home, informing them that he is in Marley, safe and sound. He doesn’t disclose his plan to them yet. In all honestly, he’s not sure what the plan is anymore. Zeke still hasn’t found him, nor has Eren gone out of his way to be found. What Eren does know is that he enjoys spending time with the woman who helps him. So much that he’s losing grip on what he’s supposed to be doing here. He has to do something soon.

It comes to a head one night, three weeks after he was admitted to the hospital. Eren requests for another sponge bath after dinner; it was a hot day and he worked up a sweat during their afternoon walk. She helps him strip his shirt off, starting with the wet, warm sponge at his chest, massaging small circles onto his sticky skin. He watches her carefully, noticing her eyes lingering on his body more so than usual.

He speaks softly into her ear, leaning in close. “I have something to tell you.”

She continues above his waist, hands gently scrubbing, not bothering to look at him when she responds. “What is it, Eren?”

He’s thought about this all day. The plan. “Would you like to visit Paradis?”

This time, she does look at him, confused. “What?”

Louder now, and more confident, he says, “Come to Paradis with me. See what it’s like there.”

She scoffs. “I can’t just leave.”

“Why not?”

“Because this is my home.”

“They treat you like nothing here,” he argues. “At Paradis, you’re somebody. We can be safe at Paradis.”

She stops, tossing the sponge into the bucket of water beside her, frustrated. “Safe? After everything you’ve told me? You said it yourself; you’ve been terrorized by Titans since you were a kid. Every nation in the world wants Paradis gone. How can it be safe?”

He swallows thickly, gripping her hand delicately in his. “I can’t explain everything right now, but I have a plan. We have a plan.” He recalls one of the last memories he has of Armin, his brilliant friend, suggesting a small-scale Rumbling, enough to scare the rest of the world from attacking Paradis for centuries. He dismissed it quickly then, but now, he considers it. Could this be their best option? Instead of the billions of casualties Eren had originally devised? “You just have to trust me for now. Once we’re there, I can explain everything.”

She stares at him, clearly in shock from his suggestion. He doesn’t blame her. Eren is asking her to give up everything she knows.

“Eren,” she starts, squeezing his hand tighter. “I don’t know if I can do that.”

He smiles at her, brushing his thumb across her knuckles delicately. “I understand. I know it’s a big ask, and I shouldn’t have expected you to say yes. I just…I just think I know what I can do for Paradis to make it safe for people like us. Somewhere we can be ourselves, where people will know us for who we are, and not for what they see on our armbands.”

“It sounds like paradise,” she says quietly.

“It does. And I think I could make it that way. I know I can.”

She sighs, retrieving the sponge again. “I want to believe you, Eren. But I don’t think I can throw away my life for something I’m unsure of.” She starts to slide his pants off, ready to wash below his waist.

“Please, just consider it. I plan to leave soon, within the next few days. I just have to send out a letter tomorrow, and I should be ready to go.”

“You’re leaving? Already?”

“I know what I have to do now. I can’t waste any more time when we can end this war now.”

She peers at him, tears welling in her eyes. “I…”

“What is it?” He sits up, leaning in close to cup her cheek, brushing away her falling tears.

“Will we ever see each other again?” Her voice is trembling, lips quivering. His heart sinks into his stomach, seeing her like this.

He presses his forehead to hers. “I’ll find you when this is all over. I promise you. Whatever you do, don’t go anywhere near the shore, okay?” The small-scale Rumbling should only affect the fleets, which will be in the middle of the ocean, far from the shore. Still, he can’t risk anything happening to her. Not when he isn’t there to protect her.

She nods, not asking for any further explanation. He presses a small kiss to her forehead. “I’m going to do whatever it takes to bring us peace.”

~~~

Eren asks you to drop off a letter in the mailbox, addressed to someone named Azumabito. Apparently, she is an ally to Eldians who is stationed here in Marley, so she can arrange a ship for him to head back home.

There are still so many questions left unanswered, though you decide not to ask them. Maybe it’s foolish to trust someone you’ve only known for a month. But Eren has given you more truth about this harsh world that anyone else the entire time you’ve been here. And he’s the only one who’s ever promised you a better life.

Two days after you mailed the letters, you receive a response. It’s addressed to you, though you’re sure it’s meant for Eren. There’s a fancy insignia stamped to one corner of the envelope: a circle with a triangle in the center, formed by samurai swords. You keep it safe in your pocket as you head for the kitchen, ready to deliver Eren’s dinner.

He reads it when he’s finished with his meal. You watch as he scans the letter carefully, mouthing a few words under his breath. When he reaches the end, he looks up at you, a small grin on his face. “She’s arranged a ship for tomorrow morning, before sunrise.”

You gasp, surprised at how soon his departure is. “Tomorrow?”

He nods, folding the letter and tucking it beneath his pillow.

You let out a deep breath, unsure what else to say. Noticing your quiet demeanor, he reaches for your hand to hold it. “I know this is happening so fast. But I’ve never been more certain about what I need to do until now.” He interlocks his fingers with yours, smiling. “And you helped me with that.”

“Me? How?”

“By being you. By giving me a chance to explain myself. Even when you found out I was from Paradis, you didn’t judge me. You got to know me. It showed me that there are people, good people, on this side. That even in a ruthless place like this, there is beauty to be saved.”

You don’t say anything, throat too heavy with emotion to respond. Blinking away your tears, you take his tray from his lap, walking quickly to the door. Before you can leave, he asks, “Can you please come back to help me shave?”

Without turning to face him, you nod, exiting his room, stifling your sobs on your way down the hallway. Your heart yearns for more time with him. For the past few weeks, being here has been an escape from your painful reality. You’re not seen as an Eldian, you aren’t considered a second-class citizen. With him, you’re just you.

You know that you can’t keep him caged here forever. Like a bird, he’s ready to spread his wings. He’s ready to be free. While you’re heartbroken to see him leave, you’re thrilled for him to fulfill his destiny. All you can hope is that one day, you’ll be reunited in a better place than here.

You return to his room a couple of minutes later with everything you need to give him a close shave. His facial hair has grown out quite a bit since he arrived. You lather his face with a small amount of soap, scrubbing the suds off with a warm, wet towel. He closes his eyes, indulging in your relaxing touch. After mindful preparation, you begin to shave his goatee with a straight razor, pulling his skin taut, gliding the blade carefully across his chin, cleaning it after every stroke. When you’re done with his beard, you focus your attention on his mustache, delicately moving the razor until his skin is smooth and shaven. You smile as you wipe off any remaining residue with the towel.

With everything discarded into the bucket of water set on the nightstand, you take this time to admire his face, memorizing every detail. The flutter of his lashes, the bridge of his nose, the sharpness of his jawline, the plush of his lips. It’s only now that you realize how close to him you are. You’re kneeling beside him on the bed, noses almost touching, your fingers grazing his smooth skin. He opens his eyes to look at you, and his breath hitches at the intimacy, glancing at your mouth.

Before you can move, he closes the short distance, kissing you on the lips. As quickly as it happens, he pulls away, blushing. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. I should have asked first. I’m sorry – ”

You cut him off with another kiss, hungry for more. It’s his last day; in mere hours from now, he’ll be gone, and you’re not sure when you’ll see him again, if ever. It’s crossed your mind many times by now, how it would feel to be with him like this. The feeling of his lips on yours, the slide of his tongue in your mouth, the taste of his spit. You’d be lying to yourself if you said you’ve never thought about it. In fact, it’s been on your mind every night as you fall asleep, wishing you were in his arms instead of alone in your bed.

He doesn’t pull away this time, sinking in deeper, slipping inside your mouth to swirl his tongue with yours. He’s just as sweet as you fantasized he’d be, luscious and rich in your mouth. His skin is smooth against your fingertips, tracing his jawline. One hand slides around your waist, tugging you closer to him, the other wraps around the nape of your neck, holding your head steady. You swing one leg over him, straddling his lap, hoisting the hem of your dress past your hips, revealing your panties. He moans, shifting beneath you in the bed to slip his trousers down, displaying his erection bulging in his underwear.

“Is this okay?” he huffs, catching his breath. His voice wavers, his only visible eye half-lidded with arousal, unable to keep his cool.

“Yes,” you answer, grinding yourself on him, kissing him sloppily. His grip is on your hips, guiding you to rut against his cock faster. The friction between you is enough to make you wet, your slick soaking through the fabric.

“You’re an angel,” he whispers, dragging your bottom lip between his teeth. “I want to make you feel good.” His thumb teases the elastic of your waistband, hand slipping inside to rub your clit against his fingers.

“Eren,” you moan, his sensual touch sending waves of pleasure through your body. He slowly slides two digits inside you, massaging your bud with his palm while he pumps his fingers into your sopping cunt. His cock is stiff beneath you, watching you ride his hand, cursing under his breath until you reach your climax, coating him in your arousal.

You’re breathing heavily, in a daze from your orgasm. He removes his hand from you, slipping it past his underwear to jerk his cock. You reach for him, tugging his bottoms down his legs, replacing his fist with yours, stroking him eagerly. He whispers your name, bucking his hips in tandem with your movements. You’re aching for more, desperate to feel him inside you, feel him deeper. You position yourself correctly, pulling the crotch of your panties to the side to tease the head of his cock up and down your folds. He sits up on his elbows, watching you with a nervous expression on his face. “Are you sure?” he asks.

You nod, smiling at him. “I’m sure. I want to be close to you, Eren.”

He swears, letting his head fall back into the pillows, staring up at the ceiling. You sink down on him, his dick stretching you out smoothly, still sleek from your previous orgasm. He moans, craning his neck to take in the lewd sight before him. “Oh my god,” he groans, thrusting his hips into you.

You ride him slowly, his entire length filling you up to the brim. He plants his feet into the mattress to fuck you deeper, the metal frame creaking with every thrust. It doesn’t take long until you’re both coming together. He shoots his load inside you while you gush all over him, creating a wet mess between you that you couldn’t care less about in the euphoric state you’re in. You lift off him, rolling to his side, relaxing into the pillow with him beside you, cradling you in his arms. He gives you a smooch on the cheek, nuzzling his nose with yours. “I meant what I said earlier.”

“What?”

“You really are an angel,” he says, smiling at you.

~~~

Eren wakes up alone, and he’s almost convinced that it was all a dream until he spots the small note scribbled on paper laying his nightstand.

It’s too hard to say goodbye, so I won’t. I trust you to keep your promise. We’ll see each other again soon.

With daybreak approaching, Eren leaves for the docks quickly with only the clothes on his back and letters in his pocket, including hers. With sunrise teasing the horizon, he makes it to the meeting place just in time. He recognizes Azumabito and greets her, explaining the situation as they board the ship. She informs him that they are waiting for several other passengers, so he makes himself comfortable by a window.

A few minutes pass and one of the crew approaches him. “Mr. Jaeger, there is a woman trying to board, claiming they are with you. Do you know anything about this?”

He glances out the window towards the docks and to his shock, he sees an angel with a suitcase in hand, talking to Azumabito. His heart races, overjoyed as he jumps out of his seat, sprinting out of the ship to meet her.

#eren smut #eren yeager #eren jaeger #eren jaeger smut #eren jaeger x reader #eren jaeger x you #eren yeager smut #eren yeager x reader #eren yeager x you #aot smut #attack on titan smut #attack on titan fanfiction #eren fanfiction #y2k karaoke party #milestone event

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lostfracturess · 3 months

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【 ᴄᴏɴᴄᴇʀɴ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴏɴᴛʀᴏʟ 】 7

x PAIRING gojo satoru x fem!reader (main); megumi fushiguro x fem!reader x WORD COUNT 13.4 k x SUMMARY you never wanted to become part of the world of jujutsu sorcerers, yet fate had other plans when the one and only satoru gojo took you under his wing at jujutsu high. as the lines between student and teacher begin to blur, hidden powers surge to life, and a deadly target is set on your head. x WARNINGS + NOTES this story contains partly abusive and possessive behavior, explicit content, graphic depictions of violence, injury, combat and angst. you can also read it on wattpad or ao3. pls like or repost if you enjoyed ♡

➸ ch 1; ch 2; ch 3; ch 4; ch 5; ch 6

You will never forget the day you met him. It may have been the best day of your life. It may have been the worst day of your life. Maybe neither. Maybe both.

****

You stood alone in a deserted warehouse. Wind whistled through the broken windows. Light flickered. A grotesque creature crouched a few meters away. It had feathers, like slick, oily shadows, constantly moving, and long, twisted, cruelly sharp claws.

It looked terrible. It looked beautiful.

You didn't care. Never cared. Never cared what they looked like. They were evil. That was all you needed to know. All you were ever given.

The creature turned towards you, as if it had just become aware of your presence. It opened its maw and let out a shriek that was far from human.

You steadied your breath, focusing on controlling your cursed energy. Admittedly, manipulating cursed energy wasn't your forte, but in this moment, it wasn't your main concern. The only thing you needed—ever needed—was the dagger strapped to your waist. Your father's gift.

The creature lunged. You drew the dagger with practiced ease, its familiar weight a soothing presence in your hand. You positioned yourself, didn't flinch or hesitate. "Come here," you said, then ran towards it.

In the last second before impact, you crouched down on the ground and slid underneath the curse to its back. The curse collapsed with the wall. The impact sent shockwaves through the warehouse, causing debris to fall from the ceiling. You turned, dagger in hand, ready to end its life.

But it was faster. The curse twisted its form, narrowly dodging your attack. It reached for your arm, seizing you with a terrifyingly strong grip. The dagger fell to the ground. You pushed with your legs against it as it bore you down into the cold ground. It did not budge.

Panic surged through your veins. Red eyes locked onto you. Its iron grip tightened—threatened to shatter your bones.

Frantically, you scanned your surroundings for a weapon. A shard of metal lay on the ground nearby. You snatched it up. This will do.

With all the strength you could muster, you hurled the improvised weapon at the curse, aiming straight for its eyes. The curse recoiled. It momentarily loosened its grip on your arm—just enough for you to escape. Grabbing the dagger, you lunged at the curse.

The curse twisted away. Your strike only grazed.

Oh Shit.

It slammed you backward, propelling you several meters into a rusted warehouse shelf. The shelf groaned under the impact, showering you with a cascade of dust and debris. The world seemed to blur for a second.

The metal of the shelf pierced your back—slicing through your flesh. Blood oozed from the wound. You winced. The sweet taste of iron filled your mouth. But there was no time to assess its depth or severity. You had to press on.

You forced yourself up, gritting your teeth against the pain. Adrenaline coursed through you.

The curse came at you once more. Its movements unnaturally quick. In your years of battling evil creatures, you had seen your share of curses. But this one was different. It twisted. Crimson eyes tracking your every move. Then it lunged. Claws slicing through the air.

In the nick of time, you raised your arms to shield yourself, struggling to hold the dagger against the curse's onslaught. Your knees buckled under the force, trembling as the curse crept closer. Every fiber of your being screamed.

You barely held it back. The dagger against its claws.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

You had to use your cursed energy.

You tapped into your cursed energy, summoning it with every ounce of your being. It surged through you like a tidal wave. Uncontrolled and raw. Too much and too little all at once. Always threatening to consume you. You had to be quick, or the cursed energy would knock you out before you could strike a blow against the curse.

For a split second, you gained control over your power. You pushed back with all your might and drove the dagger into the curse's head. The warehouse echoed with a bone-chilling shriek. In mere seconds, it vanished, leaving behind only the haunting memory of its red eyes.

Your breath came in ragged gasps as you struggled to regain your composure. Dust and debris clung to your sweat-soaked skin. Weakness washed over you in waves. Then your legs gave way beneath you. You collapsed to the cold concrete floor.

You remained motionless for what felt like an eternity, unable to move. This was the price you had to pay for wielding the cursed energy. The power that had saved you in countless battles had also brought you to the brink of defeat. You used it only when absolutely necessary.

However, those moments of necessity seemed to be occurring more frequently lately, as if the world around you was growing darker, and more powerful curses were drawn to your presence.

Slowly, you regained control of your muscles. You rolled over, the world spinning around you. Blood clung to the floor as you struggled to sit up. Every movement sent sharp jolts of pain coursing through your body. Your fingers trembled as you reached behind you, trying to assess the severity of your injury.

Your fingers brushed against torn fabric and the warm stickiness of blood. The wound throbbed in response, and you winced at the searing pain that shot through your back. It was deep, and though you couldn't see it, you knew that it would leave a lasting mark.

Suddenly you heard a low, guttural growl.

Another curse.

Out of the darkness emerged a terrifying creature—larger than the curse before. Its grotesque limbs were twisted and deformed. Its eyes, dull and lifeless, stared at you with a malevolent hunger. The curse advanced, its movements sluggish yet unnerving.

Your battered body protested as you forced yourself up. But it was in vain, your body refusing to obey your commands. You fell back to your knees. Your cursed energy drained you too much. You used too much.

Fuck.

Out of nowhere, a figure appeared, silhouetted against the radiant crimson glow—a man with striking white hair. Tall frame. Broad shoulders.

"Careful now," the man said. "Wouldn't want you getting killed after such an impressive show."

The curse recoiled in fear. Its malevolence subdued by the sheer force of the stranger's presence.

Fear?

The curse?

How was that even possible?

The stranger raised his hand, and with a swift and fluid motion, he unleashed a torrent of cursed energy that engulfed the curse. The malevolent creature let out a final, agonized wail before disintegrating into nothingness, leaving only a swirling void where it once stood. As the brilliant light faded, the warehouse returned back to darkness.

The man turned towards you. He came closer, hovering over you, glaring over the top of his sunglasses. Your eyes met and for a moment time seemed to stand still. His eyes were a piercing blue, so intense that they seemed to see right through you. You found yourself momentarily lost in them. Your guard slipped.

Your guard slipped?

Damn it, get it together.

Your fist tightened around the dagger's hilt. A surge of strength flooded back, and you sprang to your feet, sweeping your leg to knock the man off balance. He tumbled to the floor, and you swiftly followed, pinning him down with the dagger pressed against his throat.

He raised an eyebrow, seemingly amused. The dagger's edge mere inches from his throat. "Don't you think we should at least have a proper conversation before you end up on top of me?" he teased, his tone too careless for your liking.

"Who are you?" you demanded.

He smiled, unfazed by the blade. "Name's Satoru Gojo. And you are?"

You didn't answer.

You knew who he was. Gojo's reputation preceded him—a powerful sorcerer, the most powerful sorcerer, in fact. With his birth, it is said, the balance itself shifted. Ruthless and cruel. Selfish and arrogant. That's what they say about him. And yet, handsome and charming. But why was he here?

"You've got quite the grip there," Gojo continued, his gaze fixed on the dagger. "Mind letting that down?"

"Why are you here, Gojo?" you pressed.

"I came to see the sorcerer who's been taking down curses single-handedly. You're certainly making quite a name for yourself."

"I have no business with sorcerers."

"How so? Aren't you a sorcerer yourself?" He sighed. "But your cursed energy control is seriously trash, you should really—"

"Shut up," you pressed the dagger closer to his skin. A tiny bead of blood emerged where the blade met his flesh. Crimson against his pale complexion.

"You're quite stubborn, huh?" he observed with a smirk. In one fluid motion, Gojo rolled over, effortlessly reversing your positions, now pinning you beneath him. The cold concrete pressed against your back. His presence looming over you. "Bad for you, I do enjoy a little challenge," he added with a playful glint in his eye.

His weight bore you down. He leaned in, his breath warm against your skin. "But you really should be more cautious," he murmured. "Curses are a dangerous business."

"Get off me!"

He chuckled, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. "Not so fast, Princess. You've got me all curious now."

Your heart pounded as his face drew even closer, his lips dangerously close to yours. "Curious about what?" you asked, but it came out breathless.

"About you," he said as his gaze lingered on your lips. Your heart raced. Your breath caught in your throat. "I want to know why you're hunting curses all alone."

The truth was, you were taken aback by his proximity. By the way his warm breath mingled with yours, and the way his eyes seemed to search your soul, as if he could read your every thought. Even though he was a stranger, you felt strangely familiar with him—strangely drawn to him.

"That's none of your business," you managed to reply, despite your voice faltering.

His fingers trailed along your neck, igniting a trail of fire wherever they touched. "Everything about you is my business now," he murmured.

What sick game is he playing with you?

You squirmed under his frame, desperately trying to escape his control. The pain coursing through your body as you did so nearly brought tears to your eyes.

He leaned in closer. "You crying?"

Hah??

Now, your pride was more wounded more than your body.

With a sudden burst of strength, you managed to roll, reversing your positions again. His eyes widened briefly as you pinned him down. You hovered over him, the dagger in your hands. Its tip dangerously close to his stupidly handsome blue eyes, hovering just inches away—poised.

Gojo's lips curled into a teasing smile, seemingly unbothered by being at your mercy. "Caught me off guard again, huh? I guess you really make me lose my focus," he teased, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "But you know in this position I might start getting wrong ideas."

You narrowed your eyes. "Answer my question, Gojo. Why are you really here?"

His playful demeanor faded for a moment, replaced by a more serious expression. "I told you, I wanted to meet the sorcerer who's been taking down curses. I came to offer my help."

"Help?" you echoed.

"Yes," he replied, his eyes softening. "You have potential, but you can't fight alone forever."

You couldn't help but be skeptical. This was Satoru Gojo, after all—a charismatic yet unpredictable sorcerer who always seemed to have his own agenda. But there was something in his eyes that made you hesitate, a genuine concern that belied his cocky demeanor.

"Are you saying you want to train me?" you asked, still not lowering the dagger.

Gojo nodded slightly. "I can teach you how to control your cursed energy, how to fight more effectively. I can make you stronger."

You hesitated. Could you trust him? Could you afford not to? What if this is a trap?

"Otherwise, your stubbornness will end up getting you killed," he said suddenly. "—just like it did your family."

You flinched back at his words.

"That dagger," he continued. "—is it from the Fujiwara clan, right?"

You froze. The blood drained from your face. You couldn't hide your reaction. The mention of your family striking a nerve. The Fujiwara family wasn't well known nowadays and you had always preferred it that way. It was a reminder of the pain and loss that had driven you to this life of isolation and fighting against the curses.

"You're the last one, aren't you?"

The dagger in your hand suddenly felt heavier.

"Let me help you."

You finally let the dagger down and moved back, giving him space to sit up. He brushed off the dust from his clothes with a nonchalant grace, then fixed his piercing blue eyes on you. "Come with me to Jujutsu High," he proposed.

"And what? Become your student?"

He chuckled lightly. "Sounds like you think that's a bad thing."

"You do have a certain—reputation."

"Ouch," he feigned hurt. "But I've heard a few things about you too."

You raised an eyebrow.

Gojo began ticking off on his fingers. "Cold, stubborn, heartless, icy bitch—"

"Icy bitch??" you interrupted, incredulous.

"—brutal, emotionless, unforgiving—," he continued, unfazed. His words painting a vivid picture of the reputation that preceded you.

"Okay, I get it," you said, cutting him off before he could further elaborate on your supposed traits.

"—and absolutely stunning," he added.

You were caught off guard. 'Stunning' was not a word you expected to come up in such a list.

Gojo leaned closer. His proximity forced you to shift back slightly. His hands planted firmly on the concrete on either side of you, his fingers brushing lightly against yours. His face mere inches from yours. "Stunning facade, but a cold heart within, they say—," he murmured, his gaze subtly shifting to your lips. "Though, I can't help but wonder if the right man might get even you to heat up, don't you think?"

Your breath hitched. The boldness of his statement, the closeness of his body, and the sudden darkness in his eyes stirred something within you.

"Is that what you fantasize about at night?" you snapped.

He quirked an eyebrow, a mischievous glint in his eye. "You have no idea the kind of unholy thoughts I have about you."

This man.

Gojo's arrogance seemed to know no bounds, and you wondered how someone like him could possibly be a teacher.

"Do you harass all your potential recruits?" you asked.

A flicker of amusement crossed his face. "Only the ones I find particularly interesting."

You hated him.

Yet, you felt drawn to him.

There was an undeniable charm about him, a magnetic pull that you found both disconcerting and alluring. It was a dangerous combination, especially for someone like you, who had always preferred to keep the world at arm's length. Yet, each breath your took seemed to pull you even closer to him.

"You're bleeding pretty heavily," he observed.

"Yeah, well, maybe you should get me to that fancy Jujutsu school of yours and patch me up, instead of playing games," you retorted.

He smirked, that sly smile of his making another appearance. "It's not a game if I already know I've won."

"You really have a high attitude about yourself."

He seemed to brush off your comment. "So you're joining?"

You hesitated. "I'll consider it."

A triumphant gleam lit up his eyes. "Great!" he said, finally pulling back and giving you room to breathe. He stood up and offered you a hand. "You won't regret it."

****

The dagger suddenly felt heavy in your hand.

Gone its a soothing presence in your hand as you turned it over, watching the light glint off its polished surface. It felt like a burden.

Memories flooded back. More cruel than before.

The dagger was more than just a cursed weapon. It was a reminder of who you were before meeting Satoru Gojo. And now? You didn't even know who you were. What was the point of it all? Somehow you questioned it. Questioned everything.

Was joining Jujutsu High really the right decision?

Everything so far had been more about putting everyone you loved in danger than saving anyone. It shouldn't be like that.

Your fingers clenched around the dagger's handle, feeling the sting of its cold metal. Despite Shoko's healing, your body still ached. She had said recovery would take time, but as you stared at the blade, you wondered if some wounds ran too deep for time to heal.

The door creaked open, cutting through the silence. "I remember that dagger," Satoru said as he leaned against the doorframe, his tone tinged with nostalgia.

In a flash of anger, you hurled the dagger towards him. It sliced through the air with a deadly precision, embedding itself in the doorframe just inches from his face. Satoru remained still. He didn't flinch. His eyes fixed on you, absorbing the full force of your rage.

"You shouldn't be so comfortable around me," you cautioned. "Remember, I can break through your infinity. You were the one who taught me how."

"You wouldn't hurt me."

"I wouldn't be so sure about that."

"You're angry."

"Angry is an understatement."

"You have every right to be." Satoru pushed off from the doorframe. He stepped into the room, his usual nonchalance faltering slightly. "But I did what I thought was necessary to protect you."

"Protect me?" The words escaped you in a bitter, incredulous laugh. "Or control me?"

He walked towards you, closing the gap. "I'm trying to keep you safe."

"That's always your excuse, isn't it?" You countered, your voice rising as you stepped back. "You took away my choice, Satoru."

"Your choice would have killed you."

"And so be it!"

Satoru ran his hands through his hair. "You're so goddamn stubborn," he exclaimed, his voice cracking with frustration. "You're constantly throwing yourself into near-death situations!"

"How can I not, with everything that's happening!"

His expression hardened, eyes narrowing. "You don't understand, do you? You're not just another sorcerer—you're a target. A valuable one. Damn it, even the higher-ups want you dead!"

"What?"

He laughed, bitter and hollow. "You really think they haven't noticed your specific cursed technique? That they're oblivious to who you are?"

He began to pace the room. "They're terrified of you. Terrified of what you might do. Terrified of what you could do."

"So what are you saying? They're the ones behind all this?"

"Not directly," he said, shaking his head. "But they're cunning. They stand back, let others do the hunting. It wouldn't be the first time they've let someone else do their shit work."

"Since when do you know all this?"

Satoru's gaze shifted away. "It was obvious the day you first stepped through the school's gates."

"And you thought I shouldn't know this?"

"What good would it have done?" His voice rose again. "So you could throw yourself into another reckless stunt? End up in even more danger?"

"I can't believe this."

The words died in your throat. Of course, Satoru knew. He must have. Keeping it from you the entire time, coating his lie under the pretence of protecting you from danger. But for fuck's sake, you had a right to know the extent of the danger you were in—the danger you posed to others.

"You knew it all along."

His silence. His decision to withhold such crucial information. It felt like a betrayal.

A part of you understood his intent, but it didn't calm the rage that simmered inside you. How many more secrets was he keeping? How much more did you not know?

"What else are you hiding from me, Satoru?"

"I'm not hiding anything," he closed the gap between you, forcing you back until your spine was pressed against the cold wall. He towered over you. "I'm trying to protect you—from them, from—"

"—from myself?" Your words sliced through the air. "Is that what this is? You think I can't handle the truth?"

"It's not that simple," Satoru replied. "You're in more danger than you realize. And yes, I'm scared. Terrified of losing you, of what could happen if you... if you—"

"If I what, Satoru?" Your interruption was sharp. "If I lose control? Turn into Geto? Is that your fear?"

"Don't talk about things you don't understand," he warned, his expression darkening.

"You're so blinded by your past, you can't see me for who I am!"

Something within Satoru snapped at your words. "Stop it!" he cautioned, slamming his fist against the wall, alarmingly close to your head. But you didn't flinch. You didn't back down.

"Am I just a way for you to rewrite your past?"

His other hand reached out, gripping your jaw with a firmness that bordered on pain. "Enough!" His voice was sharp, his grip unyielding, trapping you. You should have stopped. But it was too late. You were already past the point of no return.

"Do you even love me, Satoru?"

Silence.

His jaw tightened, muscles tensing as he processed your words. For a long, tense moment, he just stared at you. His eyes looked like shattered glass. "You really asking me that?" he said quietly—defeated. Slowly, almost reluctantly, he released his grip and took a step back.

You had gone too far. You knew it.

Satoru turned away from you and walked to the other side of the room. He slumped onto the bed, his face buried in his hands. The distance between you more than physical.

The room seemed to shrink. Your thoughts drowned you. However, neither of you spoke.

You hated his silence. His silence was more dangerous than anything he could shout at you. You liked the angry Satoru. The one who screamed and yelled. The quiet Satoru you hated. Because you didn't know what he was thinking. It made your blood run cold.

You rubbed your jaw where his grip had been, feeling the lingering pressure. You parted your lips to say something—anything—to escape the silence, but he cut you off.

"Remember when you had that dagger against my throat when we first met?" he mused, a faint smile playing on his lips. "I knew then that you were someone special. Someone worth risking everything for."

He ran his hands through his hair. "God, I knew the moment I met you that I'd fall for you, no matter how hard I tried to resist."

Satoru's eyes met yours, and in that gaze, there was something you were terrified of. In his eyes, there was a question, the same one echoing in your mind. It was a crossroads, a silent query about where you both stood, about the future that seemed so uncertain.

The only thing that was cetrain was that nothing was simple anymore. Not your feelings, not your relationship, not the path ahead.

And it hurt. It hurt so fucking awful.

You both had tried, again and again, to connect, to understand one antoher. Yet, each attempt, seemed to leave deeper scars, add another layer to the walls you had unintentionally built between yourselves.

Your heart ached. You wanted to reach out, to close the distance, to somehow mend the fragile threads that still connected you. But the words wouldn't come; trapped behind the pain.

Satoru finally moved, a slight shift in his posture. "I should go."

You watched him leave.

The door closed softly behind him.

The room felt emptier now. His absence of his presence like a void. Just emptiness. Nothingness.

The last traces of sunlight faded from the room.

****

You didn't eat. You weren't hungry.

You sat at the table with Nobara, Megumi, and Yuji, picking at your breakfast, lost in your own thoughts. The usual lively banter among the group replaced by a heavy silence.

It had only been a few days. In the beginning, you had locked yourself in your room, refusing to see anyone. Nobara's constant attempts to bring you back eventually succeeded, and you reluctantly returned to your regular routine. You tried to get back to business as usual, though you despised that saying now. Nothing was the same. Everything had changed.

"So, I guess the wedding is canceled?" Yuji blurted out suddenly.

The joke landed awkwardly, to say the least.

Nobara shot Yuji a sharp look. "Not the time, Yuji."

Yuji's grin faltered, he scratched the back of his head sheepishly. "Sorry, just trying to cheer things up."

"You really have a bad timing," Megumi remarked.

Silence.

You pushed the food around your plate, your appetite nowhere to be found.

Yuji tried to change the subject. "Hey, did anyone finish the mission report from last week?"

Megumi nodded. "Yeah, I handled it."

Silence again.

Nobara's eyes lit up with an idea. "Hey, you know what? Since we've got a whole week off, why don't we go on a vacation? A change of scenery could do us some good."

Yuji's face brightened at the suggestion. "That sounds awesome! We could go to the beach, or maybe the mountains?"

Megumi considered it for a moment. "Doesn't sound like a bad plan."

Nobara nodded. "Exactly! We all deserve a break, especially after all this crap. Let's go somewhere, chill out, and forget about everything for a while."

You felt a sudden knot from in your stomach. How the hell could the others be so damn carefree about this. You couldn't even celebrate Megumi's birthday without almost getting killed. How should you go on a fucking vacation. That would never happen. Satoru wouldn't allow it.

"I vote for somewhere with good food! Maybe a hot spring resort? They usually have great meals," Yuji chimed in.

"Sounds good," Megumi agreed.

Nobara clapped her hands together. "It's settled then! A hot spring resort it is. I'll start looking up some places."

You remained silent, pondering over all the possibilities how this could go wrong. Then you felt a gentle pressure on your thigh under the table. Glancing down, then subtly towards Megumi, you noticed it was his hand. His thumb caressed your leg. Only now did you realize that you were tense.

His gaze met yours and something within his eyes gave you the feeling that it might be okay. Maybe, just maybe, this vacation was what you all needed—a chance to step back, to breathe. The idea didn't seem so terrible anymore. Perhaps it was worth giving it a chance.

But there was still an issue.

"Satoru wouldn't let me go," you said.

Nobara rolled her eyes. "Oh please, since when do you need Gojo's permission for anything? Besides, he's been overprotective lately. A little space might do his ego some good."

Yuji nodded in agreement. "Yeah, and if he complains, we'll just go without telling him!"

"If he's really that concerned, we should ask Yuta to come with us. He's second to Gojo, that should do," Nobara added.

"We should ask Maki too!" Yuji said.

You hesitated, glancing at Megumi for some semblance of rational objection. However, even he seemed on board with the idea. "If you want to go, you should," he said.

Damn it Megumi. That wasn't what you were hoping to hear. At if it was that simple.

Nobara leaned in, her eyes twinkling. "And just so you know, if you don't come with us willingly, we'll force you."

A resigned sigh escaped your lips. "Fine, you win. Let's head to the hot springs."

Nobara's face lit up again. "That's the spirit! I'll find us the best hot spring resort. We'll have so much fun, you'll forget all about the school and—well, everything else."

****

The train to Ginzan Onsen glided through the winter landscape. Outside, a fresh blanket of snow covered the countryside, transforming the rolling hills and distant mountains into a scene straight out of a painting.

With a bit of the train ride still ahead of you, Yuji decided it was time to play a game. "Let's do 'Two Truths and a Lie'. I'll start! First, I once ate fifthy plates at a sushi conveyor belt. Second, I speak three languages. And third, I've never been defeated in arm wrestling."

Nobara rolled her eyes. "The lie is obvious, Yuji. You barely manage Japanese."

Laughter echoed through the carriage, drawing curious glances from nearby passengers. Yuji, playing along, clutched his heart in mock hurt. "Harsh! Okay, Maki, your turn!"

Maki thought for a moment. "Alright. One, I've broken five bones. Two, I secretly love romantic comedies. Three, I've never lost a bet."

"It's definitely the romances," Nobara said. "That's the lie, right?"

Maki chuckled, leaning back in her seat. "Well, let's see." She paused for dramatic effect, then added, "Actually, that's true. I can't resist a good rom-com."

"Wait, what?" Yuji blurted out. "You?"

"Guilty as charged," Maki confessed.

Everyone on the train was stunned. Even the other passengers.

"I thought you were more of a splatter girl," Yuji added.

The game continued, with each revelation more amusing than the last. Finally, it was Megumi's turn. He hesitated for a moment, a slight frown on his face. "I'm not really creative enough for this game," he said, though you suspected he was more concerned about embarrassing himself.

But to his bad, Yuji jumped in. "Don't worry, Megumi, I got you covered! Here are Megumi's truths and lie: First, he secretly dreams of becoming a pop idol. Second, he's in love with a soon-to-be-married woman. And third, he's afraid of kittens."

You shouldn't laugh at this, but you couldn't help it and the entire compartment erupted into laughter. Even Yuta couldn't help but chuckle. Nobara was laughing so hard she had to wipe tears from her eyes.

Megumi's expression shifted to mock seriousness. "Alright, that's it. Prepare yourself, Itadori!" Then he lunged at Yuji. Yuji let out a surprised yelp, half-laughing, half-trying to evade Megumi. "Hey, it was just a joke!"

Infectious laughter filled the compartment as they tussled. Yuta's attempts at peacemaking only added to the comedy as he struggled to separate the two.

After the laughter died down, Nobara began. "So now that we've all had a good laugh, there's something I need to tell you about," she started, flipping through her phone. "It's about the rooms at the onsen. Turns out, the place is pretty booked. We had to get creative with the sleeping arrangements."

Maki perked up. "Creative how?"

"Well," Nobara continued, "there weren't enough rooms for each of us, so some of us will have to share."

Maki raised an eyebrow.

Nobara grinned. "Let's just say it'll be cozy. We have three rooms. I suggest we girls will take one room, and that leaves the guys with the other two. Unless anyone has a better idea?"

"So you three get in one room? You sure thats ok for you? Might be a bit small. We can also stay in one room," Yuta chimed in.

"You don't have to," you said. "I can share a room with Megumi."

Megumi turned to you, a flicker of surprise crossing his face.

"If you're okay with it," you quickly added.

Megumi nodded. "Sure."

Nobara and Yuji exchanged a quick glance. Yuji, unable to hold back, elbowed you gently. "Oooh, rooming with Megumi, huh? This trip just got more interesting!"

Megumi lunged at Yuji again.

Your phone buzzed with a new message. Pulling it out, you saw Satoru's name on the screen.

"Safe travels, love."

You stared at the screen. You thought he must be furious with you. But somehow you could hear his gentle, caring voice in your ear as you read the massage over and over again.

You had left without talking to him first, because you knew well enough what his reaction would have been—what his words would have been. Yet he hadn't tried to stop you from going on this trip. He sure knew when you would leave and with whom. He just accepted it.

Your heart felt heavy again. You began to type a reply—you wanted to type so many replies.

"Leave me alone."

"You're such an asshole."

"Why do you keep hurting me like this?"

"What made you fall in love with me, anyway?"

"Thinking about you hurts."

"I wish you were here."

"I miss you."

Yet you erased each one and just stared at the blank screen. Perhaps it was better not to reply at all. Just as your friends had advised, "put some distance between you and him."

Easier said than done when every thought about him pierced so deep.

****

As the train finally pulled into the station, the sky had darkened, and the world outside was bathed in the red glow of the setting sun reflecting off the snow.

You stepped off the train onto the snow-dusted platform, your breath visible in the crisp winter air. Before you could reach for your luggage, Megumi was already by your side. His hand steadying the handle before you could fully grasp it.

"Let me," he said.

For a split second, you wanted to protest, but his green eyes shimmering in the waning sunlight told you there was no room for argument. You nodded as he effortlessly hoisted your luggage.

As you approached the ryokan near the hot springs, traditional wooden buildings lined the streets like sentinels of an ancient time, their edges frosted with snow. Lanterns swayed gently, casting a soft, golden hue on the pristine snow. The faint scent of sulfur lingered in the air.

Stepping into the ryokan, a comforting wave of warm air enveloped you. The receptionist handed over the room keys, along with neatly folded yukatas. You decided to quickly change into your yukatas and meet again downstairs for the hot springs.

****

"What do you think?" you asked Megumi, slightly adjusting your yukata. Megumi glanced up, the moment his eyes met yours, a faint blush tinted his cheeks.

He cleared his throat. "It... suits you. You look... good."

He paused, his eyes lingering on you for a second longer. In the room's subdued light, his green eyes shimmered like emeralds. "You look too good for him, you know," he said. His words, barely more than a whisper.

Your heart pulsed. You knew you had been cruel to him. You could see it in the pain in his eyes. Yet he remained silent, offering his support as he always did, despite the numerous times you had hurt him. You felt guilty.

"You don't look so bad yourself," you said quietly.

Megumi stood tall in his yukata, the soft fabric draping gracefully, accentuating his athletic frame. It added an air of quiet elegance to his usual composed demeanor. You were so used to seeing him in his school uniform. The sight of his exposed, toned arms as he leaned against the wall, his arms crossed, left you momentarily speechless.

Megumi offered a faint smile. Then he pushed himself off the wall and walked over to the door, "We should met up with the others in the lobby."

"Megumi, wait," you began. "I didn't have a chance to properly apologize to you."

He stopped, his hand on the door handle. "You don't have to."

"No," you insisted. "I really do. I've been unfair to you."

Megumi turned to face you, his expression softening. "Things got complicated. It's okay."

"Why are you so understanding? Why not angry with me?" you asked, feeling a knot in your stomach. "I wouldn't blame you if you were."

He searched your eyes for a moment, but didn't answer.

"Go ahead and punch me if you want to or something," you said seriously, trying to get some reaction from him other than 'understanding'.

Megumi sighed, a small smile playing on his lips. "You really do need a punch from time to time," he joked. He walked over to you. You felt your heart pounding against your chest as he leaned in closer. His breath warm against your skin. "Just promise me that if Gojo screws up, you'll give me a chance."

Your breath hitched. "I would give you a thousand chances."

"I know. I see it," his lips softly brushed against your cheek. "I see that you love me, but you love him more, don't you?"

You closed your eyes for a fleeting second, allowing yourself to feel the tenderness of his touch. It was a bittersweet realization. Yes, you loved Megumi—a genuine affection that couldn't be denied. But you also recognized the harsh truth. Your heart was irrevocably drawn to Satoru—in a way that defied simple explanation. If there were an explanation for love at all.

A knock on the door shattered the stillness.

Maki's voice echoed through the door. "You guys ready for the hot springs?"

****

Later that day, you all gathered in the dining hall of the ryokan for dinner. The air was filled with the delicious aroma of a traditional Japanese dinner spread out before you—sashimi, tempura, grilled fish, and an array of vegetables.

Yuji had everyone in stitches. His laughter echoing through the hall. Yuta shared stories from his time abroad, each tale more intriguing than the last. Nobara and Maki, meanwhile, seemed to have made it their mission to sample every variety of sake available. Their laughter growing louder and more carefree with each round.

The evening felt surreal in its normalcy. Friends having dinner. Friends having fun.

It seemed all too fleeting.

Your eyes settled on Megumi. There was an uncommon detail about him that caught your eye. It was a small, barely noticeable scar just beneath his right ear. His hair was still damp, losely comped back to reveal his neck. The scar must normally be concealed by his hair.

He caught your gaze. You quickly looked away.

As the night wore on, the group began to thin. Maki and Nobara excused themselves first, mentioning they would take a nap and return later for the New Year's fireworks. You felt tired too, but you didn't want to miss any of those rare moments of normalcy. Their departure left you, Megumi, Yuta, and Yuji at the table.

Yuji had dozed off at some point. His head resting on his arms on the table. Every so often, he would mumble something incoherent, eliciting a soft chuckle from the rest of you.

Yuta shared stories of his travels. His words painted vivid pictures of distant lands and fierce battles, captivating Megumi and you.

As the night deepened, a comfortable silence settled over the table. You looked at Megumi, who was quietly sipping his tea, his slender hands arranged beautifully around the mug. There was a certain peace about him here—away from the usual chaos.

"Yuta," you said. "I never got the chance to properly thank you for coming along."

He smiled. "You don't need to thank me."

"I really do, It feels like I'm dragging everyone into my problems."

"We're teammates," he simply said, "That's what we do."

You let out a weary sigh. "You're all too kind."

Yuta leaned back, his gaze contemplative as he looked at you. "So, what's next for you? With everything that's been happening?"

You didn't want to think about it. Yet, talk about it. It was actually the least thing you wanted.

"I don't know."

Yuta's expression grew more serious. "No plan? Considering everything that's been happening, especially with the bounty on your head, you need one."

Huh?

What bounty?

What on earth was he talking about?

Megumi, equally surprised, interjected sharply. "There's a bounty?"

Yuta's eyes narrowed briefly. "You didn't know? There's a bounty on her, and they want her dead," he explained. "It's over 80 million yen. I thought Gojo would've told you."

You felt your stomach drop. Another lie. Another betrayal.

Megumi nearly choked on his tea. "That's—a lot."

"It's one of the highest bounties actually," Yuta added. "That's why I'm asking if you have any plans."

Megumi clenched his fists. "That bastard Gojo," he muttered under his breath. "He didn't say a word about this. This changes everything."

You remained silent. What was there to say, anyway?

It felt like watching a house of cards collapse, and you could do nothing but watch. It was awful. But more than anything, you were so, so tired. Every lie, every betrayal, it was like a punch to the gut, but you were too drained to even react.

Yuta leaned forward. "And the mole? Any idea who it could be?"

Megumi's brow furrowed in thought. "The mole... he's been a step ahead of us, leaking crucial information. It's as if he's always watching, always one move ahead. They might also know we're here."

Your heart raced.

"He?" you asked, too calm for the storm that was beginning to build inside you. "Do you know who it is?"

Megumi turned to you. His eyes told you that he had just spilled something he shouldn't have said.

No.

Not him.

Not another betrayal.

"We suspect someone, but—"

"But what?" you pressed, your suspicion growing.

He hesitated, then sighed. "It's Jack."

Your heart skipped a beat. "Jack?"

Satoru said he was no threat. He said he was not worried about him. Was that another lie? Did he know all along?

"Please let me explain—," Megumi began.

You felt a crushing weight on your chest. You thought you were part of a team, a family, but now you weren't even sure what or whom to believe. The trust broken. In that moment, you realized how alone you truly felt. Surrounded by friends, but isolated by lies. Not even Megumi. Could you not even trust him?

Another fucking betrayal.

It was all too overwhelming. You had to get out of here, to push it all away, if only for a moment. Without a word you suddenly stood up, the chair scraping against the floor.

"I need some air."

The crisp night air hit your face as you stepped outside, cold air filling your lungs. Megumi followed you, his footsteps crunching softly in the snow.

"Leave me alone, Megumi," you didn't want to face anyone right now, least of all someone who understood you as well as Megumi did.

"Talk to me."

"I don't want to talk," you shot back.

Yet, he persisted.

"Talk to me."

You spun around, the frustration and hurt evident in your eyes. Tears welled up, threatening to spill over as you gazed at the person who had always been your most trusted friend. "Since when did you know?"

Megumi hesitated. "Gojo told me after the battle on Christmas Eve."

"What? Since when did he know?"

"He suspected since Shinjuku. After the attack on you, he interrogated him."

Shinjuku.

Satoru knew for months.

The night seemed even colder now.

"I wanted to tell you," he said.

"Then why didn't you?"

"It's complicated."

"Everything is always complicated with you and Satoru," you snapped.

Megumi's expression shifted. "When was the right time? When you were locked away in your room, or perhaps at dinner, surrounded by everyone?"

"Now it's my fault?"

"No. No, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"

Before either of you could say more, the sky erupted in colors. Fireworks, distant and cruelly beautiful, painted the night like a canvas. Yet, Megumi's gaze remained fixed on you. The reflections of the fireworks flickered in Megumi's eyes, softening the hard lines of his face. His lips parted as if to say something, but no words came out.

He looked so beautiful that night. So sad. But all you wanted to do was punch him straight in the face. These stupid men. All they did was hurt you, 'protecting' you, as they said. But, God, you'd had enough.

"You should probably find another room to sleep in tonight," you said, more calmly than you felt. You turned to head back inside as the fireworks continued to light up the sky.

Megumi watched you go.

****

"Is everything okay between you and Fushiguro?" Nobara's question cut through the silence.

"Everything's great," you muttered.

"Did he try to kiss you or something?" Maki asked, half-joking yet curious.

"No."

Nobara and Maki walked alongside you, exchanging glances.

The crisp, cool air brushed against your cheeks as you and the others made your way to the local shrine for the first visit of the new year. As you approached, the scent of incense grew stronger, blending with the smell of street food from nearby vendors. However, despite the festivity, a certain uneasiness hung in the air—the tension between you and Megumi hard to miss.

"You guys totally missed out on the fireworks," Yuji interjected.

"Yeah, such a shame," Nobara replied. "We were just too tired."

"You missed them too, Yuji," you pointed out, as if he had forgotten that he had spent the whole night sleeping on the table.

"Yeah, I did," Yuji admitted, scratching his head. "Were they good? Did you guys see them?"

"No."

Yuji looked back at Megumi, who was walking a few steps behind. "What about you, Fushiguro? Did you catch the fireworks?" Megumi met Yuji's question with a silent, icy stare, confirming that something was definitely off.

"What's going on with you two?" Yuji asked, his eyes flicking between you and Megumi.

As you approached the shrine, the crowd thickened. Brightly colored lanterns hung from the trees, and laughter filled the air. Families in colorful kimonos, young couples, and groups of friends gathered to celebrate the first day of the new year.

"Let's draw our fortunes," Nobara suggested, trying to break the uneasiness.

Each of you took turns shaking the box and drawing a stick with a number that corresponded to your fortune at a nearby stall.

Yuji's face lit up as he read his fortune. "Great blessing! This year's gonna be awesome!"

Nobara rolled her eyes. "Small blessing," she read aloud. "Could be worse."

Maki, after reading her fortune, simply shrugged, not giving away whether it was good or bad.

When it was your turn, you shook the box and drew a stick. The crisp paper unfolded in your hands, revealing the characters for "Bad Fortune."

You've got to be kidding me, right?

Nobara peered over your shoulder. "Well, look at it this way, as if things could get any worse for you."

"A little bad luck is nothing for you!" Yuji chimed in.

Your lips twitched into a half-smile. "You guys are really something."

Yuta stepped forward to draw his omikuji next, pulling a slender stick from the box.

"Well, Yuta? What does it say?" Yuji asked eagerly, trying to peek over his shoulder.

Yuta turned the paper so everyone could see. "Good Fortune."

Nobara clapped her hands together. "See! That balances it out. Good and bad fortune in the group. We're set!"

Megumi was last. He shook the box and drew his fortune. His expression remained unreadable as he read the slip of paper. He didn't share what it said. You hoped it was positive.

Nobara then led the group towards the main hall of the shrine, where people gathered to offer prayers for the new year. But Yuta held you back. His hand around your wrist, his grip firm but not forceful. "Can we talk for a moment?"

You paused and turned to find Yuta's gaze locked onto you with an intensity that felt almost invasive. You felt a sudden knot from in your stomach. Talking was the last thing you wanted at that moment, but something in his expression suggested this wasn't a question to say no to.

You nodded and followed him as he led you away from the crowd. You began to walk along the snow-covered paths of the shrine. The stillness of the winter air only broken by the soft crunch of the snow beneath your feet.

After a few moments, Yuta finally broke the silence. "Have you ever heard of the prophecy of your family's clan?"

Wait.

What?

How did he know?

You turned to him, searching his face for clues.

"Gojo told me," he added quickly, his eyes briefly meeting yours before returning to the snow-covered path ahead.

Of course, he had. He told apparently everyone everything. Except you.

He never told you anything.

"The prophecy is just a myth," you replied. "Nothing but stories from a time long gone."

Yuta's expression remained serious. "It's said that the Fujiwara clan could either bring great prosperity or doom."

"The Fujiwara could do nothing. They were arrogant. They were greedy, and in the end, they were crushed by Sukuna. That's the reality," you said.

"Nevertheless, the Fujiwara clan was influential and powerful," Yuta continued, undeterred.

"But I'm not a Fujiwara. I have my father's name, who wasn't part of the clan. I have no connection to them."

"You carry their blood, their cursed technique. That's enough reason for people to be terrified," Yuta explained. "They believe you'll follow a path of destruction like your ancestors."

"You mean the higher-ups?"

"Yeah, they've set the bounty on your head."

You couldn't help but find that ironic. "They've put a bounty on the head of a person who couldn't even use that cursed technique they're so afraid of."

"Paranoia and greed for power blind them. In their eyes, your mere potential is a threat," Yuta continued.

"I know they're after me, Yuta," you said, stopping in your tracks.

"But you don't know the whole story," he also paused and turned to you. His expression grave. You waited for him to continue.

"It's true they put the bounty on your head, but before that, they've sent Gojo to kill you."

Your heart seemed to stop.

"What?" You exclaimed, the words escaping your lips louder than you intended, drawing the curious gazes of nearby onlookers. Yuta swiftly scanned the surroundings before gesturing for you to follow him again.

"Gojo was initially ordered to kill you because of your bloodline," he said again, as if it hadn't been clear the first time. "But he didn't, as you can see. Instead, he brought you to Jujutsu High."

"Why?"

He looked at you briefly, his eyebrow raised. "You know why."

Your mind raced. Yet your heart raced faster.

"From the moment you entered the school, Gojo took it upon himself to train you and put you under his personal protection. The higher-ups were furious, to say the least, and it didn't help that he threatened to burn the school down if anyone laid a hand on you. So in return, they limited his powers, suspended him, and cut off his resources."

"They wanted him gone," you whispered more to yourself than to Yuta.

Yuta nodded.

Wait.

Back then, when he distanced himself from you?

When he was suspended?

When he was worried about your relationship becoming public?

When he nearly went insane trying to help you control your cursed technique?

When he watched over you day and night?

It was all because—

"When you first lost control of your cursed technique, it triggered an uproar. Gojo assured the higher-ups that if you ever turned against them, he'd handle the situation himself. But as you can imagine, they had little trust in a man who had fallen in love. So instead, they set the bounty on your head, effectively making you a target for the entire world. I wouldn't be surprised if they also helped the mole in some way," Yuta continued.

Your stomach turned.

The thought of him fighting on so many fronts at once, while you struggled to get your shit together and learn to control your cursed technique, almost made you vomit. How stupid your problems seemed compared to what he had to deal with all the time.

And all you had done was accuse him of seeing ghosts in you—accuse him of not really loving you. When in fact, everything he did was out of love for you.

You had been angry at him for his secrets, his lies, his overbearing self. But now?

Now you couldn't be angry at him. Not anymore.

You missed him awfully.

Damn it, Satoru.

Why did he never tell you any of this?

"In short, they've turned the world against you, hoping that the problem would resolve itself without their direct intervention—without having to deal with Gojo specifically," Yuta explained as he came to a stop before the shrine.

Your thoughts had consumed you to the point that you hadn't even noticed that you had circled back to the shrine where the others were.

"With such a large bounty on your head, it was only a matter of time before alliances were formed. After all, your name is well known. And the Fujiwara clan had many enemies," Yuta added.

"So, that sorcerer who poisoned me back then—"

"He might have belonged to a rival clan of the Fujiwara," Yuta speculated.

"The clan is long dead. Why come after me now, after all these years?" you pondered aloud.

"Hate runs deep," Yuta simply replied.

As Nobara, Yuji, Maki, and Megumi emerged from the shrine, you caught sight of Nobara waving in your direction. You waved back at her over Yuta's shoulder.

"Why are you telling me all this, Yuta? I'm pretty sure Satoru specifically told you not to."

Yuta couldn't help but chuckle. "You're right, he did. But you know, Gojo has his own way of dealing with problems. He thinks he's protecting you by keeping you in the dark. But I'm pretty sure his way of dealing with things only leads to the two of you trying to kill each other at some point. I kinda like you, so I can't stand by and let that happen."

Your lips curved into a small smile. "Thank you, Yuta," you said as Nobara and the rest of the group caught up to you.

Nobara casually slung her arm around your shoulders. "What were you two talking about?" she asked with a playful tone.

"Nothing really," Yuta replied quickly.

Nobara raised an eyebrow at Yuta's response, clearly not buying it. She exchanged a curious look with Maki.

Yuji eventually spoke up. "I'm getting kinda hungry. Should we grab something to eat?"

Yuta nodded in agreement. "Sounds like a plan."

After leaving the shrine site and making your way towards the city, you walked along a quiet path, surrounded by the tranquility of the countryside. The snow-covered landscape stretched out before you, creating a serene backdrop.

Yuji's stomach growled audibly. "Man, I can't wait to eat."

Nobara rolled her eyes. "Yuji, we had breakfast barely two hours ago."

"Sounds like the perfect time for another—," Yuji begann but he was cut short.

In an instant, the atmosphere shifted. A shiver ran down your spine as you sensed his presence behind you. You turned, your eyes meeting an all too familiar face standing just a few feet behind you.

Before anyone could react, Yuta's hand snapped out, grabbing Jack by the nape of his neck and slamming his face into the ground. Megumi quickly pulled you behind him, standing protective in front of you.

Yuta drew his katana and let it hover dangerously at Jack's neck—ready to behead him at any second. Jack looked up, blood running freely down his chin. His nose had broken.

"I'm here to warn you, you bastards," Jack strained out, spitting a fragment of tooth onto the ground.

Megumi's eyes narrowed. "Warn us? About what?"

"I can help you," Jack insisted. "There's a group of special grade curses heading this way, led by someone named Mahito."

"Mahito?" Yuji repeated.

"Yeah, and more. If you don't leave now, you'll be overrun."

"Why should we believe a word you say?" Nobara cut in sharply.

"The curses," Jack gasped, struggling for breath under Yuta's force, "—they've allied with sorcerers who want her dead. They're coming for you, Fujiwara."

You couldn't help but flinch at the mention of your family name—all eyes suddenly on you.

"You're from to the Fujiwara clan?" Maki asked.

"I'm not," you quickly corrected. "I mean, not really."

"Why are you telling us this now?" Yuta's voice cut through, still focused on Jack.

"Because I've been betrayed," Jack spat. "Mahito gathered powerful curses and sorcerers under false pretenses. The curses don't want her dead; they want to use her for some fucked up plan."

"What plan?" you asked over Megumi's shoulder.

"They plan to use you to kill Gojo and release Sukuna."

The group fell silent.

"My clan was part of their alliance," Jack continued, "—but when we learned their true intent, we backed out. We wouldn't be mere pawns for these curses. They turned on us, attacked us. I barely managed to escape with my life. You can choose to believe me or not, but if you stay, you're all as good as dead."

Yuta hesitated for a moment, then slowly lifted his katana from Jack's neck.

Jack straightened up, wiping blood from his mouth. "You need to get out of here. I'm not sure if Gojo can make it in time. These curses and their sorcerer allies—they're not here for a fight. They're here for her," he nodded towards you.

"What? Wait—Satoru's coming?" you asked.

"I got word to him. Told him everything. But who knows if he'll make it in time."

"You're talking to Gojo?" Megumi asked. It seems as if he didn't know that himself.

"Yeah," Jack spat. "Turns out your lovely bastard of a teacher forced me to spy on my own people—used me against my own people."

You had to suppress the urge to slam his face down again for insulting Satoru.

"Listen, I don't like you. I want you dead," his voice hardened as he addressed you. "But believe me when I say I don't want to see Sukuna alive again." He pushed himself up, wincing slightly. "There's no time to waste. They'll be here soon."

Your blood suddenly ran cold. You turned and frantically scanned your surroundings, panic gripping your heart. You felt an overwhelming presence heading your way, a distant rumbling that grew louder and louder, each thud echoing through the air.

"What's that?" Nobara asked.

Your breath caught in your throat, a cold sweat breaking out across your skin.

Fuck.

"It's Mahito," Yuji said. His fists clenched at his sides.

"You need to leave. Now," Jack coughed.

"We can't just run," Maki said. "We should fight."

"No, the risk is too high. We have no idea what we're up against," Megumi interjected, his hand searching for yours as he spoke. You took it, his fingers gently intertwining with yours as he pulled you closer to him.

Maki took a challenging step towards Megumi. Her eyes flashed. "So we retreat like cowards?"

Yuta stepped forward between them. "There's a place we can go. One of Gojo's hideouts—it's off the grid, hardly known to anyone."

"What? Gojo has a damn safe house?" Nobara interjected.

"Yeah," Yuta confirmed. "It's secluded, protected by barriers. We can regroup there and plan our next move."

Megumi's brow furrowed. "How do we know Gojo will be there?"

"Gojo ordered me to head there if anything went wrong. I'm sure he'll be there," Yuta said.

Of course, Satoru had a plan. He always does. Satoru was always in control.

But wait.

"They're after me," your voice cut sharply through the chaos. "I'll go there. Alone. The rest of you should head back to Jujutsu High."

Nobara was quick to object. "You can't be serious! We're coming with you!"

"Nobara, I can't drag you all into this again. Please, for once, just—listen to me."

"We can't just leave you here—"

Yuta cut off Nobara's words. "She's right. The less we are the better our chances we won't get caugth. Kugisaki, Zenin, Fushiguro, Itadori—head back to the school. I'll go with her."

You turned to Yuta. "You too, Yuta. You should go with them." But the look he gave you told you that Satoru had most likely ordered him to stay by your side.

Nobara opened her mouth to argue, but you cut her off. "Please, Nobara." She frowned, but nodded reluctantly.

Suddenly, a deep rumbling vibrated through the ground. Your gaze dropped to your feet, where cracks appeared in the snow-covered earth. The air thickened in an instant, each breath becoming more torturous.

Your gaze locked with Megumi's. "You need to go with them."

"I'm not leaving without you," he insisted, almost crushing your hand in his grip.

Yuta's eyes darted towards the direction of the increasing rumble. "We need to move, now," he urged.

Frustration and fear surged within you. "Megumi, please, you must. Keep them safe for me." But his hold remained unyielding.

"Fushiguro, we're out of time!" Maki shouted, already retreating with the others.

"I'll never forgive myself if anything happens to you," Megumi said, his expression torn.

"I know, and I love you for it," you said, your voice trembling. "But you have to go. Now."

Still, Megumi's grasp held firm.

The distant sounds of chaos drew nearer. Time was running out.

Words were useless.

You stepped closer to Megumi, your heart pounding in your chest. Without a word, you leaned in, taking his face in your hands, and kissed him. His body tensed in shock, his eyes widening. His lips felt so soft against yours. You never imagined what kissing him would feel like, but it was definitely better than you could have ever imagined.

Megumi's initial shock gave way to an intense response, his lips moving against yours with a craving you hadn't anticipated. Nor did you expect his lips to fit yours so well. His hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer, fingers digging into your back, as if afraid that this moment might slip away. You almost lost yourself in his embrace.

Just as his tongue threatened to deepen the kiss even further, you focused again. You forced yourself to break away, fully aware that you wouldn't be able to resist him—or that you didn't want to.

Your eyes met his. "I love you, Megumi. But sometimes you're such an idiot," you whispered softly. With a quick, precise motion, you applied a distinct pressure to the carotid artery in his neck. Megumi's eyes fluttered, and his body went limp, succumbing to unconsciousness in your arms.

"Yuji, can you help me out here," you called out. Yuji quickly approached, hoisting an unconscious Megumi onto his shoulders. Turning to Yuji, you added, "Tell him I'm sorry."

Yuji raised an eyebrow. "Since when can you do that?"

"It's not really the time for explanations, Yuji," you replied shortly. "No go."

With a nod, Yuji, with Megumi over his shoulders, joined the others who were about to leave the site.

You turned away, the lingering taste of Megumi's kiss still on your lips. With a heavy heart, you cast one last glance back at him. Your chest tightened. The cold air burned your cheeks, but the pain of leaving him behind was far more agonizing.

You followed Yuta through the winding paths, his movements swift and sure. Somehow, you couldn't shake the feeling that Yuta had known what would happen all along.

That Satoru had known what would happen all along.

****

"A beach house? Really?" you remarked. "This is Gojo's idea of a hideout?"

It was almost midnight when Yuta and you finally approached the so-called 'safe house' of Satoru. But it was not the secluded cabin or fortress you might have expected for a hideout. Instead, it was a modern beach house with a panoramic view of the ocean. Its sleek lines and expansive windows reflecting the moonlight as you approached.

It was nestled on a lonely stretch of beach, an hour south from Osaka, away from prying eyes and the hustle of the city. It was the literal opposite of the chaos you had just escaped.

Yuta chuckled softly. "Did you expect anything less from him? It's Gojo, after all. He never does things by halves."

A fucking beach house.

Exhaustion clung to both of you like a heavy cloak. But all you wanted was to see him. You hoped so desperately that he would be here. Your heart craved him so much—to see him, to feel him, to kiss him. But as you approached the house, it was dark inside. Your heart felt heavy again.

The inside of the house was equally impressive. Modern architecture, an open living space, and expensive furniture. It was more akin to a holiday retreat than a hideout. Certainly not suitable for the reason you were here.

Yuta led you through the house, checking each room methodically for any signs of danger. Once satisfied, he relaxed slightly, though the katana never left his side.

"Gojo probably has more hideouts like this scattered around," Yuta mused as he peered out the window, his gaze scanning the horizon. "But this one—it's special. He's particularly fond of it."

"Why's that?" you asked him, wandering over to the glass wall to take in the view of the beach. The moon cast its silver glow over the waves.

Yuta joined you, his eyes reflecting the moonlit sea. "He just bought it recently. Said it was for someone special." The room was quiet for a moment, the sound of waves gently lapping against the shore the only sound.

For a fleeting moment, you wondered for whom Satoru had bought this house for, but you quickly dismissed the thought. "We need to find a charging cable," you said, abruptly turning to rifle through the cupboard doors.

Both of your phones had died on the way here and you had no idea what had happened to the others. You wondered where they were, if they were safe. If Megumi was safe. If he was angry with you.

"Got one," Yuta announced, pulling a charging cable out of the cabinet. You moved towards him to plug in your phone when suddenly a beam of light pierced the night, illuminating the driveway leading to the beach house.

Satoru.

You could sense him. No doubt.

You didn't hesitate. Rushing towards the door, you flung it open and stepped out into the cool night air. Your heart pounded as you saw a familiar car pull up, the headlights illuminating the sand and the snow around. The engine cut, and the door opened.

Satoru Gojo stepped out, his hair slightly disheveled from the wind, his usual sunglasses in place. His striking blue eyes found you immediately, a faint smile playing on his lips. He closed the door and began walking towards you.

Your heart raced. Without a word, you stepped up to him and slapped him across the face. The sound echoed in the quiet night. "Don't you dare ever lie to me again," you said.

Satoru didn't flinch at the slap. Instead, he looked at you, his blue eyes softening. "I've missed you too," he said, the corners of his lips curling upwards. In an instant, Satoru closed the distance between you. His hand wrapped around your waist, gently but firmly, pulling you close. The world seemed to stop when his lips met yours.

It was soft at first, then more urgent as his lips explored every curve and contour, as if he had never kissed you before. His tongue traced your lips before delving in. You tasted the hint of mint on his breath, mixed with something uniquely Satoru, a taste that made your head spin. You found yourself melting into the kiss, responding with equal fervor.

Need surged through you—needing to be closer—erasing every inch of space that kept you apart. His lips moved against yours with a hunger that left no doubt that he felt the same. He kissed you as if trying to bridge the gap of time and distance that had separated you for far too long. Pouring every unspoken word and emotion into the caresses.

"Fuck—I've missed you—so—much," he murmured against your lips, each word punctuated with another passionate kiss. His hands slid up your back, pulling you even closer, if that was possible. He caught your bottom lip between his—a hungry bite that sent shivers down your spine and forced you to stifle a moan. "Missed you too," you breathed out, barely able to get the words out between the fervent dance of your tongues.

The world around you—the sound of the waves, the rustle of the wind, the distant lights of the beach house—all faded into irrelevance. There was only Satoru, his arms wrapped around you, his body pressed against yours, his heart beating in sync with your own. It felt so fucking good to be with him again. It almost made you cry.

In one smooth motion, he lifted you up, your legs wrapping around his waist instinctively. "God, you're driving me insane," he muffled against your lips before claiming your mouth as his once more. Your hands found their way into his hair, fingers weaving through the silvery strands, gripping him as if you never wanted to let go.

You felt every contour of his body against yours, the firmness of his muscles, the hurried rise and fall of his chest. "Satoru," his name escaped your lips in a moan, blending seamlessly into the heated kiss.

"Ahem."

The moment was abruptly broken by a subtle but clear throat-clearing from Yuta, reminding you both of the world beyond.

Startled, you and Satoru parted slightly, though he continued to hold you up in his arms. You both turned towards Yuta, who stood a respectful distance away, an awkward yet knowing look on his face. "Maybe we should—talk inside," he suggested.

Gently, Satoru set you back on the ground. He placed a kiss on your forehead before resting his own against yours, his breath mingling with yours. "Yeah, we should go inside," he murmured, his voice barely rising above the sound of the waves. You remained like that for a few heartbeats before his stance subtly changed.

"Why didn't you come to the airport?" he suddenly asked.

You took a small step back to meet his gaze, raising an eyebrow.

"I've sent you a million messages telling you to get to the airport. I even arranged a private jet for you," he explained, as if sending jets was an everyday occurrence.

"You sent a fucking private jet for us?"

"Yes, I was at the airport waiting for you. How on earth did you get here anyway?"

Rolling your eyes, you released a weary sigh. "Don't ask," you quickly said, not wanting to explain what a pain in the ass it was to get here without anyone seeing you, when somewhere at the airport a fucking private jet was waiting for you.

****

"So that's how it went," Satoru mused, more to himself than anyone else. Satoru leaned back against the kitchen counter, his gaze distant as he pondered the situation. You sat next to him on the counter, fighting to keep your eyes open. The day had been long and draining, and it was really starting to show.

"Who would've thought Jack would end up on our side?" Yuta, seated across from you, remarked. "We can't be sure how many sorcerers are truly aligned with Mahito at this point," he crossed his arms. "But I suspect not many will continue to follow him once they realize his true intentions."

"I wouldn't be so sure," you said. "You haven't seen the way they look at me. The sorcerer who poisoned me—I doubt they're unaware of the curses' true motives. They want me dead, regardless of the consequences. I guess they're using the curses to kill me out just as much as the curses are using them to get me. It's just about who gets me first."

Satoru flinched slightly at your words. He turned to face you, his piercing blue eyes intense even in the dim kitchen light.

"Do you intend to kill them?" Yuta's question was direct.

Before Satoru could respond, you interjected, "No, we won't." The room went quiet, all eyes on you. "We inform them of Mahito's true intentions. If they still oppose us, then we will fight them. But we won't kill sorcerers, just because they are blinded by hate."

Satoru pushed off from the counter, beginning to pace slowly. "I've killed sorcerers for far less," he muttered, his voice edged with a familiar coldness.

"We need allies, not enemies. If we can convince even a fraction of them of the real threat, it might tilt the scales in our favor," you insisted.

Satoru's pacing stopped, and faced you. "So, you plan to negotiate with them?"

"What other choice do we have?" you countered.

Yuta leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Let me handle it."

The room fell silent, Satoru and you both turning to Yuta in surprise. "You?"

"Let me negotiate with the clans," Yuta persisted. "I've worked with some of them in the past, maybe I can get them to drop their grudge against you."

"No, Yuta," you said. "I don't want you to put yourself in danger for me."

He chuckled lightly. "What's our alternative? It's either me or you and Satoru. And really, one of you is their main target and the other one is ready to kill them in an instant. I'm much more diplomatic than both of you."

Perhaps you should be offended by his words. But he was right.

"He's not wrong," Satoru admitted.

Your thoughts were abruptly shattered by the shrill ring of your phone. You spun around, heart racing, as you saw Megumi's name flashing on the screen.

Snatching the phone, you answered, "Megumi??"

"Oh thank God, are you safe? Did you reach Gojo's hideout? We've been trying to reach you," Megumi's voice was full of concern.

"I'm fine, I'm safe, Megumi. Sorry, our phones died. But don't worry about me."

You heard him release a heavy exhale over the phone. "You don't know how worried I was."

"And you? Did you make it back to the school all right?"

"Yeah, we're back, everyone's fine here. Don't worry."

You paused for a few seconds before you spoke. "Megumi, about earlier, I'm sorry—"

"I know. Don't apologize. It's okay. Getting knocked out with a kiss from you isn't the worst thing," he cut you off.

You couldn't help but smile. Suddenly he asked, "Are you with Gojo?"

"Yes, I am," you whispered.

The silence that followed was painful, every second torturous.

After a moment, Megumi's voice returned, firmer this time. "Tell Gojo to keep you safe, or I'll kill him."

"I think he knows that already," you replied, your eyes briefly glancing towards Satoru.

"You should go to sleep. It's late. Don't worry about us. We're safe within the school walls," Megumi said, his tone softening. "And you—you're safe with him."

"I know."

"You should be with him," he added, his voice low, almost inaudible.

"I know."

"Sleep well," Megumi said finally. The call ended.

You took a deep breath, trying to compose yourself. But it was in vain. The weight and exhaustion of the day became unbearable.

They're safe within the school's walls, you tried to reassure yourself. But the bitter truth was that they were only safe when you weren't there. And this realization pierced your heart like a razor blade. It tore through you, unleashing a deep, searing pain that felt almost unbearable.

You felt your eyes burning. Hastily, you rubbed your eyes, before turning back to face Satoru and Yuta again. Yet, Satoru's eyes immediately caught the tears that threatened to spill from yours.

"I can't go back. I can't see them," you whispered. Speaking the truth aloud made it even more agonizing, each word like a fresh new wound in your flesh.

"No, you can't. We both can't," Satoru said gently.

Yuta broke the silence, his voice serious. "You should stay here until I've spoken to the clans. It'll be easier to plan our next move against Mahito without additional sorcerers complicating things."

Stay here.

Away from everyone else, who are back in Tokyo.

How did everything come to this?

Separated from your friends. From your home. But it wasn't really your home. Not anymore. You weren't safe there. Weren't safe anywhere. Your heart went cold.

You averted your gaze, your hands trembling. Tears threatened to spill over. In a heartbeat, Satoru appeared by your side and wrapped his arms around you. His chin rested gently on your head as you clung to him. You were on the edge, your emotions welling up inside you, unable to contain them any longer.

Yuta, his brow knitted in thought, pondered aloud. "But this plan to use her to resurrect Sukuna—what could it possibly mean?"

Yuta's voice felt distant, your mind consumed by something else entirely. "Satoru," you muffled against his chest. "I can't go back. I can't see them. I can't—," you buried your face even deeper into his chest, fingers desperately clutching the fabric of his shirt. "I can't see them."

Satoru's embrace tightened around you, his voice dropping to a whisper, meant only for you, "I know, love. I'm sorry."

Meanwhile, Yuta delved deeper into his theories. "Is there something about her cursed technique that we've overlooked?"

"We'll figure this out. We always do," Satoru whispered close to your ear. He gently stroked the back of your head, trying to calm your trembling form.

Yuta pressed on with his analysis. "And if we consider the implications of their plan to resurrect Sukuna, it's clear that—"

"Okkotsu," Satoru interjected, his tone sharp.

Yuta, finally catching the cue, paused and looked up. It dawned on him when he saw you silently crying in Satoru's arms.

"We should call it a day," Satoru said to him.

****

The next day, you woke up late, the sunlight already streaming through the curtains. Stretching, you glanced at the clock, surprised to see it was already past noon.

Fuck.

How long had you slept?

And why did no one wake you?

You groaned. Your head hurt. Reluctantly, you slipped out of bed, still feeling the exhaustion of the previous day in your bones. Heading downstairs, your eyes wandered around the house. Yuta and Satoru were nowhere to be found.

You moved to the kitchen and immediately noticed the pleasant scent of freshly brewed coffee filling the air, drawing a small smile to your lips. Satoru must have made it for you. You poured yourself a cup from the coffee pot, feeling the warmth in your hands.

Glancing out the window, your eyes found Satoru on the porch. He was engaged in pull-ups, his muscles rippling and flexing with each movement under his tight-fitting shirt. Sipping your coffee, you watched him in silence. Then, he turned, his eyes meeting yours, and he flashed a warm smile.

Your smile widened in response. It was so normal. Him and you here. It felt like your problems and all that sorcery shit didn't exist in this world. In this house. You continued to sip your coffee, watching as he resumed his pull-ups.

Turning back to the kitchen, your gaze fell upon a disheveled pile of papers scattered across the counter. As you picked up the top sheet, you realized they were notes—detailed notes about the current situation, plans, and theories about the Mahito's next moves.

He really planned this from the start, you thought. Satoru knew everything from the start.

Then your gaze fell on a certain piece of paper. More specifically, a certain contract. A house purchase contract. With your name on it.

"Good morning, sleepy princess," Satoru's voice snapped you out of your thoughts. He stepped into the house, his hair slightly damp, probably from sweat.

You turned to face him, holding up the piece of paper. "Satoru, this better be a joke."

"What?" He shut the door behind him.

"Don't play dumb, Satoru." You waved the contract.

He glanced at the paper in your hand, his expression unfazed. "What about it?"

"It's got my name on it."

"I see that."

"Why?"

Satoru crossed the kitchen and leaned against the counter, his eyes meeting yours. "Because it's yours," he said simply, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Your frustration boiled over, evident in the way you crumpled the paper in your hand. "Satoru, you can't just go around buying houses for me!"

Satoru stepped closer, his hands prying the crumpled paper from your tight grip. "Easy, love, that's the original. I don't have another copy."

"But—why?"

"No copy machine."

"No—that's not what I mean, Satoru. Why did you buy this house for me?"

He shrugged nonchalantly. "Thought you'd like it."

You stared at him. Lost for words.

He moved closer, his eyes suddenly darkening. "Come on, just accept it," he whispered, his fingers gently brushing a strand of hair from your shoulder. He leaned in, his lips grazing your neck with a series of kisses. His breath, warm and teasing against your skin, sent shivers down your spine. "Think of it as a strategic retreat."

"And that strategic retreat had to be a house on the beach," your protest was half-hearted, quickly losing strength as he pressed you back against the counter. Your spine curved, hands gripping the edge for support. His presence enveloped you. "As if you don't like it," he teased.

His fingers wove into your hair at the nape of your neck, forcing your head back. Your breath hitched in your throat at the way he looked at you—as if he wanted to devour you whole. Heat flooded your cheeks.

"Where's Yuta, by the way?" you managed to choke out, the words barely escaping your throat.

"He left early this morning," he murmured, his voice a low rumble. He leaned closer again, his lips tracing a path along your collarbone, each kiss further weakening your knees. You arched against him, waves of heat coursing through you at his every touch.

"Wait, what?" You tried to push him away, but he didn't budge.

"He wanted to return as soon as possible to begin negotiations with the other clans," he murmured close to your skin. A rush of heat flooded through you, an addictive wave that set every nerve on fire. His mouth continued its teasing along your collarbone, each movement a deliberate, sensual provocation. You bit your lip hard, fighting to hold back a moan.

"Why didn't he stay a longer? He didn't even say goodbye—," you exhaled.

Satoru abruptly pulled back, his eyes blazing. "I don't want to talk about Okkotsu right now," he declared. He then leaned in, his lips teasingly close to yours, hovering in a breathless moment of anticipation.

You wanted to protest, but—but—It was Satoru. There was no protest to him. But you needed to ask him something—something important—didn't you?

Before you could gather your thoughts, his lips crashed against yours. His tongue swept against yours in a fervent, urgent dance. You tilted your head to deepen the kiss, inviting him to explore further. He didn't hesitate, his movements quick and passionate around your mouth, leaving you breathless. His hands found their way to your waist, his fingers splaying against your skin.

"Did I tell you how fucking beautiful you look today?" he whispered between kisses, his breath warm against your lips. His words vibrated through you, sending your heart into a race.

He sank to his knees, his hands eagerly sliding your shirt up to trail kisses along your abdomen, his lips playfully ascending your skin. A sharp breath caught in your throat, and you threw your head back, overwhelmed by the intoxicating sensation of his tongue against your skin. You moaned, calling out his name in a fervent whisper.

"Fuck, I love it when you moan my name," he murmured, his voice laced with desire. In a swift, fluid motion, he positioned himself between your thighs. His lips found the delicate fabric of your shorts, pressing against you in a kiss filled with fervent urgency.

Your fingers clenched the counter so tightly, your knuckles turned white. Waves of pleasure, hot and relentless, spiraled through your stomach. Your hips instinctively sought his mouth, moving in rhythm with his touch. "Satoru, I—" Your words dissolved into the growing intensity of the moment.

Focus.

You needed to focus.

"What love?" he asked, his fingers deftly pushing the fabric aside, his mouth finding the bare skin beneath.

Fuck.

"Satoru, I—I need you to train me," you managed to say.

He stopped abruptly and pulled back, his eyes lifting to meet yours. "What?"

"Satoru, I need you to train me with my cursed technique."

"You already have control over your technique."

"Not like I need to," you insisted.

He furrowed his brow. "What do you mean?"

"I need to be good enough to kill him—," you said. "I want to kill Mahito."

➸ continue reading part eight

a/n: thanks for reading and have a lovely day or night! ♡

#gojo saturo #saturo gojo x reader #gojo x reader #gojo x y/n #gojo x you #gojo x female reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru smut #gojo smut #satoru gojo #satoru gojo smut

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antimony-medusa · 6 months

Text

Is that— bells ringing? Keyboards clacking? The sound of two thousand stressed writers pancing furiously about the floor? Ah yes, Yuletide.

Hello. MCYTblr. I am back again.

You are looking fine today as we move towards the end of the year. Is that a new cologne you're trying? New shirt? New glasses? It's working for you. How have I been? Well.

Well.

*I smack the wall, curtains spring aside, revealing my flip chart presentation that I've had lying in wait*

It is time for me to talk to you about Yuletide again. I was here earlier during tag nominations, but it's sign-up time, and I want to make sure everybody has a change to participate in this if they want to.

What's Yuletide?

Yuletide is an annual mega-exchange for small and rare fandoms. It runs in the close of the year, with a 1000 word minimum for gifts, with gifts revealed anonymously on the 25th of December and de-anoned on the 1st of January. It is easily the biggest exchange in multi-fandom-exchange-world, and last year more than 1,350 people signed up.

Why does everyone sign up?

Well, it's tradition, for one. There are a lot of people that only do Yuletide as their big exchange every year. It's a big holiday spectacle, it's really fun to see it operate and see pinch hits come out and get nabbed in minutes, and people kind of put on their holiday outfits and turn out for it.

For another thing, if you are in a small fandom, it's the one exchange where you can actually have a shot of getting a gift for an obscure manga fandom, or an out-of-print book, or a tv show from the eighties. If your fandom has five people in it, the odds are higher than average that two of them are signing up for this exchange, and hey presto, suddenly you're matchable in your fandom for an obscure podcast.

For another, and this is the biggie, the fact that this is an exchange for small and rare fandoms has led to a certain tradition and vibe for the fandoms that people nominate. People bring their most obscure and fun ideas, going, "hehehehe wouldn't it be fun if someone wrote a story about this", and into the tag set it goes. There is SUCH a spectrum of fandoms in the tag set.

This year there are 4,263 fandoms and 16,735 characters in the tag set. Let me just skim through and look at some of them.

There are commercials, web sketches, art pieces, songs, music videos, board games, podcasts, a dizzying assortment of anthropomorphising different places, items, and ideas, and RPF from a marvelous variety of historical periods (so, y'know, historical fiction if it was published professionally). There are people who nominated tik tok sketches. Twitter threads. A bridge. Book binding techniques. You ever wanted to write a romance between Knitting and Crochet? That's in the tag set, and someone wants to prompt you to do that. Happy Yuletide.

So if you are at all the sort of person who likes a prompt challenge, BOY is this one just a MARVELOUS one. I know I personally am going to be signing up for Humans are Space Orcs (tumblr post) and Fandom Exchanges (Anthropomorphic) amid my more traditional fandoms.

And as for my more traditional fandoms, and the reason why this post has the tags it does (I would get to it eventually)— there is a lot of MCYT in the tag set! I put out a post saying GUYS, the smaller fandoms might apply for this, and BOY did people show up for it. I scanned through it, and the MCYT (and adjacent) that made it in is:

Karmaland SMP

Legacy SMP

Lifesteal SMP

Moonlight SMP

New Life SMP

Outsiders SMP

Rats SMP

SMPEarth

SMPLive

Witchcraft SMP

Pirates SMP

Mianite

Slimecicle Cinematic Universe

SBI Rust

Generation Loss

You could make an entire sign up, 3 minimum requests and 4 minimum requests, and only select MCYT fandoms. The wild thing is that you can only select a max of 10 fandoms to offer, so you actually couldn't offer all of the MCYT. ZombieCleo Witchraft SMP is in. Tommyinnit SMPEarth. Clownpierce Lifesteal. Tubbo SBI Rust. Oli Rats SMP. A wealth of options for the block folks.

So come, join me! What's that? You say this sounds excellent, you're in? You want to know how to sign up? Well this post is already long enough so I'm putting the rest below a cut.

You sign up on the collection here, using fandoms listed in the tagset here. Before you do so though, I'd recommend you check out the blog, especially their "how to sign up" post here, because even if you're used to exchanges, the way Yuletide works is a little bit different. Let me do a quick breakdown here.

Requests

# of Fandoms

You have to select a minimum of 3 fandoms that you are Requesting (a gift that you want made for you), up to a maximum of 6 fandoms. Each fandom has to be unique. For each fandom, you can request between 0 to 4 characters in that fandom, and 0 means "literally you can hit me with anybody", and the up-to-4 characters are the people you definately want to show up in the fic.

AND MATCHING

This is one of the things that Yuletide does differently, because most fandom exchanges do "or" matching, where they match you on either characer A OR character B, (maybe you only offered character B) and you can pick among any of the selected characters on the person's request to write for. Because Yuletide does AND matching, you will only be matched if you offered every single one of the characters the person has selected, and then you get to write for every single one they have listed in their fandom, unless they say differently in their letter. If they requested character A and Character B, you get to deliver a gift that includes them both, according to the rules.

Bu like, in practice, a lot of people are a bit more like "you can pick only one of these guys if you'd like", because that is how everyone is used to things running in most other exchanges, plus people don't want to be too picky, so you can specify in your letter if you definately 100% want characters A, B, and C, or if you're fine with just A, or just A and C, or whatever constellation of characters you're chill with.

This year they have added optional freeform tags you will click on, that will specify either A) use every single one of these guys I selected. B) I have specified in my letter which guys I need for sure and which ones you can swap, C) Dealer's Choice Of Guys Go Crazy.

DNW and Optional Details

Yuletide is an "Optional Details Are Optional" (ODAO) exchange, so technically you could request (or receive) an offer that just has the characters and then you get to go absolutely buckwild for the two month writing period. Most people, however, do not want to do that, so that is where you'll put in Do Not Wants (anything that would ruin the gift for you, from major archive warnings to kinks that you don't vibe with to headcanons you loathe), and some prompts and/or likes for your person to jump off of.

DNWs absolutely must be abided by, and breaking a person's DNW is grounds for getting turfed from the exchange. Following a person's prompts or lists of likes is technically optional, but definately best practice, and y'know, part of the whole spirit of the exchange. Most people are doing their best to adhere to both the DNW and the Optional Details when they do their gift.

You can just format your DNW and Optional Details on the Ao3 signup page (easy, fast), or you can link them offsite in a letter (fancy, you can do formatting, people do them in google docs or dreamwidth pages (the traditional and more accessible option)). There's a tradition of people posting their letter links here, so that people can get an idea for what sort of prompts and signups people are offering, and make sure they're matchable to people with especially fun ideas. Note: you do have to duplicate the data if you're doing a letter, cause if you put your DNW in your letter but NOT in your Ao3, the mods won't enforce it.

And while we're here, that last link is to a community blog that includes a place where you can promo your fandoms to lure people into signing up for your guys, or participate in mini-challenges within yuletide for people who specificially want poly relationships (Three Doves Challenge), or characters of colour (Chromatic Yuletide), or horror/darkfic (Crueltide), or smut (Yuleporn), or art (Wrapping Paper), or even more. There's even a poetry challenge!

Offers

# of Fandoms

You have to sign up with a minimum of 4 fandoms, to a maximum of 10, for fandoms you are Offering (a gift you are willing to make). You must offer at least 2 characters for each fandom, to a maximum of 20— but there's also an "any" tick box if you want to go full "hit me, I like a challenge" and you'll write anything (in the tag set) within a fandom. Each of your fandoms must be unique.

Writing Period:

Signups are open through the 21st, with assignments out by the 23rd, and then you have until the 18th of December to deliver your gift.

Important Notes

You must be 18 or over to participate in Yuletide (because you might be matched with someone who requests smut), and signups close on 9pm UTC on Saturday, 21 October.

There's a known issue where the safari browser isn't letting people sign up properly, (when you get an exchange this big sometimes things break), so they say to either sign up on mobile or use a different browser. So that will be fun for me.

And that's it! Yuletide! Just under a week left to sign up, and 351 people have signed up as I write this letter at 1:30am. I just refreshed it and now it's 352. You can sign up on the Ao3 page here!

JOIN ME EXCHANGES SUCH FUN LETS GO.

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loveissupernatural · 2 years

Text

**read chapter 1 here** - **read chapter 2 here** - **read chapter 3 here** - **read chapter 4 here**

Morpheus/Dream x fem!reader

In Your Dreams

Chapter 5

“Life is a sleep and love is its dream; and you have lived if you have loved.”

-Alfred de Musset

The following day felt longer than you would have liked. You were anxious for the sun to set, and with it, the answers that would quench the fire of burning curiosity in your mind. Why was the heart of The Dreaming rotting away? Why were you able to escape the borders of your dream and travel there, and why was Lucienne so obviously disturbed by it? Where was Dream? But, most importantly, why did you feel the need to be there in the first place? Why couldn’t you come to terms with this entire experience for the incredible magical adventure that it was and just let it go?

Even though you were filled with more questions than ever before, you could feel in the deepest recesses of your soul that the solutions to all of them lay in The Dreaming.

Your enthusiasm to return to the palace caused you to have trouble falling asleep for the first hour that night. The castle was your new Burgess house – mysteries hid there that tickled at your insides, that whispered to you in the darkness of the night to uncover them.

Finally, after tossing and turning, your eyes fluttered closed and stayed that way. Shifting shapes whirled behind your eyelids, flitting from corner to corner, until they gently settled into the outline of a horizon. A warm sun began to rise and filtered light onto the dark line, illuminating the scene for you. You instantly recognized the scent of poppies on the breeze.

That fragrant wind whipped through your hair lovingly, like the soft fingers of a curious child, swirling around your form. You spun with it, arms outstretched, grinning from ear to ear. How you wished with everything within your heart that this place was real, that this is where you could spend the waking hours of your life.

You opened your shining eyes to see the parting gate of horn and ivory before you. You hadn’t even needed to start the journey within the confines of your own dream this time – you were already here. Your path of glinting black and gold marble was still below your feet, humming with welcoming warmth.

You couldn’t contain your happiness when the dividing gates revealed a view to you that had shifted from the night before. The stretches of murky water were trickling into a singular crystal river, sparkling blue and immense. Where unforgiving rock and dark sand had suffocated the landscape, beautiful blades of grass and stretches of green ferns were beginning to emerge. You recognized your favorite flower, blooming white poppies, dancing in the breeze on the riverside. An enormous bridge was sliding into place over the river, cradled by gargantuan stone hands that surfaced from the crystal water.

Creatures were returning, beautiful and terrifying alike, flying through the milky blue sky and snaking through the growing grass around your feet. The air was no longer choked with an eerie silence; insects buzzed, water rushed, citizens of The Dreaming were laughing.

Life.

You followed the massive bridge of stone to the center, where the once-crumbling palace was being rebuilt in the gleam of glorious sunlight. Fallen walls and castle turrets were reassembling themselves brick by brick with meticulous accuracy, as if someone had hit rewind. Rusting spires were shedding their coat of orange muck and shining gold. Magnificent archways were mending their own cracks and rising tall, transforming from ashy grey to glimmering white.

The heart of The Dreaming was returning to its former glory. Pure joy blossomed in your chest like the rosebuds of a vine that was bending around the pillars of the bridge.

You walked into the castle entryway, still grinning like a fool, as you looked up and watched every shard of broken glass and every crushed stone float into the air and return to their homes. A beautiful stained-glass window was mending directly above your head. The colorful fragments gradually slid together to form the image of a Pegasus, and as the last piece fell into place, it sprang to life, neighing triumphantly and beating its wings.

“Not too shabby, huh?” came a proud voice from behind you.

You spun to see a tall scarecrow-like figure with the head of a pumpkin approaching you. His face was the cut of a jack-o-lantern, crooked mouth pulling up at the corner in a tilted smile. He stopped by your side and put his branch-like hands on his thin hips, gazing up appreciatively at the work of glass art. You tried not to stare too rudely at him.

You turned your head back toward the magnificent window, now casting rays of colored sunlight onto you and your Halloween-like companion.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” you replied truthfully.

He grunted in agreement, then looked down at you. His triangular eyes narrowed.

“Hey, ya know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you around these parts before,” he said. “You new?”

Your lips upturned at his gutteral New York accent. “Yeah, you could say that.”

“Lotsa new folks all around this joint today,” he said, shaking his large head in amusement. “Guess that’s what happens when ya hammer a few nails and splash on a fresh coat a’ paint—everyone comes back to tha neighborhood.”

“It does look pretty inviting,” you agreed, turning to face him. You stuck out your hand. “I’m Y/N.”

The pumpkin-headed man stuck out his wooden hand and shook yours firmly. “I’m Mervyn, but everybody calls me Merv.”

“Hi, Merv.”

He chuckled and crossed his arms. “Well, considerin’ you bein’ new and all, why don’t I give ya a bit of a tour? It wouldn’t be my first one today.”

“I would love that,” you beamed, resisting the urge to clasp your hands together like a schoolgirl. Merv nodded and turned, motioning with his stick-like hand.

“Well, then, c'mon.”

He walked like a puppet would without strings, you thought, as you followed behind him. You struggled to keep up with his long strides. Mervyn led you through a hallway that had one wall built while the opposite was still floating together. One piece of stone almost hit him in the head on its way back to its appointed position, and he cursed at it.

Once through the hallway, you turned into a winding staircase that glinted with intricate gold. As you followed Merv’s spindly legs up the flight, you appreciated the view to your left of an assembling tower. After a few more steps, you reached the top.

“First things first, here’s our pride and joy,” Mervyn announced grandiosely, spreading out his arms for dramatic emphasis. Your jaw dropped. “This is the library.”

The room was warm wood, cozy sunlight, and beckoning shelves that stretched on for as far as the eye could see. Books were everywhere, of every size, color, and age. You ran your finger along a nearby shelf, tickling their spines. Some looked thousands of years old, others as if they’d come off the press minutes before.

“How many books are in here?” you asked in wonder, turning in a full circle to better take in the view.

“A helluva lot,” Mervyn answered slyly. “To tell you the truth, I’m not the one you should ask. Lucienne’s the librarian in charge.”

At the sound of her name, the woman that you had met the night before emerged from behind a nearby cascade of bookshelves. Her eyes smiled at Mervyn, but then they settled onto you.

Lucienne’s face paled.

“You’ve returned,” she breathed, striding toward the two of you with a haste in her step, “and so soon.”

“Oh, you’ve met before?” Mervyn asked, eyes shifting between the librarian and yourself.

“We have,” you told him, trying to make sure your grin didn’t turn into a grimace.

“Just last night, in fact,” Lucienne added. Her perceptive gaze wandered over your nervous form.

“Last night?” Merv repeated incredulously. He motioned over his shoulder. “But the boss hadn’t even started rebuilding yet! How’d she—?”

“A question we all would like to know,” Lucienne answered, fixing you with a penetrating stare over the top of her round glasses. She clasped her hands behind her back expectantly.

“Hey, I’d like to know too,” you said defensively. You crossed your arms, but then dropped them to your sides, not wanting to come off as defiant. “I’ve already told you everything that I know.”

“Lucienne, who is this?” Mervyn asked curiously, pointing a thumb at you.

The librarian sighed heavily but her eyes softened. Her tone was gentle, appreciative. “This, Mervyn, is the young lady that released Lord Morpheus from his prison.”

“No kiddin’?! That was you?!” he questioned unabashedly, shock evident in his wide eye sockets.

You shrugged, not a fan of the intense attention. “Well, yeah… but it’s really not that big of a deal…”

“Not that big of a deal?” Mervyn repeated, voice dripping in astonishment. “Are you kiddin’ me? This place would still be fallin’ apart if it wasn’t for you!”

“That’s why everything looked the way that it did the last time I came?” you asked Lucienne. “Because Dream wasn’t here?”

She nodded somberly. “He was captured for nearly a century and was unable to return. Everything was dissipating, disappearing… it cannot exist without him. He is The Dreaming.”

“But it’s been over a week since I helped him escape,” you said, confused. “Where has he been all of that time?”

“Lord Morpheus was traveling the realms on a quest to reobtain his tools.”

Something hopeful fluttered in your chest. Those nights where you’d been calling out to him and he hadn’t shown himself… it wasn’t because he was ignoring you, it was because he wasn’t even there in the first place.

“Look, uh… I hate to interrupt this conversation,” Merv cut in, scratching the back of his pumpkin head uncomfortably, “but… shouldn’t we tell the boss that she’s here?”

Joy sparked in your chest at his words.

Lucienne hesitated. “There’s still so many questions that remain unanswered. We don’t know how or why she is able to leave her dreams, let alone create a path from their border and through the waters to the palace.”

Mervyn didn’t have eyebrows, but if he did, you were sure he would be raising them in surprise.

“I didn’t have to use the path this time,” you told her, biting your lip. “I just kind of started at the gate.”

“You materialized here, in the heart of The Dreaming?” she clarified, voice filled with bewilderment and cut with that undertone of concern again.

“That ain't normal,” Mervyn shook his head.

“It appears that each time you fall asleep, you are somehow able bypass steps that you’ve previously taken,” she said thoughtfully, almost to herself. “You’re no longer appearing within the boundaries of your own dreams.”

An excited smile pulled at your lips. “Cool.”

“No, no, not ‘cool’,” Lucienne admonished, turning from you and Mervyn to start rifling through a stack of books resting on a nearby table. “This behavior is quite abnormal, even for a lucid dreamer such as yourself.”

“Lucid dreamer, ‘ay?” Merv inquired, crossing his reedy arms over his chest and leaning back against the shelf behind him. “Not too many a’ you guys left no more.”

“Really?”

“They’ve become exceedingly rare,” Lucienne confirmed, finally picking out a book from the pile. “Consistently lucid dreamers existed more commonly thousands of years ago. Now, well…” her eyes roamed over your confused face “…you’re the first I’ve seen in, at least, a millennium.”

“You always been able to do that?” Mervyn asked you. “Change stuff around?”

“Since I can remember,” you shrugged, pulling out a chair at the ornate table in front of you and sitting. “I’d sleep the day away just to keep dreaming.”

“But roaming through the dreamscape, you said last night that you had only just started?” the librarian asked, peering over the edge of the thick book in her hands. She joined you at the table.

Something caught your eye. The book that Lucienne had plucked from the bunch was bound in black with two golden words emblazoned on the cover: your first and last name.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, what’s that?” you questioned enthusiastically, scooting your chair closer to her. “My name’s on there!”

A proud smile creeped onto the head librarian’s face. “This library contains every story ever written and unwritten, finished or unfinished, everything that has been and will never be.” She tapped the hard cover of your book with a manicured nail. “And this is yours.”

“Wow,” you sighed, resting your chin on your palm. Lucienne’s smile grew at your awestruck expression. “So, what all is in there about me?”

“Everything,” she answered simply.

You gulped. “Like, everything everything?”

She laughed. It was a harmonious sound.

“Relax, even your most embarrassing of moments pale in comparison to many of the things I read every day,” she assured you, eyes twinkling with amusement. She became serious again. “I thought it advantageous to find your book after your unexpected visit last night. I had to be sure that you weren’t a threat to The Dreaming.”

Your smile fell. “I’m – I’m not. I don’t want to be a threat to anybody.”

Lucienne sighed, expression trickling with pity.

“I know those aren’t your intentions. But the fact remains that your recent abilities are those that no mortal should possess.”

“Don’t worry, kid,” Merv said, standing from his perch against the bookcase to lean against your table instead. He grinned crookedly at you. “We’ll get this figured out. If anyone can sniff out what’s goin’ on here, it’s Lucienne.”

You let out a shaky breath, nodding. The thought of being some kind of danger to this beautiful place rattled you. All you had wanted was to find Morpheus, to make sure everything turned out okay after you released him. After all, being imprisoned against your will for a hundred years had to be traumatic for anyone, right? Even the King of Dreams?

You had more selfish reasons, too, but those would stay private.

Suddenly, a voice called out.

It echoed into the large room, gentle but authoritative, soft but commanding respect. With a wave of warmth washing over your skin, you knew that you would recognize that beautiful sound anywhere.

“Lucienne,” his voice called, “I believe it is time we review the findings from the census.”

All three of you froze in place.

The King of Dreams emerged from the nearest aisle, graceful stride filled with purpose. He donned all black, a sweeping floor length coat flowing behind him as he walked, regal. His alabaster skin almost seemed to glow against his dark attire. His hair was as black as his clothing, still so gloriously messy and wild.

He was in his element, thriving and flourishing in a way that radiated from his very being. This was his domain.

Morpheus’s icy blue eyes moved from Lucienne to Mervyn. Then, they locked onto you.

Your breath hitched as you stood, chair screeching back noisily. That feeling, that delicious humming in your bones, it was different here, more alive. It was starlight sparking in your spine. He stood at least ten feet away, impossibly still, but you could feel his presence as strongly as you would if he were inches from you. Time stood still.

A myriad of emotions flickered through his fathomless eyes at the sight of you, none of which you could place, but whatever they were made the air in the library thick. Your eyes drank in his face and his roamed yours, penetrating but swirling with something soft.

Mervyn cleared his throat uncomfortably. It just then occurred to you that you had no idea how long the two of you had been standing like that, staring at each other.

The sound seemed to bring Dream back to himself.

“Lucienne. Mervyn. Leave us,” he commanded quietly, but he didn’t look at them. His intense gaze never once broke from yours.

Their replies came quickly and in hushed tones, almost as if embarrassed.

“Of course, sir.”

“Sure thing, boss.”

They scurried away with heads down. As they reached the exit to the library, you could hear Mervyn mutter, “Well, talk about some tension...”

Morpheus blinked at the comment, but you didn’t miss the almost-imperceptible smirk that tugged at one corner of his lips. He was still staring at you.

With a smile that revealed every whisper of your heart, you broke the silence.

“Hi.”

Dream took a slow step toward you, measured. Then another. The curtain of dark lashes framing his endless eyes fluttered as he took you in, gaze roaming to your feet and back up again.

“Hello.” His voice was velvet.

You swallowed, begging the blush that you could feel creeping up your neck to go away. Couldn’t you have at least one interaction with him without your body betraying you? You felt like a fucking teenager.

“You, um, never answered my question,” you said, taking a step toward him as well. One of his dark brows rose. “You put me to sleep first. Rude, by the way.”

His smirk wasn’t nearly as well-hidden now.

“My deepest apologies. And what question would that be?”

You took another step closer, still not breaking eye contact. You clasped the back of a chair with one hand to ground yourself.

“You’re… you are alright, then?” you asked quietly. For the smallest of moments, his eyes betrayed everything. He was touched by your concern.

“You have journeyed through The Dreaming, to the heart of my realm, simply to ask after my well-being?”

His voice held an undercurrent of emotion, but he attempted to hide it with the slightest lilt of tease.

A playful glint sparkled in your eye. “Well, I did play spy for over a month just to get into that basement. What’s a desert and an ocean or two?”

The mischievous gleam in his eyes was shuttered by the weight of your words. It seemed that once Morpheus got past the initial surprise of seeing you there, the same realization dawned on him that concerned Lucienne.

“You traveled through the outer lands of The Dreaming,” he stated, brows furrowed in unease. “You left the confines of your dream and found yourself here?”

The general trepidation from everyone surrounding your ability to leave your dream world disturbed you. You saw it as a gift, but it seemed to be one that you were not meant to have. You let out a sigh.

“I created a path,” you told him. “It took me through the desert and through an ocean… and then I ended up on that dock out there.” You tilted your chin toward the windows. “The path ended at the gates, and when I touched them, they opened. Then I came here.”

Morpheus was close now, taking in every word you that escaped your lips with rapt attention. His powerful stare was not angry, but perplexed. His eyes were swimming with anxious confusion.

“How is this possible?” he whispered to himself. His pale hand rose, ever so slowly, to ghost the line of your jaw. The touch was barely there, so very brief, but it left tingling chills in its wake. He examined your every feature, searching for the answer. “For you are not a vortex.”

For a moment, you’d forgotten how to speak, mind still reeling from the fact that he had just touched you, and that it felt so indescribable. His fingers had barely brushed an inch of skin, but that starlight sparkling in your spine had overtaken every nerve ending.

“Vortex?” you asked when you found your voice. Your eyebrows came together. “What’s a vortex?”

To your dismay, Dream stepped away from you. He turned toward the table where you were previously sitting with Lucienne and Mervyn, delicate fingers flipping through the many volumes that were stacked over its surface. His hands settled on a red hardback, lifting it so that you could read the gold lettering on the cover.

“Rose Walker,” he replied, face impassive.

At your obvious confusion, Dream stepped back and motioned with a graceful hand toward the archway where Lucienne and Mervyn had disappeared moments before.

“Where are we going?” you asked, walking in the direction he indicated.

Morpheus was tall at your side, right hand ghosting the small of your back, featherlight. The stars in your backbone twinkled at the touch.

His voice was euphonious when he bent to your ear.

“Follow me.”

**read chapter 6 here

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fatallyfalling · 5 months

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Bitter Water 0.00 ~ ♆

“ Let the Reaping of the 67th annual Hunger Games begin, “

warnings: typical Hunger Games violence/trauma/themes, language, blood, injury, insinuation of forced prostitution, enemies to lovers, slow burn, etc.

{{ word count }} 2.6 k

{{ prompt }} Panem is cruel - bloodthirsty even. Every year twenty-four children must fight to the death as a sick form of entertainment. Today is the 67th annual reaping in the seaside District 4 - may the odds be ever in your favor.

{{ a/n }} Warning there’s a lot of exposition for what i think life in District 4 would be like though it may not sound 100% accurate to the canon ideation! I did way too much research on District 4’s presumed location and the general pacific northwest seafaring system for accuracy. This chapter is a lot of scene setting to reference later on top of the reaping occurring - please enjoy !

The Pacific-Northwestern region of Panem was home to District 4. Otherwise known as the “Fishing District”.

Most of its citizens are concentrated directly on or near the salty coast of the sea, working the many sailboats or on the bustling ports that harbored them. Children of the district learn to help from an early age, shucking oysters and various mussels or helping their mothers weave and repair nets for the local fishermen. Everyone smelled of the sea - fresh air, sea salt, and a damp pine, with sand clinging to their shoes and linen clothes.

Though a majority of the year brought overcast skies and rainy weather, the better parts of mid-July through late August were filled with warm, sticky sunshine and cloudless skies. Come autumn and winter, cold snaps and heavier rain storms were regular visitors, with many homes donning rain barrels to collect the excess liquid to be boiled down for drinking or bathing. The northernmost edge of the District sometimes saw snow, bringing ice fishing and skating to measured popularity amongst locals.

The port towns were anything but sleepy. Community in a constant hustle and bustle while watching out for one another in tandem with the intense seafaring labor. Days spent on the beach were filled with tugboat horns, captain's orders, and elated shrieks of children wading in the spray of the ocean. There was always a game of who could find the best cliff to dive from, or conch shell to hear the distant whispers of waves inside and whatnot. A group of older kids developed a make-believe currency of sand dollar bits to trade wooden beads, small clusters of natural quartz, seashells, rope bracelets, and more to entertain the younglings on an outcropping speckled in tide pools on the rocky shore.

More often than not, a walk down the boardwalk as dusk neared brought warm golden lights flooding from old taverns with deep, joyous shanties of the past and banter amongst hardworking sailors merging with joyous whoops and hollers of young women and barmaids. Everyone knew one another like family, and the seaside town practically breathed on its own with the rolling push and pull of the tide.

However, the Fishing District was silent today.

Waves crashed on the beach as boats creaked in their ports. Scarred wooden tavern signs wailed in the eerie breeze on salt-rusted chains. The absence of sound in the sand swept cobble streets was almost unsettling. There’s only one day a year that invokes such an abrupt halt in District 4’s beating heart.

The annual Reaping of one female and male Tribute set to compete in a fight to the death against twenty two other children from the districts all for the Capital’s sick reminder of what rebellion once cost the “great nation” of Panem.

The Hunger Games.

You knew the odds were never in anyone's 'favor'.

“It’s fine. Everything - everything is going to be fine…”

The repeated mantra is barely a whisper under your breath as you make a futile attempt the smooth the front of your lightweight, sage colored ensemble. There was a tremor in your fingertips. The idea of getting cleaned up like this just to attend your own prospective funeral made your stomach twist painfully. Tucking a few stray hairs behind your ears and a deep sigh through your nose, you take one last look in the foggy mirror on your dresser before making your way out to the main room of your home.

Although the Fourth District was deemed wealthy among the remaining 12, your seaside cottage was quaint - and quite a ways from the beach, in all honesty. The home was small, if not cozy. The outside wooden panels were worn with smears of grey from age due to the weather, paired with a tin slabbed roof that allowed every raindrop to be heard throughout the house when it rained. The inside wasn't much better. Little furniture adorned the household and appeared washed out in the summer light. Ivory walls were marked with the mayhem of childhood and clumsy hands. The large main room held a mantle and hearth with a makeshift stove built in and a rickety dark stained wood table with four chairs connecting to a barebones bathroom and two bedrooms. There were fixtures and switches for lights but no electricity. Candles were placed where lightbulbs would be for nights when the hearth wasn't keeping the house warm.

"Come on, we've got to get moving, or we'll be late."

You groaned as the younglings, twin boys with hair like your father's, sat on the oval roving rug you had finished braiding two springs prior. "You were supposed to get them washed up." You quip towards the older man seated at the worn-out table. His only reply is a gruff rumble as you scoff, stooping to rub soot off the boy's cheeks with your thumbs. They burst into giggles, and you can't help the tight-lipped smile that crosses your lips.

You tried to be patient with your father. There had been too much loss in recent years, but it wasn't an excuse to neglect his boys. You had enough trouble picking up the slack as it was, from taking extra hours on the shipyard and staying up late mending sails like your mother used to. She passed away some years ago. There had been complications delivering the twins, and there wasn't anything the midwife you'd called could have done. It left your father resigned to himself, taking up more time at the nearby tavern than on the shipyard hauling crates due for the Capital. A foolish miscalculation and one too many drinks ended up costing him his dominant hand and forearm in a freak accident at the port.

To say you had fallen on hard times would be an understatement. It was more akin to plummeting down one of the tall cliffsides bordering the port and smacking face-first into the water like concrete.

Eventually, you managed to wrangle the little rascals into their shoes and straighten the collars of their matching olive-green tunics. Hoisting one onto your back with a huff, you tried to calm the drumming of your racing heart. Your father stood with another grunt and shrugged on a deep brown leather coat to cover what was left of his arm. Allowing the other half of the youngling pair to weave their fingers through his, your father offered a firm nod in your direction, and the four of you set out toward town.

Looking back on that moment, you regret not taking in that quaint little cottage one last time.

The trek to town was about a mile or two. The beat down from the summer sun brought sweat to your brow and the nape of your neck, forcing you to set down the toddler on your back halfway. "I know it's hot, but we have to keep going," You cooed when the pair began complaining about the lengthy trip. This would be the first Reaping they might remember, not to mention the first they weren't in diapers for. You'd done your best to keep them healthy, sometimes at the expense of yourself, but it was worth all the risk in the world.

With a little more commentary from the twins, the tall brick clock tower above the judicial complex at the center of town came into view above the pine trees, and you let out a shuddering breath that made your chest squeeze. "Almost there," You muttered. Averting your gaze to the dirt path under your feet. The sun was almost at its peak when you converged with the lines of other citizens. Many reeked of sweat and body order, having traveled through most of yesterday and this morning to get to the Reaping on time.

You didn't allow your fear to show more than a tightness in your jaw as you gripped your siblings tight in an almost bone-crushing hug. You refused to say goodbye as it felt like admitting defeat before the duel with death had even begun. After a few long moments, you heard the automated voices of Peacekeepers in stark white uniforms and government-ordered guns slung across their chests, and you had to let go. "I'll come back in just a few minutes," You promised, though your voice felt meek and caught in your throat. Ruffling their hair and sparking a fit of spritely laughter, you lifted your gaze to the hardened eyes of your father. "See you soon."

"See you soon."

Another brief, tight-lipped smile, and you forced yourself to turn away and join the other prospective tributes for check-in. Families were forced to remain in a balcony above the judicial complex due to such a large population and past "complications" from reaped children's family members. Anxiety and anticipation brought a tension thick enough to be cut by a knife through the courtyard of people. Wetting your lips following a thick swallow, you tried not to focus too much on the looming Peacekeepers overseeing the procession. When it was your turn to check in, you didn't stutter when asked for your name but scrunched your nose as they pricked your finger, squeezing to pool the blood before pressing it into the paper list and scanning with a device that flashed green. "Next!" The peacekeeper barked, shooing you away with a wave of their hand. Your gaze danced around the all too familiar formation of children as you fell in line with the older Tributes.

You were led in groups through a few back hallways before being brought into a widely open auditorium. Floor-to-ceiling windows lined the back wall with long Red capital banners hung on the dividing stone pillars. Clenching your trembling hands into fists, your fingernails digging into your palms, you tried again to steady your racing heart as it pounded against your ribcage.

Things were going to be fine.

Another thick swallow forced its way down your throat, and you sucked your bottom lip between your teeth. The anxious habit often left your bottom lip puffy, if not bleeding from the repetitive action, but you couldn't help it. Shuffling into place to stand in rows and columns with the other prospective Tributes, you had to will yourself not to look anywhere but ahead. You couldn't break till this was all over. It was a long process to get everyone inside. But once the large wooden doors behind you slammed shut with a contagious shudder shifting through the crowd, you knew this was it.

The deafening cry of an unfocused microphone wails through the room, causing your nose to scrunch and your head to lean into your shoulder in discomfort. A stocky, overdressed Capital escort appears on the short stage made of stone to match the rest of the auditorium. They release a small gasp at the noise and allow a brief dismissal before tapping the microphone twice, the poor device exerting two loud "thumps" for good measure. Clearing their throat with a phlegmy cough, the escort begins a crawl of lines that were evidently rehearsed and regurgitated the same way every year to every district.

"Welcome, welcome! Happy Hunger Games!"

The escort's tone is elated, making you feel sick at the pride they seem to take in their position. Your jaw set in place as they continued their spiel.

"Before we begin, I'd like to share this wonderful message from our dear President and our beloved Capital!" They exclaim while gesturing to a letter they seem to pull from thin air. A small "shink" whispers through the mic as the letter is opened. The escort pulls a sheet of parchment out, discarding the envelope in a dramatic toss behind themselves and another phlegmy cough before reading the page.

"Dear Prospective Tributes,"

"It is an honor as the President of Panem to welcome you all to the annual Reaping for this year's Hunger Games. As you all have learned from birth. War, destruction, and rebellion have brought great shame to our nation. A shame that runs so deep that our Districts must be reminded of the consequences and retribution that rebellion costs. War brings death. War brings dead children, dead mothers, dead sisters, and dead brothers. To raise war against your Capital, which has provided you all you've ever needed, is treacherous. To bring war against your home is treason. These Games preserve our past. And these Games protect our future."

Signed, President Coriolanus Snow."

There isn't a single round of applause that rolls through the crowd once the escort finishes reciting the letter. The letter has been identical at every Reaping you've attended since you were twelve. The silence in the auditorium is loud enough to hear a pin drop. Your palms grow warm as blood slowly seeps from where your nails dig in, but you don't bother to take notice.

"Well then, if all is said and done, we shall now move on to selecting our two wonderful tributes who will hold the greatest honor of representing District 4 in the 67th annual Hunger Games. As always, ladies shall go first." The escort exclaims once more, accompanying animated waves of their gloved hands towards the pristine crystal fishbowls on either side of the stage. Both bowls are brimming with slips of paper. Your heartbeat thrums in your ears now.

Everything is going to be fine.

The escort all but skips their way to the crystal mouth of death on the right side of the stage. Your heart feels like it might as well burst out of your chest and splatter against the backs of those in front of you. Your eyes are glued ahead as the escort makes a show of sifting their gloved fingers through the name slips for what feels like an eternity. At last, a slip is chosen in a dramatic swipe up into the air to be displayed to the crowd.

The anticipation is suffocating.

The escort comes back to center stage, coughing into the microphone again as they peel away the black seal of the name.

As the chosen name booms through the auditorium, it's as if you're suddenly underwater. But you can't be underwater because you're standing still, and nothing's wet.

The name booms through the open room again.

This time, you're shocked out of your thoughts at the recognition.

It's your name.

You have been chosen as the female Tribute for the 67th annual Hunger Games.

You barely register the prod of a gun at your back or the jab to your side to force you out of line towards the stage.

This really was going to be your funeral, and you couldn't stop it.

A wail rips apart the blanket of silence as one of the twin younglings cries out for you. On instinct, your head whips towards the cry, but your temple connects with the butt of a gun, and you're knocked to the concrete below. Somehow, a sound akin to a growl emits itself from your throat on your hands and knees as you force yourself to stand back up. Your head throbs with white hot pain from the contact point, but a bitter, spiteful decision solidifies itself in your mind as you're led towards the jaws of certain death on that stage.

You will not die.

@emerald-09 @reader-bookling123 @finnickodaddy

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zanarkandskylines · 2 months

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Hollow Heart { chapter 3 - choke }

『♡』 pro-hero fem!reader x pro-hero bakugo ╰➤ ꒰ pro-heroes au | friends to lovers ꒱ ♡ katsuki bakugo masterlist ♡

summary: you have zero clue where you are after your abduction. white walls, medical instruments, the smell of rust, and hazy memories are all that keep you company during your time in the mystery lab. the horrors that lurk between these steel walls are going to give you nightmares for an eternity. all you can think about is getting home to your best friends and family, back to the life you sorely missed. tags & warnings: mentions of blood/violence, eventual & mild smut, kidnapping/abduction, experimentation, physical & psychological torture, PTSD, implied/referenced self harm, cursing, talks of trauma | angst with happy ending, emotional hurt/comfort, regret, mutual pining, friends to lovers, insomnia, eventual romance a/n: To all of you who have stopped to read this fic, thank you so much! This was my jump back into writing after almost a decade. I appreciate every single one of you!! ꒰ Ao3 version | word count; 13,885k as of ch.3 ꒱ Main Post Chapter 1 | Hurricane [5,092k] Chapter 2 | The Ghost of You [4,799k] Chapter 3 | Choke [3,995k] Chapter 4 | The Grey Chapter 5 | The Good Left Undone Chapter 6 | Tourniquet Chapter 7 | There is Fear in Letting Go 『♡』 this fic has a playlist! ✩

CHAPTER THREE: CHOKE

Day One (?)

Metallic rust.

That's all you could taste when you awoke from your drugged slumber, the world stuck in a haze as you hummed in discontent.

Where the hell am I?

The thought muddled in your head as you attempted to gauge your surroundings. The numbness in your limbs from earlier had been replaced with a new sensation - your body feeling too heavy for your bones to carry.

Did someone strap a weight to your shoulders and ankles?

You rotate your head sluggishly to see an all white and gray room, one singular door directly ahead of where you sat. There's a metal table in the corner with a few machines - you can't seem to determine what their purposes are. On your left, a surgical instruments table sits ominously, a few bloody bandages and an empty syringe splayed across it.

There's a sudden pulse in your head that rattles your brain, the train of thought you had derailing instantly. Glimpses of memories begin to spark in your mind - Bakugo's anguished expression as you drifted out of consciousness, an unknown number of hands removing your hero suit and belongings, cold steel of an operating table touching your bare skin, the ungodly amount of poking and prodding of your delicate skin with needles of all shapes and sizes, and a glass enclosure.

How are you remembering all of this if you weren't even conscious for the majority of it?

As if to answer your silent question, a doctor enters the room - what you presume is a doctor, anyways, by the looks of his white surgeon coat and stethoscope around his neck.

"Good morning. Would you prefer the use of your hero name or first name?" He asks, paging through the file on his clipboard.

What the fuck?

"Uhh...hero name?" you slur as you answer, voice cracking with exhaustion. You're not able to think straight in the moment and have zero adrenaline to be combative.

"Noted. How are you feeling?" His tone is dry, like every other doctor you've met in your life.

"Shitty."

He quirks an eyebrow. "Can you elaborate?"

God, this is so annoying. Why the hell are you being interrogated?

"M'everything feels...funny. Heavy but also...fuzzy?"

He scribbles down notes on a few different pages, flipping back and forth through the stack on his clipboard.

"Is it my turn t'ask a question?" you quip, snickering at your own request.

He approaches you hastily and slaps the ever-loving shit out of you. You let out a sharp yelp, the sting of his palm radiating on your cheek.

"Subjects only speak when spoken to."

A chill runs down your spine when he uses the term "subjects." Just how many of you are there?

"Return her to containment," he orders, signaling to someone behind you before turning to exit the room. Another man enters as the doctor leaves, dressed in white scrubs with mint green latex gloves. He approaches you, latching a pair of handcuffs around your wrists while turning off a device nearby.

"C'mon, move it," he scolds as he yanks on the chain of the handcuffs. You stumble forward to your feet, wobbling on jelly legs as he's dragging you behind him. Looking down, your wrists were littered with bruises in varying shades of yellow, purple and green. Had they cuffed you earlier and roughhoused you? A few raw spots on your arm lead you to believe they had taken blood from you at some point, too. You have zero inclination to how long you've even been wherever the hell you are - anything is possible.

The mystery worker drags you down multiple corridors of dimly lit metal hallways and various steel lacing the walls. There were no windows in sight as you maneuvered your way around the labyrinth of never-ending laboratories, holding cells and various medical exam rooms. He stops in front of a frosted glass cell, swiping a keycard in front of the mechanism on the door. It opens with a high pitched beep and he pushes you inside, whipping you around by the shoulders to face him. He undoes your restraints before slamming the glass door shut, locking it with another beep of the keycard.

With the silence comes the realization of your current predicament, crashing down around you like a tidal wave. It's intense, the surge of emotion that cascades through your entire body as if someone flipped a switch inside you.

One lingering thought pulls at your heartstrings - Bakugo's face as you slipped away from him, his panic and desperation as he failed to save you.

And to top it all off, you told him you loved him.

In the heat of the moment, it felt right. But now? It feels selfish. You admitted your feelings just in time for them to be ripped away from him. You don't even know if you're going to see him ever again. What if you die down here?

Oh.

What if you die down here?

Alone and scared.

Away from your family, friends...Katsuki, your best friend - the secret love of your life.

You never got to kiss him, properly express your affection for him - the experience was stolen away from you.

You're left to your own devices inside an unknown cell, blubbering on the tiny cot in the corner, frustration burning in your chest as you're heaving sob after sob. It triggers something in you never felt before - an unfamiliar violent rage. Launching up from the cot, you snivel as you face the wall and punch it with all the energy you can gather.

"Fuck!" You wail, failing to recollect the memory that your still under the effect of the quirk suppressant. The sound of your knuckles smashing against the steel wall reverbs as it sends lightning bolts of pain up your arm, dissolving as the adrenaline makes its way through your entire being.

And then something terrifying stirs in your guts as the blood drips from your knuckles onto the floor.

The pain was satisfying.

Day Nine

Days have passed, that much you knew, but how many? That answer remained unclear, no matter how many times you begged various workers around the compound. No one ever answered you with words, just violence. You’ve lost count how many times you’ve been slapped, kicked, and pushed around for engaging in minimal conversation. There’s other prisoners here, too, but no one is allowed to communicate. You see each other sometimes in the hallways but never long enough to speak, even if you wanted to. It was like everyone was a ghost, all haunting the same burial ground.

Shockingly enough, they keep you fed and allowed one shower per day. It's a confusing system, considering how inhumane things have proven to be, but you're convinced it's to keep their subjects "healthy" for their fucked up experiments.

Your schedule consisted of a hellish rotation of broken sleep and taking whatever drugs they forced upon you. The amount of times you were pulled from your cell varied for their trials that they had planned for the day. Whether it be once, or four times, you never knew how many hours you'd be stuck under surveillance in a catatonic state.

You desperately tried to turn your emotions off to protect your psyche at any chance you could. As much as you hated to admit defeat, the endless stress and over dosage of unknown substances was more than enough to keep you underwater, sinking further toward rock bottom with each passing moment.

A guard stalks up to your cell and bangs on the glass to grab your attention.

“Y/H/N, your cooperation is needed for test 15. Up and at ‘em.”

Your body is burdened with all the medical trauma you've endured over the last few days, slowing your pace to a sluggish limp as you make your way toward the cell door.

"Hurry it up, subject. We ain't got all day!" he shouts, startling you with his sudden command.

Fuck this place.

Day Fourteen

"Test 23, Y/H/N - Forced kinetic energy release. Begin testing."

You don't have time to react before the IVs hooked to you begin to force various fluids into your veins. The competing sensations flood through you in rough currents - hot, cold, burning, stinging in cycles. A well-known tunnel vision begins to cloud your sight as you squirm in the steel throne you've been restrained to. You're body is on the verge of passing out when an intrusive illusion appears before you.

"Hello? Sweetie?"

Your mother appears in front of you, outstretching a phantom hand to touch your shoulder.

What the fuck...mom? How is she here right now?

"Are you coming home?" she asks, her face settled in a deadpan expression. Her voice resembles a computerized AI, as if someone is programming her dialog.

"Mom?" you speak aloud, frightened by how real this looks and feels.

"Honey? Are you coming home? Katsuki and Izuku need you."

"Mom, I'm right here. What do you mean?" You're becoming more and more disturbed as she continues to drone on the same question.

"When are you coming home? Katsuki and Izuku need help."

She's not real.

She's not really here - this shadow knows nothing.

Snap the fuck out of it, they must have drugged you with a hallucinogenic.

But why? What the hell does this have to do with quirk suppressants?

"You're not here," you growl, screwing your eyes shut, refusing to entertain anymore of this apparition of your mother.

"Oh, but honey, I am!"

What?

A force squeezes at your throat, cutting off an anxious breath as it leaves your lips. You scramble to grasp at the hallucination, forgetting you're trapped in the testing chamber and can't move. Your hands are flexing repeatedly under the shackles as energy is collecting in your palms, unable to control the emotional response racing through every nerve in your body.

They must have not given you the suppressant...or mixed it with something more deadly.

"No!" You croak, your scream choked out by the pressure on your neck.

Your vision turns white, a sudden surge of energy expelling from your palms, pulsing intensely over and over again. You can feel the impact against the chair beneath you, the sound of shredding metal filling your ears as kinetic energy is forcibly pouring out of you in succession.

"Cease testing, inject sedation."

The pain in your hands dissipates immediately upon hearing the doctor's orders, followed by the prick of a thick needle penetrating the crook of your neck. The white cast in your vision fades, reality returning to you as your eyes glass over. One of the scientist walks around the chair and stands before you with another goddamn clipboard.

"Y/H/N, please describe how you feel and what you saw."

That familiar fire returns in your chest from your first night here - the aggressive urge to lash out. Was this a side-effect of whatever serum they've been loading you up with?

"Fuck you," you snarl, lip quivering as you're attempting to bury the ferocity thrashing inside you, begging to be set free.

He approaches you and snatches your cheeks in a rough hold. His grip tightens around your jaw as he repeats his question.

"One more time - Y/H/N, describe how you feel and what you saw."

The flame burns hotter as your fists are trembling, the emotion becoming overbearing.

Before you can stop yourself, your palms shoot up into an offensive position, sparking with the remaining collective of kinetic energy as it bursts forward, striking the scientist and sending him tumbling backward. The bonds on the arms of the chair must have broken and freed your hands during the test - you didn't even notice until you attacked the guard.

Shit.

"Quirk handcuffs and solitary - stat," orders the doctor over the surround system.

The door to the room slams open and three more scientists scramble inside as they're rushing to surround you. One shoves you down harshly into the metal chair, bouncing your head off the back of it.

Black…everything goes black.

When you come to, you’re in a new room that you don’t recognize. It’s different from the one you’ve called “home” since your arrival. There’s a mirror in the cell they’ve thrown you in and you catch a glimpse of yourself for the first time in...you don't know how long. The reflection shows you someone you don’t recognize - the girl staring back at you isn’t you. It looks like you, but her vicious predatory grin is bone chilling. This doppelgänger glares daggers at you, tilting her head menacingly as she mouths, “get out of me.”

You throw a punch at the mirror and shatter it as a blood curdling scream erupts from deep in your gut. Stumbling to the floor, you lay on the cold concrete and stare into the blank space of the solitary prison cell. You can’t even will yourself to cry.

I wanna go home…I wanna go home…

The thought recycled on loop, taunting the strength of your mental state.

I want to go home to mom, to Izuku, to Katsuki…anywhere but here.

You need to survive...

No. You will survive.

This will not kill you.

Day Twenty Five

"Y/H/N, we are going to proceed with a psychological evaluation."

Like you had a choice in the matter.

“Can you describe your experience from test 23?”

“Horrible,” you groan, the vision of your mother flowing to the forefront of your memory. “I saw a hallucination of someone that could physically touch me.”

You’ve learned in your time here not to ask further questions - answer as plainly as possible and move on.

The scientist clacked the keys on her laptop obnoxiously. “And it felt real?”

Unfortunately, yes.

“Yes.” You turn your eyes to the floor as she proceeds to type whatever nonsense into the database. She retrieves a clipboard from the bag slung on the back of her chair, sliding it across the table to you.

"Can you confirm this report is accurate from your initial intake?"

You begin to scan over the form when the words "if you want to get out of here" catch your attention.

Y/N

Y/H/N

Subject 57 - Kinetic Energy

Do not speak or react this note, until specified, if you want to get out of here.

...What?

I'm an undercover hero from the United States. I've been here for six months, waiting for an officially ranked hero to come through the facility. I haven't been able to leave since my arrival and communication has been cut off from my agency. You're the first non-civilian they've captured.

Blink four times if you had a cellphone on you when you were taken.

You look up at her and blink four times - she shoots her eyes back down to the form, signaling you to continue reading.

Can you contact outside help? Could be the agency you belong to or co-workers.

Tap the table twice for yes and three times for no.

You tap the table twice, pretending to point to specific information on the page your reading. If you could get access to your cellphone, you might just be able to send your location to initiate a rescue mission.

"Thank you, Y/H/N," she says, grabbing the clipboard and returning it to her bag. "I'll take you back to your cell, follow me."

Following the standard protocol that you're used to, she slaps a pair of handcuffs around your wrists before exiting the room. Once you reach your cell, she steps inside with you, removing the cuffs and motioning for you to come closer.

"I can look in the evidence chamber for your phone, more than likely it's in there with the other belongings after your decontamination process. Workers aren't allowed any communication devices, but they keep all of the captor's personal items guarded in one place."

You don't have time to ask her all the questions you're dying to know the answers to - how'd she get here, how did the USA know of the lab, what her undercover work consisted of, why no one came to find her...a plethora of unknowns.

But right now? She's willing to help you, that's all that matters.

"If you can conjure up enough energy with your quirk, can you charge it?" she asks faintly.

You nod in response, confirming the answer silently. Similarly to your classmate from UA, Kaminari, you were able to charge devices by converting kinetic energy into an electronic wavelength - a trick Eraserhead taught you back in Junior year.

"Here's the plan - In five days, I'll be the guard on night shift. I'll give you an empty shot of the suppressant to make it look like a realistic dosage. Once the others have dissipated to their quarters, I can lead you to the evidence stash and let you rummage through the bins while I keep watch. You grab the phone, I'll hide it in my uniform, bring you back to your cell and toss it to the floor. I'll patrol the hall while you get things set up and make contact with another hero or your agency."

She peers out of the glass cell and sees another guard making his way down the hall.

"Don't say a word. I'll be back in 5 days, and I'm sorry for what I'm about to do," she apologizes as she cracks you on the jaw with a hearty slap.

You know she had to fake it in front of the other guard to keep her cover - it still hurt like hell.

She shuts the door with a noisy clang of the door's mechanism, a high pitched beep locking it in place.

And thus, the countdown to freedom begins.

Five days until you finally make contact with the outside world - with someone.

Someone? No, you already knew who you were sending the information to - like it wasn't obvious who you'd choose to signal for help.

Day Twenty Nine

You've come this far, you can't back down now.

All you had to do was make your way back to the evidence room with the undercover hero lady, find your phone, and sneak back to your holding cell.

And force your quirk to activate.

...and not get caught.

The suspense of the plan succeeding was enough to keep you on edge as the nightly sedations were distributed. She appeared, just like she promised, and administered a fake injection to your arm. You put on a front for the other guards, fooling them into thinking you were properly medicated.

The plan's been set in motion - she'll be back in a few hours.

Day Thirty

You could feel the liberation in your grasp - the victory of sneaking your phone back to your cell filling you with exhilaration. All you had to do was wait for lights out to attempt your escape plan. You have no idea how deep the lab sits under Sector 42 and if you'll even be able to obtain a signal in your cell.

Focusing all of your willpower into the tip of your pointer finger, you hold it closely as sparks of energy softly crackle into the charging port of the phone.

Just a minute to charge, that's all I need. Enough battery to turn it on, send a call and a text and turn it back off.

You're beginning to feel lightheaded as your phone successfully powers on with a soft vibration and the logo appearing on screen.

Holy shit, it worked!

Hurriedly, you flip the silent switch before notifications begin to pour into the device, catching up on all the missed communications over the last month. Multiple calls, text messages, e-mails, the standard amount that you expected. The battery hovered at 7% and the time read 3:05AM. You glance at the date underneath the time - it's been an entire month since you disappeared.

A whole goddamn month.

There's no time to spiral over that right now!

Hunched over behind your cot, you proceed to open your messages to keep your plan on track. You're not shocked by the amount of missed texts from everyone; Midoriya, Jiro, Uraraka, Kirishima, Mina...and Bakugo.

You had 127 unread texts from him, the last coming in less than ten minutes ago.

One hundred and twenty seven.

You freeze, a mixture of guilt, excitement, and panic surging through you. Shoving all that down - you've gotten too good at doing that - you clicked on the thread, catching the last dozen or so of his messages.

[2:45AM] i don’t want to say this in a fucking text of all things [2:45AM] especially under these circumstances [2:46AM] but i’m scared i’ll never get to say it to you [2:46AM] i’m a fucking idiot for not telling you sooner [2:47AM] god dammit [2:48AM] i love you [2:48AM] like a stupid fucking amount [2:49AM] i convinced myself i didn’t and that you wouldn’t feel the same [2:50AM] and when you come home [2:50AM] i’ll tell you every damn day to make up for all the times i didn’t [2:51AM] that’s a promise [2:52AM] i love you lite-brite

Tears are silently falling from your eyes, wide with astonishment at the words you're reading from him. There's no way this is real - you've got to be strung out from the quirk-drugs they've forced upon you. A delayed side effect of some sort? They've given you delusions in the past, it's not that farfetched.

He convinced himself not to love you? He's always loved you?!

He said 'I love you,' twice.

Twice!

You don't have time to read the rest as much as you're dying to catch up on all the potential sweet nothings he's sent to you over the last few weeks, but you do have time for one thing.

Before you chicken out, you click the "Call" button next to his name. The phone suddenly feels like a cinderblock in your hand as you shakily hold it to your ear. You think he's not going to answer until you hear faint rustling sounds on the other end of the line.

"H-hello?! Y/N!?" You can't say anything - your body straightens, goosebumps covering you from head to toe. All of the misery you were holding on to, the trauma and terror, evaporated at the sound of those two words. Those two measly words wrapped around you and offered a warmth you haven't known in weeks.

You click the "End Call" button, hating that you probably gave him a heart attack, but you selfishly needed to hear his voice.

Before you forget your initial plan, you send a pinned location to Bakugo. You know he'll come running - blasting, rather - as soon as he can pinpoint exactly how to break into the lab. You have zero doubts that he can't figure it out.

[3:11AM] *location sent*

One last thing for good measure? You send an orange heart emoji.

Right as you're about to scroll up and read his past messages, your phone powers down with the empty battery symbol displaying on screen.

Your heart is racing, threatening to beat out of your chest as his words reverberate in your mind.

I love you like a stupid fucking amount.

You can't help but chuckle at the sentiment - that's so Bakugo of him to say.

At least your plan was a success and you were able to accomplish the small goal. Now all you have to do is play the waiting game - knowing Bakugo, and presumably Midoriya? That won't be long at all.

You lay back in your cot, smiling for the first time in ages, relishing in your triumph.

And for the first night since you've arrived, a peaceful rest welcomes you with open arms. You dream of home, running in the park under the glow of the sun and finding Bakugo under the shade of a nearby tree, waiting patiently for you in the summer breeze.

next up, we wrap back to the boys as they plan their rescue mission! and they're not going alone as they recruit their closest friends in their crazy plan to get you back. and don't worry, it won't be easy. tags: @bakugouswaif @k1tk4tkatsuki @bells2319 @st0nedbitch @deftonianfr ✩ if you’d like to be tagged when updates are posted, message/comment to be added! ✩

#bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #bakugo angst #bakugo x you #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugo fluff #bakugo x y/n #katsuki bakugo #my hero academia #bakugo katsuki #mha bakugou #☆.rei writes #✩.hollowheart

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