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twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat · 5 months

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there was no place in nature we could meet ; suguru geto

synopsis; it’s never fun to run into an ex. especially when the ex in question is your unfairly handsome high school sweetheart — who also just so happens to be a wanted mass murderer.

word count; 3.3k

contents; suguru geto/reader, gn!reader, geto-typical angst, exes to [redacted], lots of longing, geto is kind of a cunt but also disgustingly charming, reader is understandably upset, biblical imagery (i just think he’s so serpent coded), curse user geto is his own warning tbh

a/n; i wanted this to be a drabble so bad but it ended up just a little too long for me to get away w it so … :’3 yeah. i hate suguru geto (said w affection)

the moon is out.

in the shadows of the street corner you find yourself in, seated comfortably on the sidewalk, it’s a welcome distraction. something to look at, in the midst of your loneliness; the evanescent glow of the moon, illuminating your solitude.

a solitude soon to be broken. shattered into pieces, battered and bruised beyond recognition, jagged shards littering the asphalt. digging into the soles of your shoes.

”hey.”

for a second, you think you must be dreaming.

the figure obscuring the light of the lamp post in front of you is familiar. too familiar, a little too dear for your liking. as you grasp your shitty cup ramen, seeking the warmth seeping through the polystyrene, all you can do is stare. blinking dumbly, drowsily.

geto looks something like a bad omen.

sharp facial features, even sharper eyes. so dark they almost shift from an amber-tainted cedar into an obsidian black — two abysses, staring into your soul, beckoning you closer. they were always enchanting, but now you think they look almost hypnotizing. not at all in a good way. dark hair frames his face, cascading down his back, longer than you remember it being. and he’s wearing robes.

still has those fucked up bangs, though. of all the things to keep.

the gears of your mind turn, endlessly, untangling the mess of thoughts inside your brain. ensuring you that no, you are not hallucinating, and no, you didn’t fall into a deep slumber somewhere between the moment you exited the convenience store and sat down by one of tokyo’s empty street corners. this is real. a reality you can’t comprehend, can’t even begin to process.

what stands in front of you is a ghost. but ghosts don’t exist, can’t be seen, can’t touch the living.

(so how is he able to haunt you like this?)

what eventually jolts you out of your silent stupor is not the questioning tilt of his head, nor the suffocating sensation of your heart crawling up your throat, but the feeling of soft fur against your leg. the stray cat you met further down the street meows at you, sweetly, trying to get your attention. you think she must be asking for more grilled fish.

so, completely ignoring the apparition in front of you, you turn to reach for the little plastic bag you bought as a midnight snack — digging out a bit of fish for the kitty to enjoy. she seems happy, settling down by your feet. purring softly.

geto watches, eerily silent.

(maybe he’s upset that you’re ruining his dramatic entrance. you hope so.)

finally, you have no choice but to look at him. a lump forms in the back of your throat, clogging up a little more for every second spent falling into the trap he’s laid out for you, trailing over his moonlit features with your tired gaze.

mouth full of noodles, staring holes into his attire, you narrow your eyes. suddenly disgruntled.

his lips quirk up. ”something the matter?” he asks, and you can’t even begin to describe how much you hate his voice. how devastatingly deep it is, during the late hours of the night. even deeper than it was back in high school.

slurping up the soggy noodles, you lean back a little, licking some broth off your lips. finally meeting those abyssal eyes.

”… i was gonna say those robes look like shit on you,” you exhale, weary, ”but you actually kinda pull them off. that’s…”

a beat. you struggle to find the right word.

”annoying.”

geto’s lips curl up, smoothly, and you find a hint of familiar amusement in the vague crinkle of his eyes. barely visible crows’ feet. then he’s moving — plopping down right beside you, robes fluttering with the breeze.

”thanks,” he hums. crossing his legs.

the silence that festers around you is odd. not quite suffocating, nor especially fragile. definitely not comforting. it’s familiar, yet different, and it hurts a bit more than it should. but you choose to look at him, out of the corner of your eye, and he looks right back at you. still smiling.

when your eyes settle on the particular cloth wrapped around his torso, you just barely manage to bite back a taunting chuckle.

”a gojo-kesa, huh?” you grin, and geto doesn’t flinch. he doesn’t miss the meaningful glint in your eyes, either. almost satirical. ”you miss him that much?”

”just a coincidence,” is all he answers. smiling, but you think it looks a little stiff.

your grin widens, for a second, before settling back down. a sad transition. you let it go.

”whatever you say, geto.”

at that, he visibly reacts. barely noticeable, but it’s there — a twitch of his lithe fingers, an unknown something that flickers through the scope of his iris. when he looks at you, a neutral smile is playing at his lips.

”ah. i take it we’re not on first name basis anymore, then?” he asks, jovial. hiding a tinge of something mildly displeased.

a shrug. you pick at what’s left of your ramen with your chopsticks, a little too nauseous to enjoy it. ”call me whatever you want. i just don’t see suguru when i look at you, y’know?” leaning forward, you begin to pet the kitty by your feet. ”he was sweeter.”

geto smiles. almost a grin, but not quite there. a chuckle spills out from his lips, and something about it irritates you. ”was he?”

”yeah,” you nod. without hesitation. a summer-stained memory blooms behind your eyelids, but you try not to look at it. all you catch is a glimpse of cherry blossoms. ”you just seem bitter.”

the grin that finds its way onto your lips is self-deprecating. a shadow falls over your face. ”guess we’re similar in that way, huh?”

a hum buzzes in his throat. he casts a meaningful glance towards your hand, scratching behind the cat’s ear. ”oh, i don’t know about that,” he drawls, smile growing. ”.. you seem just as sweet as always.”

to your grave annoyance, you can’t control the way your face changes at his words. a twitch of your lips gives away your discontentment, and something sour settles on the tip of your tongue.

(your blood begins to boil, beneath your skin.)

geto sighs, suddenly, filling the tense silence surrounding you. a little theatrical. ”ah, but that’s a shame.” he turns to you, soft pout playing at his lips. ”i was hoping i could hear you call me suguru again…”

”— i was hoping you’d come back.”

a beat.

(somewhere outside your vision, a crow takes flight into the night sky. swallowed by the darkness, melting into the sea of black. no longer perceivable, by you or the world.)

”but you never did,” the polystyrene of the plastic cup crinkles beneath your fingers. your eyes look dull. ”so what the fuck do you want, exactly?”

…

”i heard.” geto rests his jaw on the heel of his palm, gazing at you with those piercing eyes. like he’s trying to see inside your brain. ”.. about your decision.”

”ah,” a grin splits across the curve of your lips, showing off the white of your teeth. ”of course. that’s what this is about, huh?”

with groggy movements, you throw away your nearly-empty cup of noodles, haphazardly aiming towards a trash can across the street. it bounces off the steel cover, landing on the ground with a soft thud. leftover broth spilling out across the pavement.

(geto doesn’t bother to hide his amusement, lips twitching upwards as one of his curses goes to pick it up. you furrow your brows in embarrassed annoyance.)

a moment passes, and something in you knows that he’s waiting. it’s like you can practically sense it, like it’s etched into your bones. the same way you always knew exactly when he would begin to get impatient during your nightly convenience store runs in high school, after you had spent about five minutes struggling to decide what kind of chips you wanted.

”what can i say,” you lean back, palms against the rough concrete. breathing in the midnight air. ”you inspired me.”

geto tilts his head. smiling. always, always smiling. he smiled at you the day before he massacred that village, too. ”oh?”

with a deep breath, cool air courses through your body. burning your lungs. ”i realized being a sorcerer is completely fucking meaningless,” you exhale through your nose. ”and that trying to change that fact is even more meaningless.”

a wicked, rueful grin rests on your lips. ”so i left.”

geto doesn’t say anything, so you continue. voice dripping with venom.

”i’m a civilian now,” you purr, mocking. a sardonic coo cast his way. ”does that bother you? feel like killing me?”

…

his smile looks a little off, now. tilted in a direction you don’t want to recognize. you don’t care to examine it further, don’t care to figure out if it might look just a little bit sad, because that’d only hurt more.

so you look away.

a click of his tongue. then he speaks, with that honeyed voice, raspy and husky. almost a groan. ”well, i can’t say i approve.”

he’s looking at you. sharp eyes digging into your skin, dissecting you, a million words he expects you to grasp from that look alone.

”you’re better than them,” he states, and you try not to squirm when his eyes trail over your features. ”worlds better.” his voice sounds almost motherly, a twisted concern that makes you cower a little. like he’s scolding you. a crease between his brows.

”i don’t like the thought of you surrounded by these animals.”

a huff pushes past your lips, but it sounds shakier than you’d like it to. you hope he just chalks it up to the chill of the air. then again, when has he ever made anything easy for you?

”what, you got a problem with cats now?” you reach for the little furball licking grilled fish off the concrete, picking it up. cradling it close. ”gonna go on a cat-killing spree?”

an amused exhale. geto narrows his eyes. ”funny,” he hums, but his eyes say you know what i mean.

it takes you a moment to regain control over your breathing. there’s still something tense in your shoulders, and your heart still feels a little like it might jump out of your throat and crawl into his lap. the stray cat slips from your grasp, moving towards geto, curiously sniffing at his robes. he looks at it with no ill intent, and it puts you at ease.

”well, i appreciate the concern, buddy,” you pat his back, trying not to flinch at the contact. trying to appear relaxed. ”but frankly, i don’t give a shit. i actually like my job, unlike literally every single sorcerer on planet earth.”

geto stills.

”.. buddy?” he echoes, ignoring every other bitter word you just graced him with. for some reason, he actually seems visibly bothered. ”i’m buddy now?”

you click your tongue. muttering, tiredly. a little exasperated. ”.. what else would you be?”

and then he smiles, again. only this time, it looks oddly genuine. the same as you remember, framed by cherry blossoms and the fizzle of youth.

his movements are smooth. like he’s completely unguarded, like this situation doesn’t bother him in the slightest. elegant, in the way he leans back, palms on the concrete to support his weight. keeping eye contact with you, all the while.

when he speaks, his voice has a sweet tinge to it. nostalgic, maybe. wistful. if you hear a touch of longing, you choose to ignore it.

”i seem to recall you calling me baby quite a lot,” he hums, and you stiffen. gritting your teeth. eyes darkening, but he continues. ”what else was there? angel, i think… it was sweet.”

then he’s leaning forward. scratching the cat under its chin, gently. ”ironic, though.”

an inhale. then, an exhale. they’re a little shaky, a little meek, but at least they make the lump in your throat feel less like it’s blocking your windpipe. air fills your lungs, but it tastes like nothing at all.

something like sorrow simmers in your eyes. or maybe more like fatigue. god, you really want to cry.

(you wonder if he gets some sickening satisfaction out of seeing you like this, out of breaking you. maybe it just makes him feel rotten. you don’t know what you’d prefer.)

”suguru,” you murmur, at last. voice dripping with exhaustion. defeated, the sigh that flows from your lips. ”why did you come here?”

…

”join me.”

the words spill out into the open air, slicing the silence in half. heavy. a request, not a question. against your better judgement, you turn your head to meet his gaze.

”we could use you,” he says, and there’s hope in those keen eyes. he maintains his distance, but for some reason you still feel like prey being sized up by a predator. like he’s weighing your value.

a chuckle slips from your lips, but there’s no humour to it. ”use me…” you echo, a tired murmur under your breath. ”you're just straight up admitting it, huh? kinda refreshing.”

”that’s not what i meant.”

he inches closer. slowly, as if trying not to scare you. reaching out, to brush through your bangs, his fingertips ghosting over your skin. tangling them between your locks, inserting himself into your space. testing the waters.

you don’t look at him, completely still. barely breathing. like a wounded animal.

”i want you there,” he says, and it comes out almost as a whisper. ”with us.”

unable to resist the temptation, you indulge in a single brief glance his way. his eyes look warm, and his lips look soft as they part.

”with me.”

there’s a devotion to his voice when he continues, one he’s always had. one you thought you’d always be able to trust. ”i’ll create a world where you can be happy,” he vows. ”i swear it.”

a moment passes.

(you swallow thickly. it takes everything you have not to burst into tears. when you remember how he brushed you off, back then, it gets a little easier. when you remember all the skipped meals.)

”.. like you give a damn.”

geto smiles. you loathe how soft it looks, how similar it is to the one suguru always had. when you used to eat your ramen too quickly and started choking on it, and he brought a palm to your upper back, patting it gently. he’d chuckle, and tell you to slow down, and the softness of his smile would almost be enough to distract you from the amusement in his eyes.

”my love.”

you flinch. breath drawing back at the base of your throat, heart screeching to a halt, and some part of you emerges; the shy, sweet kid you used to be. hanging on to his every world. like he was your sun, your guiding light. back when that purr of my love had you blushing furiously, not choking back a string of curses.

it’s sudden, and you can’t react the way you want to. you want to kill him for calling you that. for thinking he has any right to call you his, anymore.

but that sweet, naive, innocent little kid still exists. even if you want to pretend otherwise. it’s there, somewhere, that part of you — peeking out from behind the curtain. and it stops you from saying anything that might hurt him.

(it’s so hard to hate him when he calls you that.)

if geto notices your inner turmoil — he must — then he doesn’t mention it. you don’t say anything, but you hope the amused, harsh exhale you partake in is signal enough for him to cut it off. now.

yet he continues. there’s love in his voice when he speaks, barely contained. if he’s trying not to hurt you he’s doing an awful job.

”… i never stopped thinking of you,” he whispers, so low you almost miss it. ”not once. i left for you, not just for myself.”

and, despite every part of your being resisting it, a sweetness settles on your tongue. so sweet it’s sickening; the thought that maybe he’s telling the truth, maybe he really has been thinking of you. maybe you’re more to him than just a means to meet an end, or a memory yet to be buried.

geto looks at the moon. bathed in moonlight, he looks a little like a god. like something reverent. his voice is honeyed. low, like a secret.

”this world doesn't deserve you.”

silence.

a subtle anger trickles through your veins, a kind of fury, subdued, carefully tucked away. sparking to life inside the depths of your eyes when you look at him. bitter, given everything. but your voice still comes out sounding something like a plea.

”and you think you do?”

another smile. this time, it looks a little sad. remorseful, maybe. ”… let me prove myself.”

his touch burns. the pads of his fingers against your cold skin, cupping your cheek. slithering down to grasp your hand. and you’re pliant, unable to react. just sitting with that aching hollow feeling in your chest.

”i wasn’t worthy, back then,” he hums, bringing your hand to his lips. ”but now…”

a kiss to your knuckle. featherlight. reverent. you try not to shiver, but when he says your name, dragging each syllable out, like they belong on his tongue —

a chill runs down your spine.

when he speaks, you feel his warm breath on your skin. it’s dizzying. ”i’m not the same suguru you once knew,” he admits, a forlorn look in his eyes. and devotion, frighteningly sincere. ”unlike him — i’ll never let you go.”

what a twisted desire. he wants to take you with him, drag you down to hell. the suguru you knew wouldn’t put you through that. but maybe you’re even more twisted, for wishing he had; for wishing he had taken you with him, ten years ago, instead of leaving without a single goodbye.

geto’s voice is soft. coaxing, like he's handling a frightened mouse. join me, he whispers, and you think of eve. when you look at his mouth you think you see serpents’ teeth behind his lips.

(you're almost sure he notices it. and you're almost sure his smile widens, lips curling up, as if preparing to open his maw and swallow you whole.)

a sickening sense of resignation roots itself somewhere in your gut.

you pull your hand away, and he lets you. the loss of warmth hits you like a freight train, but you aren’t sure you could think clearly with his skin on yours. when you part your lips to speak, only air comes out, just barely forming a sentence. like there are no more words to say. like the world stopped spinning around you both a lifetime ago.

”i don't love you.”

…

for just a second, his smile falters.

”.. no?” he hums, and you wish it didn’t hurt so bad to see him hurt. his eyes carry a kind of patience, something gentle. ”it’s fine… these things take time.”

a bitter chuckle. ”like you’d know anything about waiting,” you spit, and it comes out sounding venomous. a phantom ache sprouts in the spot where his lips touched your skin.

geto closes his eyes.

”.. you don't need to love me,” he says, finally. kind. you hate that he still sounds so kind. so understanding, like nothing you do could be wrong in his eyes. ”as long as you're beside me, that's enough.”

he turns to look at you, and his smile looks very real, for a moment. impossibly fond. ”i have two daughters. i’ve told them about you,” he smiles. ”my family… you’d like them. i know they’d like you.”

dark clouds cover the moon, suddenly, and a shadow falls across you both. illuminated only by the streetlight. in the distance, you hear a car whooshing by.

”don’t stay at the bottom,” he beckons, and your name slips from his lips again. soft, his tongue bending around the vowels. coaxing. stirring your heartstrings like a puppeteer.

then he’s standing up, dusting off his robes, large hands smoothing down the fabric. turning around, towering over you; obscuring everything else. all you see is him, under the glow of the lamp post. a halo of artificial light.

”come. let me show you the world we can create.”

he gives you a sweet smile, two abysses gazing at you. the promise of something, something twisted. something new. forbidden. you think of red skin, yellow flesh. the bite of sin.

and for a second, you see it. the world. a world where laughter comes from the bottom of your gut, and the trees are always ripe for picking, red apples hanging from the branches like glowing rubies.

paradise.

geto stretches a hand out towards you. fingers unfurling, one by one, like a blooming camellia. close, right there in front of you, so close that you’re tempted to take his hand in yours, let him carry you away. burn everything else to the ground.

(you think of the serpent. you think of god.

only one of them banished eve.)

”so,” he smiles. ”what do you say?”

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chaotic-iguana · 9 months

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Refuge | chapter one.

prologue/previous chapter | next chapter | masterlist

chapter one: tainted homecoming

wordcount: ~1k summary: what if reader and joel were married before the outbreak? what if just another mundanely late night at the office on the night of the outbreak separated them for a decade? warnings: fear, panic, passing out, reconciliations, estrangement, unwanted touching (not joel ofc), slightly unreliable narrator because she isn’t doing too well, angst boys i just binged good omens and i have thoughts ^tm. a/n: so, this was supposed to be out two days ago. life got in the way, unfortunately. kinda bummed me out because i was SO excited to share this but didn’t get to finish it on time and yada yada anyways. its here now, as usual please let me know what you think!!

When you gasped awake, you’d been moved from the harsh tile of your shop to the worn couch you kept on the first floor. Your jacket had been taken off, leaving you in your flimsy tank top. The room was uncharacteristically dark - a menacing omen looming over your head and shrouding your senses in a sense of danger as you came to a realisation.

There was someone in your kitchen. Multiple someones.

Eerily familiar voices were whispering rapidly from behind you; hissed exchanges you had to tilt your head to make out. Your panic from before had melted away, and in its stead was the cold emptiness you had taught yourself. Sheer focus honed by the desperation to stay alive. Who the fuck are these people?

“…didn’t tell me she was with ya, could atleast’ve told me she was alive…”

“…hardly gave a shit, don’t fuckin’ lie to me now…”

“…married?…”

“…didn’t know you were that much of a family man…”

Your fingers inched towards the pencil on the coffee table before you, body tensing up not to let the couch groan. Thoughts racing at a speed just beyond your grasp, brain struggling to catch up with what you were hearing, forcing you straight into a fight-or-flight response. Tucking the pencil into the palm of your hand tightly, you silently inched to the ground, crouching to shuffle to the edge of the sofa and crane your head to catch a glimpse of whoever the hell was sitting in your home.

Taking in the scene, you felt a laugh bubbling in your chest for the first time in years. Fate’s cruelty makes for masochistic amusement, does it not?

Before you sat a ghost. One that had haunted you day and night; one whose smile, eyes, hands, mouth, everything lingered in your memory like a scent from your childhood sticking in the back of your mind - never quite there, but never quite gone, either. Like a word you wouldn’t dare voice that sitting smug on the tip of your tongue.

When your eyes met his, everything else turned into static. An afterthought. Air was punched out of your lungs, your own heartbeat echoing in your ears, eyes blinking quickly to let the illusion dissipate. Except it didn’t. You could barely comprehend anything beyond him; barely realise that someone was behind you with his hands under your shoulders and his chest pressed against your back. The arm wrapping around your waist and the bullshit placating words whispered in your ear failed to register, too.

Your last moments before the blackout flashed through your mind - Fred’s curiosity as he told you about Jackson’s new residents. Tommy’s brother - Joel. If there was someone with him, it had to be Sarah. You hadn’t even let yourself think of his name all these years, let alone wonder whether or not he was alive. It was easier to convince yourself you didn’t have time to care. Easier to convince yourself that you had the strength to slide your eyes two inches to the left and see your daughter again, too. Suddenly, your clothes felt too tattered, your hair too tangled. The jut of your cheekbones and the tremble in your fingers just felt too inadequate to face them again.

Didn’t he once say my smile could light up a room?

Even my laugh has a bitter edge to it now.

You doubted you’d ever find it in you to crawl back to that version of yourself again. The one you had been when you had it all, when you had them with you. Radiant, carefree, so openly loving.

She had been your first kill. You had ripped her to shreds, just so no one else could. The ache of loneliness had then made a permanent home on your shoulders, and you had welcomed it if only for the protection it offered.

You blinked, and the moment shattered just as suddenly as it had come. Air rushed down your throat, making you choke as you clawed at the arms restraining you in a frenzy, but they refused to budge. A grating voice was in your ear, telling you to just calm down, baby, foul breath fanning across your cheek.

Before you could so much as open your mouth, the scraping of a chair rung out and heavy, swift footsteps making their way and coming to a stop before you, a hulking figure looming over you and your captor.

How the hell was he still so…big?

What the fuck had he been eating?

This had to be a nightmare. This cannot be real. Tommy would have told me if he was alive, because Joel would have reached out. It’s just a dream, I need to wake up. Just a second shy of your plan to attempt pinching yourself - in what you considered a fool-proof test to see whether or not this was, in fact reality - you were wrenched out of the grasp of the man behind you, a larger, more firm pair of hands gripping your wrists and pulling you to put himself between you and the man who- no fucking way was that Fred. No goddamn way were his hands just all over you, his voice trying to calm you.

A wild panic began taking over your senses - the fight-or-flight instincts returning with full force. And as if even after all those years he could still feel it, Joel stood unyieldingly like a physical wall between you and the idiot. The idiot who was currently yelling about his “relationship” with you in your husband’s face.

A snort and high-pitched giggle sounded from behind you, the adrenaline forcing you to turn and locate the source immediately. When you finally looked into the eyes of your girl; the one you had desperately hoped to see again for the past decade and a half, your heart stopped. Cold dread dropped heavy like stones in your gut as pure fear burrowed into every single cell in your body.

This isn’t my fucking daughter.

hello loves, as always - thank you for reading. comment your thoughts or find me on ao3. stay hydrated and have a great day! taglist (let me know if you want to be added/removed): @imherefordeanandbones, @theywhowriteandknowthings, @josephquinnswhore, @millerscoffee, @nostalxgic, @sscorpiiio, @pedrosaidsheispunk, @its-nebuleuse, @sofiparallel, @mandoisapunk, @bastardmandennis, @pawnshopblues22, @breakfastatjoels dividers are my own!! series taglist: @spookyxsam, @obscurexsorrows, @planet-marz1, @lunxramour, @anavatazes, @joeldjarin, @stunkbiggu, @joels-darlin

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silkscream · 1 month

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CHAPTER 9: GOD IS A CIRCLE

ੈ✩ gojo satoru x reader, geto suguru x reader

Your angels do not react. They only look at you with concern, shielding you from the blazing sun with their wings. They stare as you laugh, doubling over, falling backwards into the green grass. You only remember that you’re alive when they trace the contours of your body with their fingertips.

ੈ✩ chapter cw/tags: explicit content (18+ mdni) , unprotected sex, high sex, threesome, oral sex, fingering, graphic depictions of violence and blood, recreational drug usage, biblical imagery, angst

ੈ✩ wc: 5.5k

ੈ✩ a/n: i was barely conscious when i wrote this. sorry bout it

playlist ✸ read on ao3 ✸ series masterlist

August, 2009

Bliss is never eternal. If it was, you’d think the world would stop turning with everyone busy with their greatest indulgences. It’s not like you were much of a hedonist anyway, not even with Satoru’s influence.

You feel intoxicated with him and Suguru, but it’s not enough to keep you from reality. Yaga-sensei proves this the moment the boys are ordained the task of protecting the star plasma vessel—a fourteen-year-old girl with more spirit than you ever had at that age. You admire her spunk, her unwillingness to take shit from either of the boys. It entertains you endlessly.

“How do you deal with them?” she mutters to you. You learn that her name is Riko Amanai. She loves the ocean and has a sweet tooth like Satoru. Her favorite flavor is anything blue.

“I keep them in check.”

“Are you my bodyguard too?”

“Not really,” you laugh. “But I’ll be around.”

Riko likes you. She clings to you more than you anticipate, considering this isn’t your mission, but you understand. She’s vulnerable despite her confidence in her fate as Tengen’s vessel. Talks a big game with blue eyes shining bright, similar to Satoru.

She pouts at your absence. You think nothing of it, knowing that she’s in good hands between the boys and that caretaker of hers. The bounty on the girl’s head is daunting, but the boys are the strongest, and you watch them evade the enemies easily.

It’s when they end up in Okinawa that something in your chest feels a bit empty. A bad omen, anxiety pooling in your gut.

Satoru texts you pictures from the beach—sea creatures from the ocean and the aquarium, selfies with Suguru that are often blurry. He texts you how much he misses you, how much he craves the parts of you that you think may be too intimate to even talk about out loud, let alone through text. Suguru sends you pictures of Riko and Satoru on the beach with the creatures they pick up from the ocean, of sunsets he knows you would enjoy.

You ache for their return.

satoru: gonna stay for another day jsyk

you: having fun?

satoru: yeaaaa

satoru: tired as fuck though

satoru: but riko likes the beach. thought we could give her one more day

you: you’re sweet

satoru: not as sweet as uuuuuuuuu

satoru: she says hi btw

satoru: shes mad ur not here

you: she likes me more than you

satoru: >:(

you: i’ll see you soon. get some sleep please

satoru: anything for u baby

Something has gone terribly wrong.

You have no reason to be worried—Satoru is more than capable of handling that assassin, no matter how swift his movements may be. It was whiplash to see a sword go through him, and it was whiplash to see Satoru react like it was a paper cut.

Now, in the Tombs of the Star, you feel a chill run up your spine as you escort Kuroi out. She’s still emotional, wiping tears after her goodbye to Amanai. Trepidation strikes you the same way it did in that forest all those months ago. The air has grown cold, but you can’t sense any other cursed energy but your own.

“Kuroi,” you breathe.

“Yes?” She sniffles, wiping her tears quickly.

“Go on without me,” you say cautiously. “I think I better guard the Tomb just in case. For Geto.”

“Alright. Thank you for being there for them.” Kuroi smiles at you with a warmth you aren’t sure that you deserve.

“I wasn’t the one protecting her.”

“I know, but she admired you a lot. We missed you in Okinawa.”

You pull her into a hug, one that you wish you’d given Riko moments prior. It’s a parting gift.

When she departs, you’re left alone in a dark hallway. You expect a spirit to jump out — something monstrous, an amalgamation of your nightmares. But this is a sacred place, you suppose. One meant for sacrifices and blessings. You’ve never really believed in blessings. The world is built on too many curses for that.

Something in the air made you want to choke, swallow back bile. Nothing like your old anxiety spells. It’s something else, you’re sure of it. And yet, it was quiet enough to hear a pin drop. The rustle of fabric.

He couldn’t go undetected, not completely. Not when your intuition was on overdrive, making you sick with it. Your senses acute.

“Haven’t seen you before.”

His voice is raspy, the sound of skinned palms on pavement. Deep the way Japanese whiskey burns down and sits in your stomach a little too heavy. There’s a split on the corner of his mouth as if he’d been nicked by a thorn. He smiles at you with lazy, bovine eyes and a snake-like smirk.

This man is not a figment of your imagination — he’s real as can be as he towers over yet, and there’s not a lick of cursed energy you can feel, even when you’re this close to him. A human.

You think about Satoru and the sword that went through his chest. You look at the sword that the stranger in front of you wields. Within a second, you rush to touch him, but your technique doesn’t activate as soon as you want it, too. He slashes you across the stomach, crimson permeating the torn fabric of your uniform.

“Weak little girl,” he chides. “You’re too pretty to kill, though.”

You gag, nearly vomiting on the ground.

“You their girlfriend or what? Would’ve thought they were fucking each other, to be honest.”

You shake your head weakly, your vision blurring already. You hear a bark of a laugh. Not even your bared teeth can be taken seriously, not when you’re bleeding out on the ground. He tuts as if he’s scolding you.

“He’ll kill you,” you hiss. The man laughs again. You must be referring to one of your boys. He grins wider when he realizes.

“Which one? The one with the bangs?” he scoffs. “Because I already killed the Gojo brat, sweetheart.”

You feel your heart drop, sinking like an anchor as the feeling drags your body down with it. You look at him with wide eyes, and the sadistic stare you get back tells you he wants to humiliate you. It would hurt less if he just killed you.

Satoru would never die by the hand of a non-sorcerer. Not a fucking chance. But the notion doesn’t stop the itch behind your nose, your eyes threatening tears. The man crouches, his face looking down at you in mock sympathy, and places a rough palm to your face, swipes your quivering bottom lip. You taste blood.

You clutch his wrist immediately and he raises his hand.

Something metal whips the side of your face, something heavy. Your sight of vision narrows into black.

When you wake, you aren’t sure if you’ve arrived in a nightmare or had just left one.

For one, Satoru is saturated in blood. The scratches on his face are brutal. He looks half feral, half shell-shocked. It’s nothing you’ve seen before.

Despondency paints Suguru’s face into a shadow of himself. There’s something off about their cursed energy.

You don’t want to ask them how the rest of the mission went — you can already tell what the answer might be. If everything went according to plan, there wouldn’t be a blank stare in each of their eyes. If everything was fine, they would return to you like themselves — animated and flirty and teasing. If everything was the way it was meant to be, maybe you wouldn’t have the slight scar of a side wound aching at the side of your gut.

Instead, they’re all business. It’s like they look through you when they speak to you.

“Is Riko…” you trail off.

“She’s dead,” they say.

They deliver the news to you, expressionless. Mirroring each other.

There’s a blankness in Satoru’s eyes. Cold. No one exactly knows how to deal with being killed only to bring yourself back again. The thought of his mangled body surrounded by flyheads makes your stomach churn.

He had always been god-like, prodigal. After being reborn, he really was a God. Untouchable. You’d think him to be cockier or more cruel, but on the surface, he’s devoid of anything, really. He’s stony-eyed, instead, a little empty behind the face. There’s a spark of something when he sees the large bruise on your cheekbone and the ghost of a slash on your rib.

He won’t say much about the man who killed him. Only that he had no cursed energy and a son. You remember a scar bending with the curve of a mouth and sharp green eyes.

It’s quiet at Jujutsu Tech afterward. Yaga continues classes like he always does, and all of you do your best. There are fewer missions that are being demanded of you. You think it’s because of the failed mission. Despite this, Satoru takes on whatever he can, even volunteering for the tougher ones just so he can let off some steam. Suguru often tags along with him, leaving you alone to sulk.

You don’t think you have any reason to sulk. It’s not like you were killed, anyway.

You feel them both pulling away. You don’t bother to pry — they at least seem to be occupied with each other. They were best friends before you ever got close to either of them. You knew your place. You’d give them space, knowing the gravity of the trauma they’d experienced on the mission, and yet your heart ached all the same. It was a familiar hurt, the same you’d felt in high school about Satoru. It was only peculiar now because those feelings applied to both of them.

But then there are times when Satoru sneaks into your room like he always does. He likes to nip at your shoulder with teeth that feel sharper, meaner. Hand around your throat, the calluses squeezing flesh. He likes to pin you down to the mattress, likes to hear the squeak of the bedframe as he fucks into you mercilessly.

Suguru takes you, too, but not so desperately, not so obviously. He lures you in, instead. You realize that he’s different than Satoru in the way that he has the patience for games. It explains the teasing, the touching. He’ll have you wrapped around his finger just from talking to you, and within the hour, he’ll be fucking into your soaked cunt in the locker rooms after sparring.

You suppose this is the way they both let out their frustrations, how they cope with the trauma of losing Riko. They were tightlipped about her.

Both of them had changed in ways that were beyond your comprehension.

Satoru gets colder. Similar to the way he was in high school, when he barely acknowledged you. He doesn’t like to look at you for very long, as if the mere fact of his gaze on you would hurt him, hurt you. It was stupid. He didn’t care about your fragility before, so what point was there to care about it now?

Suguru is mostly the same, just quieter. Hell, he’d always been quiet, other than the times he’d fuck you or when you’d be alone with him. His sarcastic streak was weaker. He touched you less.

You can’t stand any of it.

Satoru isn’t meant to be someone so vulnerable. It’s out of character for him.

You soothe his nightmares when he wakes you up in the middle of the night clutching your waist with nails digging into the skin underneath your shirt. He’s always shaking, always mumbling something nonsensical.

Selfishly, you find that it feels nice to be needed. To be his only form of salvation during these times.

In his waking moments, Satoru is himself again. Belligerently so, with his recklessness. It’s up to you and Suguru to tame him, often. Satoru is almost a different version of himself – familiar and still annoying — but he is much more adamant about his power, nowadays. A God complex in the making.

Satoru gets greedier. He likes to wake you up with his nose nudging your clit, tongue already making a mess of your hole. No amount of pushing his head away with your hand would make him stop, though you blame yourself for indulging.

He likes to tease you for the semblance of control. You suspect that beyond playing with you, he finds solace in Suguru, instead. They aren’t particularly shy about it—sometimes you walk into Satoru’s dorm and find them entangled with one another, clothes off and warm to the touch. They always welcome you into their arms, forcing you in between them.

You feel like you’re at an arm’s length from them at all times despite this.

November, 2009

You settle on a routine. It’s less than pleasant, but you’re used to it. Convincing yourself that it’s normal, at least.

Yaga puts you on more solo missions — you’ve improved your technique. The precision of it is tough, always a wildcard given the unpredictability of destruction beneath your fingertips. Regardless, it’s gotten better. It doesn’t traumatize you so much to be a vehicle of decay anymore. You’re numb to it.

It’s odd — you’re carrying the burden of something you didn’t experience. Satoru finds that you are a mirror for Suguru, the same temperament and all. Always leaving the party to smoke cigarettes together. It doesn’t make him pissy necessarily, but it makes him pout. Clingy to the both of you.

“Stop being antisocial,” he whines.

You and Suguru look up at him in question. He had followed you out of the party when you saw Satoru’s hand on the waist of a girl you didn’t recognize. It was nothing, probably, but it wasn’t something you had ever had to deal with. It wasn’t like he could pry anything out of you, anyway.

“We’re not,” you defend, waving a cigarette around. “It’s too hot in there.”

It was true, to be fair. You were too warm in there and the outside air was nice. That, and you figured that Suguru would follow you, and he always wanted to steal you away for kisses.

Satoru had technically intruded on that, interrupting the moment Suguru had pulled away from your mouth. He eyes you wearing Suguru’s jacket and softens.

“You wanna go home, don’t you?” he asks.

“I can stay if you want,” you shrug.

He sighs. “Can you guys at least hang out with me?”

“Needy,” Suguru teases, stomping the butt of his cigarette on the ground and ushering you in between the sliding glass doors, hand on the small of your back. He nips at Satoru’s neck on the way in.

As if in apology, you don’t leave Satoru’s lap for the rest of the night. You don’t really get to. He even follows you to the bathroom and considers taking you over the counter for the hell of it.

It’s been difficult to touch you, lately.

In late August, the Zen’in outcast had killed him. Satoru had never thought of death as an option that was even possible. It’s why his mind was frenzied in his last moments, panicked as the two of them were surrounded by fly heads. He had not anticipated death, hadn’t anticipated the impact of it, how Suguru would have to return his corpse to Jujutsu Tech. How you would be shedding overflowing tears.

He’d like to think that your face or Suguru’s was in his mind when he took his last breath, but truthfully, he doesn’t remember. His mind was blank.

And when he had risen from the dead and shot a lethal hole through Toji Fushiguro, his mind was blank then, as well. The euphoria had faded. He had fulfilled the ordained role of a boygod, his hands were bloody, and he killed a man who would leave behind a son. He thought of his supposed immortality, his transcendence beyond something human, and then he thought of you.

You were the most human thing about him.

Your warmth, the flush in your cheeks. The way he had taken you back when you were in school, none the wiser about the world of curses. Sometimes he thinks you are one.

It wasn’t meant to go this far, but he had taken the leap and continued to wade in the pool of it all. He does not think of love when he thinks of his family, but he thinks of love when he sees you and Suguru. Something beating, something alive.

It was why he was constantly tipping the line between overflowing completely and being numb — Satoru was no stranger to his indulgences. You, on the other hand, were something else entirely. Fragile underneath his hands. Sometimes, he didn’t even think it was worth it to keep you in the bear trap he had set for you.

And then Suguru would kiss away your tears when Satoru was too rough, too cold, and he would succumb to his desires again. Instead of being something akin to a god, he often dreamt about being ordinary.

Maybe if his birth didn’t throw the planet off its kilter, he could truly be good to you instead of wanting to cut you open and live inside of you. Satoru would always be safe in your skin, but he had started to doubt that you would ever be safe in his.

You were the first to know him, he thinks. You had met him as a child and didn’t assume his divinity, rather, you were oblivious to it. Even as a little servant, you refused to kiss his feet. It relieved him. Satoru knew you always meant more to him than a toy, but in his emerging adulthood, he had taken you as a form of escapism and couldn’t cut you off. You had fastened yourself to him like an extra limb unknowingly.

“I don’t get how you can be so overbearing to her yet so distant at the same time,” Suguru remarks.

Satoru makes a face, scrunching his nose.

“Don’t play dumb.”

“I genuinely don’t know what you’re referring to,” Satoru says blankly.

“The teasing goes too far. And you get insensitive because you’re a prick, and then you barely text her back when you’re on missions.”

Satoru scoffs, fiddling with the pencil he twirls in his hands. Suguru was right, he supposed. He noticed you were a little hollow, all blank stares. Sleeping in while Satoru did not sleep at all.

“They’ve gotten harder lately. And it’s not like I’m–”

“Not what?” Suguru snorts. “Her boyfriend?”

Satoru says nothing to this. Instead, he tackles Suguru onto his bed, slides his palms underneath his shirt and up the smooth planes of his abdomen. He sighs, setting his head on Suguru’s chest.

“It’s not like she cares.”

“She does. She loves you.”

Satoru’s face reddens as if what Suguru says isn’t fact. On Satoru’s end, however – his feelings for you were an understatement. Calling it love seemed fruitless. He’d like to be fused with you, never letting you go. Stuck in the bliss of your skin kissing his in the early mornings forever.

“Think something got knocked loose when I died,” Satoru mumbles, his eyes blank.

Suguru looks at him in question, not following.

“I’ll make it up to her.”

January, 2010

“What are you getting Suguru for his birthday?”

“I don’t know,” Satoru shrugs, a blue raspberry lollipop filling up the hollow of his cheek. Tongue matching the blinding saturation of his eyes. “A blowjob?”

“You’re disgusting.”

“Don’t be homophobic! You like watching.”

“I’m serious,” you roll your eyes.

“We’ll take him out,” he grins, shoving his hands in his pockets. Always stupidly attractive, his beauty borderline mythological.

You knew he was lying, knew that he would be away on that Wednesday, that his calendar was always filled a month prior with what the higher-ups needed from him. You thought it was unfair, given that he was still only a second year, though you still knew better. The glaring truth of his strength ever since the failed Star Plasma Vessel mission was conspicuous, a reminder that started to become egregious to you.

Satoru takes some of your takoyaki in unspoken amusement with you rolling your eyes, passing the tray towards him. He pouts despite the gesture, reaching over to poke you in the cheek.

“That can’t taste good with all the sugar in your mouth.”

“You’d be surprised.”

You fixate on the television. Satoru had gotten lucky recently, convincing Yaga to convert one of the common rooms with the connected bathroom into a dorm for himself. He had the Gojo money to “donate”, and he’d been on his best behavior in the past few months, which was rare. It wasn’t like Yaga really gave a fuck about their boarding situation as long as the missions went smoothly.

The room was big enough to fulfill that dream of pushing two beds together. A TV set and dingy couch to match. He needed the TV to fall asleep at night, especially if you weren’t there to stroke his hair. It was the only light source beyond a Hello Kitty lava lamp that Suguru had gotten him as a joke gift.

Satoru had recently started an obsession with Godzilla for some reason, forcing you to watch one every few days before bedtime. You were going in order since Christmas – tonight was the one versus Hedorah.

“You never look at me anymore,” he whines.

“What are you talking about?”

You’d rather say something biting, like how it was the other way around. How he’s been shoving your face into the mattress. How you’d come back to your dorm and see Satoru in between Suguru’s legs without much acknowledgment to you until he’d finish.

“You look at me like I’m a mosquito bite or something. What’s wrong? You don’t think I’m pretty anymore?” he grins, settling his cheek into his palm.

“Not at all. You’re hideous,” you deadpan, crossing your arms. The remark earns you a light kick to your shin under the table.

“Wow. Rude. Personally, I think you’re God-sent.”

“I thought you wanted me to watch this movie,” you mutter, trying not to let him know how much his comment affected you. You always flushed when he said things like that still, and it would always be out of the blue.

“You know I like talking during movies.”

“Right. It’s one of your worst qualities,” you sigh.

The pillows around you are discarded when he suddenly pins you down to the carpet, your face right next to an old ash stain from one of Shoko’s cigarettes. He grins as he parts your mouth with the pad of his thumb, and you’re as obedient as you always are. There’s a ribbon of saliva from his mouth stretching as he takes the lollipop from his tongue to yours.

It wasn’t difficult to get his dick hard, really. He’d known that ever since he’d seen you sprawled on the grass next to the track field when you were fourteen, the way your chest was heaving and your underwear was just slightly visible underneath your gym shorts when you parted your legs.

Satoru thinks you’d laugh in his face if he’d told you about all the times he thought about you when you were teenagers despite the fact that he didn’t speak to you at all. He knows that he would deserve it.

It’s funny. He used to resent you then. He knew he could have you if he’d simply tried a bit harder, if he didn’t so abruptly toss you aside in middle school. Even so, you were everywhere for him—in his dreams, in his house against your will like a chained ghost. Back then, he hated that he loved you, hated that you were weak, hated that, at least besides Suguru, nobody knew him except you.

He wonders briefly if he was high on the taste of you or if the candy is laced with something— he wouldn’t be surprised, since Shoko and Suguru were enablers for the two of you even when you tried to be responsible. It didn’t matter anyway. Your body always made him this frenetic.

It’s when his fingers graze the heat of your cunt that Suguru barges in. He blinks at the two of you entangled on the floor and merely laughs.

“You guys just started?”

“Mmmf,” Satoru grunts. His hand’s wrapped around your neck, now, and your eyes are closed.

Suguru’s musk fills the room. White pine and sugary maple — he’d used Satoru’s deodorant before the mission. There’s still a blood splatter under his cheekbone the color of ripe plums. This was the usual weekend routine. Mindless fucking with a movie in the background. At least one of you would be too exhausted to muster up the energy to go into the city. It was easier to indulge inside, especially when the temperature kept dipping.

Your eyes flutter as Satoru bites your neck down to your collarbone. When you look toward the couch, you see Suguru with a plastic baggie of something you don’t recognize.

“What’s that?”

“Shrooms.”

“How the hell did you manage that?” Satoru quips, his hand digging into your hip.

“There are some freaks in Akihabara,” Suguru shrugs. He eats the mushrooms like they’re crumbs at the bottom of a chip bag. “Got this shit after my mission in a fucking vending machine outside a love hotel. Can you believe it?”

“What, did you get a room there or something?” Satoru snorts. “Whore.”

“Why would I, when I can home to this?” Suguru’s eyes are viper-like, serpentine as he smiles lazily. You’d eat from his palm if he asked you to. In sickness and health—it was stupid. You crawl to him and you do.

Satoru doesn’t take any. He knows full well that psychedelics fuck with his Infinity, that it would only make his insomnia worse. The last time he’d tried acid, he had nightmares for days, seeing green eyes of a hunter. Blood slashed from a blade to his neck. Flyheads swarming.

The drugs make you giddy. Another hour and the room spins in an orderly fashion, the ceiling dancing around in a kaleidoscopic pulse. Suguru had limited your dose, knew you’d freak the fuck out if your self started to disconnect. He’d been there enough times to despise it. Ego death was torture for the introspective kind.

He sucks a hickey into your neck while you’re mindless. It’s amusing how invested you are in this episode of Sailor Moon. Satoru lays his head on your thigh, playing with you lazily. You’re happy enough to take it, grinding against his hand as Suguru distracts you with a kiss. It’s tender and slow, not unusual for him, but with the two of them together, everything is usually frenzied.

He gets you in his lap, the sacrificial lamb you are. Always eager to walk into the predator’s gaping maw on your own accord because of his beautiful eyes. Suguru is no beast, but there’s something twisted about the way he plays with you sometimes.

He likes you to beg for it, but it’s not the taunting way that Satoru does. Suguru will inch his face close enough to yours to smell the artificial sweetness of your breath, then pull your hair when you lean in to kiss him. He’ll touch your thigh under the table, not unlike Satoru, but his fingers will dance around your core in a way that leaves you unable to speak to your fellow peers.

You wonder if they’ve learned their cruelty from each other. But this time, he’s sweet.

It’s the hallucinogen fogging his brain. It makes him like a teenager in love. Open-mouthed, pawing love handles. You’re wearing Satoru’s t-shirt, something monochromatic and stupidly expensive, and Suguru tears it off of you as his mouth waters.

Coughing, Satoru tilts his head, supports it with elbows on the carpet. His temperament is neutral, teasing even, but for some reason, looking at him makes you sober up to some degree of lucidity that’s sensitive to him. The part of you that wants to please him at all times.

You crawl to him and say his name. It’s child-like. The shrooms make your eyes wide, colors innocence onto your face from the bliss. It reminds him of when you were younger—bruised knees and twigs in your hair from tumbling in the forest with him. Something tugs at his chest.

“You tryin’ to seduce me?” Satoru jeers, tongue licking his teeth. His palm on your face is hot.

You smile and nod. His gaze lowers and he snaps the waistband of your sweats against your hip. Hand on your thigh again, taunting your synapses. You think he’ll take you with his usual ferocity, but he steals your breath with a kiss instead.

The kiss never ends. Maybe they switch in between, but you don’t notice. Your eyes are shut, tight enough to see phosphenes like a galaxy. Blue and purple bleeding into your irises. You feel them pulling you apart, cock filling you up, hands everywhere.

“Fuck,” someone gasps. Something like groveling, desperate hair pulling.

“Inside,” you beg. “Please.”

Satoru watches, mesmerized. The heat of your body, sweat pooling into the divot above your clavicle—it all makes his mouth water, but he stays still on the couch as Suguru pins you to the floor. It’s the most the Six Eyes has felt in months, for some reason, and he hadn’t even taken anything. He half-wishes he could get his hands on something other than you to inject into his veins—maybe then he could learn to be calm or fall asleep at regular times. Anything to stop the odd ache in his chest whenever he looked at you.

He’s never been a man of God. He was God himself. And then he sees you moan out, bliss-wrecked and flooded with light, burning like seraphim. He’d come back to life a thousand times just to see your face. It made him sick.

Satoru kisses you before you knock out on his bed, eyes half-open and dazed. You’re refusing to go to bed, citing euphoria for your desire to run a few laps. Meanwhile, Suguru is asleep on the couch, fucked out and satisfied.

You’re coaxed into sleep. It’s not hard once you start rambling, shut up only by the feeling of Satoru’s fingers running across your scalp. He lays awake like he often does, talking to the moon. He sighs as you nuzzle into him, your whole body curling towards him to ward off goosebumps. You’re nearly bare considering you didn’t bother to put on clothes after you and Suguru had finished.

Satoru pulls the blanket over you, sighing. He’d had the leftover beers in the mini-fridge just to feel a buzz, even the taste of German ales made his nose wrinkle. It still wasn’t enough to put his mind at ease. He stares at the stained carpet, then Suguru’s sleeping shadow, then your face. He shuts his eyes.

It’s been months, yet the memories still cage you. It’s like something wraps its hand around your throat in your subconscious. In each dream, you are aching for their return, and they come to you like newly-bloomed flowers.

It feels like you’ve been waiting for them for centuries, your body stuck in the grass with a bruise over your left eye that doesn’t stop aching. You don’t even know how much you’re bleeding until they return to you again, caressing your sides and pulling away at the sight of a wound.

Your angels are not dead. It’s enough relief for you to keep going, but they still look at you with furrowed brows. Blood spills from your mouth.

“I missed you. I missed you. I missed you.”

Despite the pain, the vision is familiar. You’re too distracted by their beauty, how their mere presence is arcadian in itself. You don’t need anything else. You could die here.

Here, between them and their celestial bodies, in the green, green grass. Spider lilies bloom around you like kisses in blessing as the golden evening swallows you up. There’s a sinking feeling—a literal one, of you descending into the ground in a way that feels like a loose feather falling.

Your angels reach for you until they grasp the whole of you and turn you inside out. They pull apart the mess of you, reshaping you, undoing tangles and knots and bending the stem of your being so you can be reborn in their image. They love you enough to do so.

And when you look back at them with love in your eyes, you flinch. They’re eclipsed by something terrible, too far away for you to reach. It’s bloody. It has a voice like skin scraping pavement, full-bodied whiskey.

You stretch your hand out only meet a sweaty palm. When you open your eyes, a pair of blue ones stare back at you.

#gojo smut #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jjk smut #geto x reader #geto suguru x reader #gojo satoru x you #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk x you #geto suguru x you #geto x you

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somehow-a-human · 2 months

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GOOD OMENS SEASON 3 - Speculations/Predictions

DO NOT ASK NEIL ABOUT FAN THEORY

The GO brainrot is well underway, we’re only 7 months out of season 2 and I dont know how I will cope until season 3! But I have been ravenously consuming all of your lovely meta, fanfiction, and fanart and I have finally decided to add my messy ball of thought yarn to this hellsite!

Warning: this is going to be long and wild, I have no real life people to talk to about Good Omens, and I really need an outlet to gush about these ineffable idiots.

SO! Shall we begin?

S3E1 will open with the great war/the fall. The opening of the previous seasons have been Crowley and Aziraphales earliest meetings, it makes sense season 3 will mirror this. I’m hoping we will get more context of their relationship; had they become closer after S2E1’s ‘before the beginning’ ? Will we see them going to war, will Aziraphale come face to face with Angel!Crowley on the battlefield? Will Aziraphale search for him among the fallen?

Somethings up… with memory. The way I look at it, season 2 was meant to bridge the storyline gap between armageddon and the second coming. It’s there to set us up for another world ending plot and also to give us context for season 3. I think the introduction of the idea that memories can just be manipulated willy-nilly by the big boss, and Gabriels little vacation as Jim serve exactly to show us that this happens. It says: look heaven does this! they were just casually going to do it to the Supreme Archangel, no questions asked. Crowleys memory, in this regard, has been a topic of debate. I think the biggest clue that he indeed has suffered some sort of memory loss is when he’s talking to Jimbriel who says he feels like “an empty house”. Crowley later finishes Jimbriels thought with “I know, looking at where the furniture isn’t.” I think he is downright kind to Jim in the bookshop and chummy with him because they have some sort of kinship, maybe from when they were angels, but more probably because Crowley feels it through the loss of Gabriels memories. Maybe he understands and relates in a way to what he is going through. His not remembering Saraquael or Furfur could just be chalked up to Crowley being an asshole sometimes. I think Crowley has definitely worked on recovering his memory some if this is the case. He remembers Aziraphale though from their time as angels so what specifically might he have forgotten?

Crowley will be a Duke of Hell/Grand Duke of Hell. Not only was Crowley offered the position by Beelzebub, but the blocking in that scene, where Crowley leans across the dual thrones to be in the very center seems to be foreshadowing it. I’ve seen multiple people make this prediction and it makes the most sense to me. What is Crowley gonna do on earth wallow and mope around the bookshop? Look he’s a disaster puppy yes but he’s also in love with the new Supreme Archangel. In the final moments of S2 he is sad, but he also looks determined. He’s angry, but I don’t think he’s angry with Aziraphale. And if there’s one way to keep an eye on Aziraphale and all this second coming nonsense, being a high ranking member of hell seems like a good idea to me.

Is Maggie more than human? Nah I dont think so. Look Maggies got a lot of weird stuff going on sure but I think her most important role in S2 was to be Crowleys mirror (and deliver the gut punch “you never say what you’re really thinking” but we are skipping that). Forget the masonic and biblical imagery associated with her, maybe all the mis-spelling in her note was showing us was that the bubbly blonde is tied to the demon instead of the angel like you might immediately assume? Sure Nina is edgy and closed off, but she’s the one in a toxic relationship, and she doesn’t realize how Maggie feels about her, not until an awning full of water (1941 nazi bomb) is dropped on her head. Maggie is patient and supportive of Nina. She ‘saves the day’ by grabbing her an array of milks from the mini mart in Ep6, and most importantly she says she will wait for Nina. When Crowley goes to get in the bentley after Aziraphale leaves for heaven, he looks first at Nina. She gives him a little ‘goodbye’ wave, then he turns to look at Maggie, she’s asleep at the register, waiting. I don’t think Crowley is angry with Aziraphale, he would’ve driven off if he was. Instead he stands there watching, telling him he’ll be waiting.

1941 Pt. 3 minisode. Okay everybody wants this I know. What happened to the zombies? They definitely listed to ‘A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square’ that night right? We know Aziraphale does the apology dance, presumably for 1. nearly getting Crowley shot by nazis, 2. blown up by a bomb, 3. caught “fraternizing” by hell, and 4. nearly making Crowley discorporate him himself with the bullet catch. Maybe they put on some music, and maybe they dance a bit together before Aziraphale remembers himself and says “angels don’t dance” or something to end it. In the Jane Austen ball scene when Aziraphale asks Crowley to dance, barring the subtitles are correct, Crowley replies with “you don’t dance?” not “WE don’t dance”. I think that’s an important distinction, that could point back to this night.

Book of life & Book of Love. Another thing S2 set up as cannon for S3 was the Book of Life. I have no clue what this could mean but I immediately thought of the Doctor Who episode “The Big Bang”. At the end of the episode, The Doctor doesn’t exist because wibbly wobbly timey wimey… stuff. But Amy realizes something isn’t right, that someone is missing. She ends up bringing The Doctor back through her memories, simply because ‘something loved cannot be truly forgotten’. What does this have to do with GO? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Just where my head is at, and I could see someone being erased from the book of life (one of our ineffable idiots for example) being undone in a similar vein. Love is the strongest force in existence, stronger than anything angels, demons, or God themself could understand.

Crowley will make a whale. Well, okay maybe that’s too literal of a statement? To be fair God never says to make a whale, Job says that's what he thinks she means. But look, he’s going to get to talk to God right? I think of the questions God asked Job. Did you set the constellations in the sky? Crowley did, S2E1 we watched him do it. Do you know the rules of the heavens? Crowley does, we even see him explain (gr)mavity to Jimbriel. Can you send lightning and get it to report back? Crowley can, we saw it after he got in his little argument with Aziraphale. Did you teach the ostrich to run? Maybe? Is this an allegory for telling Gabriel to go to Alpha Centauri? Or the peacocks to fly? Beez? Miss Sandwich? look its God okay not everything is going to be straightforward. Anyway, I think it’s clear our demon will get to ask his questions, he might not get answers, but he will get to ask the questions.

It begins as it will end, with a garden. Not the garden of Eden this time, but perhaps a garden at a cottage in The South Downs. Or.. maybe the Garden of Eden. If you've not read the short story "In The End" by Mr Neil Gaiman himself, please do, it's only a page long and it's lovely. I bought an extra copy of Fragile Things just so I could cut it out and glue it in the last page of my copy of Good Omens. Anyway, it's a brief but beautiful imagining of the last book of The Bible, in which God gives the Garden of Eden to humanity. I love the idea that human souls might return to Eden after their time on Earth. I also (and I know I'm in the vast minority) love the idea of Crowley and Aziraphale choosing to somehow embrace mortality to fully enjoy life on Earth with each other, and therefore themselves being able to return to the Garden of Eden with each other someday.

WELL! Did anyone actually read this? If you did, you’re insane just like me and I love you for it! Please let me know your ideas!

#good omens #michael sheen #david tennant #good omens meta #good omens art #ineffable husbands #ineffable spouses #ineffable divorce #ineffable idiots #help #its consuming me #i cant wait 2 more years neil #crowley #crowley x aziraphale #aziraphale #aziracrow

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neoraso · 4 months

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on your special day | pwb

for @fleurlia angel ♡ i hope you had a wonderful birthday, sorry i'm late!

wonbin was an incredibly affectionate and attentive boyfriend who never let you doubt his love. he didn't always use words but you didn't mind, his actions spoke for themselves. it was your first birthday you got to spend with him and though you both didn't bring it up too often, you could tell it was definitely on his mind. he kept slipping it into conversation randomly in the weeks leading up to your day

"what did you do for your last birthday?"

"is there something you really want me to get you?"

"i'll take the day off for you..."

you promised you didn't want anything big, just to spend time with him. stroking your hair and giving you a kiss on the nose he replied, "don't worry i won't throw you a surprise party or anything. i don't want that either..." though you could tell there was more he wanted to say you left the topic alone, not wanting to pressure him.

and so, the day finally came. you woke up early, and to an empty bed to your dismay. laying in bed for a few minutes listening to soft movements coming from the kitchen, you finally willed yourself up out of bed.

shuffling down the hallway to the kitchen you come across a sight that leaves you pouting. wonbin, in a loose tank top and sweats. his long hair wavy and mussed up from sleeping. before you knew it, your feet were dragging you towards him. you placed a palm on his back letting him know you were there, he always said your footsteps were too quiet and would spook him. this time though, he just softly smiled while you stood on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek.

"good morning." he said.

"very good morning, getting to see my angel on my birthday." you replied. "how long have you been up?"

"only an hour before you, i wanted to get cooking. i asked my mom for the recipe... " he said sheepishly , looking down at the pot of seaweed soup.

"hm...it smells right and i trust you chef." you assured him with a playful salute.

he nudged you with his elbow, then signaled with his chin towards your table. "go sit, it'll be ready soon then you can give me an honest review."

"i don't want to leave you though?" you said looking up at him.

"you're making me nervous i'm gonna mess this up and then it's gonna be a bad omen for the rest of the year." he left a kiss on top of your head at this, making it more of an order than a suggestion. as usual, you obeyed, albeit reluctantly, plopping down on your seat. at least you had a better view of him from here, you sneakily snapped a few pictures of him, putting your phone face down as he brought your bowl and spoon . he left for a moment to bring your rice and sides, setting it in front of you. once he finally sat down he turned to you with such an adoring look it made you shy all of a sudden.

"eat up" he said, motioning to the bowl. you got right to it, not doubting his cooking abilities, and you were pleased as usual. "how is it?" he asked quietly, petting your hair and looking at you practically with stars in his eyes.

"oh wonbin...." you started and his face dropped.

"what? is it bad? i thought i followed all the directions she sent me." he went to grab your bowl from you but you stopped him with a laugh. "if you'd let me finish i was gonna say, it's delicious. i can really taste the love" you teased him. luckily, he responded favorably,

"good. i made sure to put extra of that." he said as he tucked your hair behind your ear and ran his fingers down your cheek.

you finished your meal and sat on the counter talking to him as he cleaned up the kitchen- a rare sight, but he whined he just wanted to do you right on your birthday...

you both ended up on the couch. you, in his lap and him, stroking the skin of your legs and pressing soft kisses to your temple.

"was there anything specific you wanted to do today? i made reservations at your favorite restaurant for dinner but we can cancel if you don't want to go ..." he started

"of course i want to go, i'll do anything if it's with you." you replied with a smile, grabbing his hand. he brought your fingers up to his mouth and kissed every single one before continuing.

"do you want your present now or later?"

you felt his earnestness from his eyes and tone and knew how excited (or nervous) he was to give it to you. so you end his suffering with a kiss to his cheek. "i'll take it now"

he tapped your leg so he could get up and came back almost too quickly holding a small box. sitting back down next to you on the couch and presented your gift on his open palms. taking the pink box from him, you undid the bow and opened the top revealing a glistening silver necklace with charm of both of your birthstones linked together.

"if you don't like it we can get something else, i just thought-" he started until you threw your arms around his neck.

"i love it so much bin. can you put it on me?" you said already twisting around and handing him the necklace. you picked up your hair while he clasped it around your neck and kissed the spot after.

"i just thought now you could have something that represents us both. i got a matching bracelet, but i didn't want to wear it yet and ruin the surprise..." he was rambling now so you stopped him with a hand on his wrist, making him look up at you. "i just want this day to be perfect for you. it's our first birthday together..."

you leaned in for a kiss but stopped just before his lips to whisper.

"and it won't be our last."

#사실 내 생일 얼마 안남았다...#my bday is jan 21 !#riize wonbin #wonbin fluff #wonbin x reader #wonbin imagines #wonbin #riize #riize fluff #riize x reader #riize imagines #riize scenarios #ㅇㅋ 돼쓰

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ghoulie-67-baby · 5 months

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Thunderstorm - Good Omens.

Summary: Thunderstorms had been one of your biggest fears since childhood and a big storm is on its way, but Aziraphale promises he will be with you. And a sweet surprise makes dealing with the storm much easier.

Warnings: Fear of thunderstorms (Astraphobia), Panic, anxiety, crying, angst, fluff.

Pairing: Ineffable husbands x GN!reader

Word count: 2,176.

The air was dense and suffocating as I wandered through the streets of Soho, rushing to get home as fast as possible before the rain started. Clouds above my head blackened as the minutes passed, only making my steps faster and more urgent. I half expected to see the Bentley parked outside the shop in its usual spot as home came into view but the space was empty, sadness settling in my stomach though I couldn't tell if it was the fact he wasn't there or the looming storm or maybe a mix of both.

"I'm home," I called through the shop as I shut the door with cold, shaking fingers. There didn't seem to be anyone in the shop as I glanced around before taking off my shoes and jacket, walking through to the back room to put them away and grabbing my slippers and cardigan. I hummed to myself as I picked up the fresh cup of tea that seemed to be miracled to stay hot on the side, smiling at the notion. A sigh of relief sounded through the room as I sipped it, the taste and warmth settling me down. "Where are you, Honey?" My eyes scanned the room only to come up with nothing.

"Just a moment Love," A familiar voice called, making me grin. "I'm just shelving some of the newest materials." I rolled my eyes at his antics as I held my cup with clasped hands to warm them up. A mess of white curls came into view as the Angel appeared from behind one of the shelves, books stacked up so high I couldn't see his face as he balanced them. I giggled at him, placing down my cup, grabbing a few of the books from the pile and shifting them into my own arms. "Hello, Love." The grin on his face made his blue eyes shine and I smiled back, shaking my head before pressing my lips to his gently.

"Hello, Honey, busy day?" I gestured to both piles as we carried them through into the shop.

"Yes quite, I've waited all week for these to arrive so I'm glad they have before the storm hit." His gentle voice floated through the air as he lifted the books onto a shelf behind his desk, taking the second pile from me and doing the same with them. I shivered at the mention of the storm, pulling a face at the comment.

"I'll be glad when it's over," I mumbled, grabbing my cup once more and taking another sip. The Angel smiled sympathetically and pressed a small kiss to my forehead to comfort me. The kiss made me melt slightly, calming my nerves even though the wind howled through the shop furiously.

"I'm sure it won't be too long Love," He assured me, picking up his own cup of tea from his desk.

"Where's Crowley anyway? Thought he would've been back by now."

"As did I but he rang saying to expect him back a little later, something about an errand." I nodded, humming mindlessly as I took a seat on the sofa, crossing my legs and staring at the floor. "Love? Are you alright?" My eyes flickered back up to Aziraphale's face though they felt blurred and heavy.

"Sorry," I mumbled, "I'm just a little out of it. Think it's the storm." I sighed, pursing my lips as my eyes fell back to the floor. Ever since I was a child storms had terrified me to the point of endless tears and jumpiness, unfortunately following me into adulthood. This wouldn't be the first time I'd been with Aziraphale during a storm but each time it was the same; I would zone out, becoming distant and distracted, before freaking out when the storm actually hit leaving them to look after me.

"Don't apologise, Love," He came to sit beside me, shoulder resting against mine gently. "I'll be here with you the whole time." I nodded, smiling gratefully at him, finishing my tea. My head rested against his bicep as we waited for the storm to set in, the feeling of guilt building in my stomach knowing Aziraphale would have to deal with the state I got into, especially without Crowley here to help. Minutes felt like hours as we waited and I sighed heavily, eyes peering up at the Angel.

"Azira, can you read to me please?" A pleasant smile crossed his face as he nodded softly. "Can we carry on with Alice in Wonderland?" I giggled at the grin on his face, melting into a forehead kiss before curling my knees up on the sofa with me.

It had only been minutes since he left to go and find the book, shuffling could be heard in another room when an almighty crash of thunder split through the room. A scream of terror ripped through the room as I jumped out of my skin, launching myself off the sofa and to the nearest safe space where I curled up, trembling with hands clenched over my ears and eyes wide with fright. I was so caught up in the noise of the storm and flickers of lightning that I hadn't noticed Aziraphale rush back into the room. A part of me wanted to crawl out of my space and let him take care of me but my body was frozen in place as my heart pounded. I stared as a frantic pair of feet searched the room in my usual hiding spots for a curled-up, frightened bundle but they soon came to a stop in the middle of the room when all my places had been searched.

"Y/N, I know you're scared," His voice sounded muffled as he called out into the empty room. "But I need you to show me where you are." I whimpered softly, I wanted to show him, I really did but my body was too stubborn and stiff to move, curling up tighter with each crash of thunder. By this point, tears had flowed over and flooded my cheeks leaving streaks down my face. A sob was bitten back as the walls practically vibrated with the force of the storm outside, my fists clenched around my ears in a vain attempt to keep out the noise, making the pair of feet turn towards my corner quickly. I watched with blurred vision as the socked feet shuffled over to me, crouching down to reveal a pair of concern-filled blue eyes. Though I could see his mouth moving, I couldn't hear his soothing words as he softened his voice for me, holding out a hand though it just made me flinch. The corner I had shoved myself into was under a desk in the corner, trapped in by the wall and the desk's built-in drawers so there was no room for him to slide in beside me and sit out the storm.

I couldn't tell how long it had been since the storm started, the thunder and lightning sending my senses off in all directions into disorientation but I knew that the Angel never left my sight, making sure I knew he was there if and when I needed him. He had given up trying to touch me, realising it made me flinch and shrink back more and settled for sitting in front of me with his hands in his lap, though he still spoke despite me not hearing him. I knew it calmed him to know where I was and that I was safe as well as he knew it calmed me to hear his voice and see him. A cold wind blew through the room for a moment, leaving Aziraphale no choice but to leave me, mouthing that he would be back quickly, disappearing into the front of the shop.

As soon as he left the room, the walls seemed to darken, casting shadows across the walls with each flash of lightning and tremble of thunder. My silent sobs soon escalated into louder ones as the darkness seemed to fold around me which caught the attention of Azira and the guest. My eyes widened a little more when Aziraphale's socked feet entered the room with a pair of black booted feet just behind him. The two knelt down and this time Crowley's snake eyes appeared as well as the Angel's. Their gazes softened as I fought for my breath from crying, trying to ignore the way my body shuddered with each sob. The demon held out a hand to me but just like with the angel, I flinched and he drew back quickly, looking concerned and slightly offended. It wasn't because I didn't want them near me, the noises and sights of the storm were already overloading my senses and I didn't think I could take much more stimulation. I bit my lip, trying to clear my vision as Crowley stood back up and knelt by a large bag on the sofa before I let my eyes flicker to the white-haired Angel.

I could see his lips forming words like 'Come on' And 'You're safe with us Love' and slowly but surely my body seemed to decide it wanted out of the corner and into the warmth of that safety. Inch by inch, with shuddering breaths and trembling hands I moved towards him until I was just out from under the desk. With one last burst of energy, I threw myself into his arms, burying my face in his waistcoat and covering my ears once more, letting his own arms wrap around me. The hum of his speaking could be felt through his chest as the Angel and the Demon conversed between themselves. Soon after I was lifted and carried to the sofa where the Angel sat me on his lap, still curled up, and Crowley sat in front of me with his hands reaching to remove my hands from my ears. I let him rest his slender fingers over my own and gently pull my hands down, holding them in his own and hushing me softly when I jumped at the thunder.

"Hello Darling," He spoke, resting his forehead against mine "I ran an errand because I found something that could help with storms. Do you want to have a look?" I nodded slowly, squeezing his fingers as he let go of my hands and hauled the bag up onto his lap. I gazed up at Aziraphale who smiled encouragingly and nodded towards the bag, giving me permission to open it and take a look. Shaking hands didn't stop me from having a look and a fresh wave of tears came to my eyes at what was inside.

A charcoal grey weighted blanket was folded inside, brand new and looking incredibly soft. I had never thought about getting one, they weren't cheap things to buy and I wasn't sure if I would like it in case it overwhelmed me but the Demon had taken extra care to purchase one that he thought would be perfect and I would never want to upset him by turning it down. I watched in awe and appreciation as he pulled it from the bag and unfolded it, almost effortlessly though I knew it was heavy, I assumed it was a demon perk if anything.

"We wanted to see if you'd try this when it's stormy or you're having a rough day Love," Aziraphale muttered into my hair. "It might help you to settle and block other things out for a while." I nodded but I was worried this meant they wouldn't stay and help me in a storm but I shook the thought away.

"Would you like to try it?" I nodded eagerly, looking at the Angel to see if he wanted me to slide off his lap but he kept me clutched to his chest just like before. Relaxing back into him, I smiled softly as the Demon draped the blanket over me, making sure to keep the weight evened out.

Instantly, the blanket melded into the curves of my body and the Angel's, serving as a cocoon. The feelings of panic were still there but had dulled down as the weight kept me comfortable and grounded in Azira's arms, making me relax into him, laying my head against his shoulder with a small sigh of relief. Though the storm still raged on outside, the feeling of my gift really did drown out the sounds and sights as I hid my face in Aziraphale's neck with a small yawn.

"How does it feel Darling?" My eyes flickered to meet Crowley's and I gave him a drowsy grin. He took this as approval for the gift and chuckled before sliding off his shoes transforming into his snake form on the sofa, sliding up to us and pooling his body against my chest. The storm's noise still made me flinch but nowhere near as much as it did before the blanket. I couldn't help the immense feelings of gratitude that flooded my body as we sat out the storm.

#good omens #good omens x reader imagines #good omens x reader #good ineffable omens #innefable husbands #ineffable husbands x reader #aziracrow #crowley #aziraphale #crowley x arizaphale #aziraphale x crowley #aziraphale x reader #crowley x reader #aziraphale imagines #crowley imagines

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blushweddinggowns · 7 months

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For the dialogue prompts!! #42 “Who’s laughing now?” “…Clearly not you. You’re crying, dear God.” (Tumblr kept crashing when I tried to send an ask so post submission it is)

thank you @wonderoverfear for the prompt!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had started off with such a good morning. Eddie had woken up to Steve kissing him goodbye before he headed off for work, so sweet that it had him in a great mood for the rest of the day. They'd barely been together for a month but god, had Steve turned him into a total sap. How did he ever get so lucky?

And yeah sure, he was wrapped around Steve's finger, bad enough to do some real corny shit. Like making Steve lunch and personally delivering it. But it was so worth it.

Though, if freshmen Eddie could see him now, happily kissing the ass of King Steve, he'd probably have a stroke.

The store was empty when he came in, not that that was shocking. When Robin and Steve were working alone together they had a bad habit of hiding in the breakroom until someone started slamming on the bell at the front counter.

He wandered back there, pausing at the door.

"You really asked him out for a bet? Are you serious?"

Eddie froze at the sound of Robin's voice, loud enough to carry through the thin walls.

"What can I say?" Steve sighed, "I'm an asshole and I needed the five bucks. It's not a big deal."

Eddie...was fucking praying that he wasn't hearing what he thought he was. There was no way in hell that Steve would do that to him, right? But...he knew for a fucking fact that he was the only he Steve had ever been with.

"It's kind of psychotic," Robin said with a giggle, "Like damn dude. Does he know you did it as a dare?

Eddie had no clue why him getting his heart torn out was so fucking funny to her.

"Not exactly?" Steve said, completely nonchalant, "But hey, what he doesn't know won't kill him."

That was more than enough for Eddie. He backed away from the door, nearly running to get the fuck out of there. He slammed the door to his van, tears already prickling in his eyes.

He should have known this whole fucking thing was too good to be true. He just never thought it would all be a lie. Who the hell did something like that? He had given Eddie a key to his fucking house for God's sake. And vice versa. They had spent nearly every night together for three weeks straight. Steve had taken his fucking virginity. He said he loved him. And it was all a joke? A dare for shits and giggles? For five fucking dollars?

That's what he was worth?

He felt like he was going to be sick. What was the pay off to all of this? To dump him and laugh? Well fuck that. Eddie wasn't going to give him a chance.

He spent the rest of the day holed up in his room, trying his damndest not to cry. The asshole didn't deserve it. Steve was going to get off work, come over, and Eddie was going to end this whole stupid façade. And probably never talk to him and Robin again. They'd share custody of Dustin and the others, but Eddie had zero intention of being around him. Not after this.

Nope, he was going to tell him off and never see him again, while desperately trying not to cry during. That was his plan and he was sticking to it.

Though...it wasn't exactly a good omen that he started tearing up the minute he heard a key in the door.

"Baby, I'm home!" Steve cheerily called into the apartment, "Where are you?"

Eddie took a deep breath before standing. He could do this. Just a quick, Fuck you, I never want to see you again and it was over.

They met in the hallway, Steve smiling at him like an asshole, "I missed you today-"

"I want to break up."

That wiped the smile off of his face. Steve stared at him, wide-eyed like he couldn't believe it. Maybe he thought Eddie was too dumb to ever catch on. And...honestly if he hadn't been lucky he would have been.

"Eds, why would you say something like that?" Steve asked, taking a step forward, "I-did I do something? Because if I did I know I can work on it-"

He was reaching out for him and it was enough to have Eddie flinching backwards. He crossed his arms over his chest, staring at the floor as he tried to will the tears away. It wasn't really working, but Eddie kept going, "Did you do something? Are you kidding me? Fuck you Steve. I never want to see you again."

But Steve wasn't fucking off. He was still trying to approach him, slow and cautious, like he was afraid of spooking off a feral cat, "Eddie, sweetheart, I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You fucking ask me out as a joke, a five dollar bet, and you can't figure out what the problem is?" Eddie scoffed, swallowing back the lump in his throat, "Well guess what. I found out about it. So you can drop the act. We're done. So who's laughing now?"

“…Clearly not you. You’re crying, dear God."

Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit. Eddie wiped at his eyes, furious to find the tears there. Yeah he was really fucking up on this whole I don't care, fuck you break-up thing. Especially since now that they started, they were just getting worse and worse. He needed to get Steve the fuck out of here before he started sobbing like the little bitch he was.

Honestly, Eddie was surprised he hadn't left already. What was the point in sticking around? The jig was up. But Steve didn't look like he was going anywhere. He didn't even look mad, just concerned. Like he actually gave a shit about how Eddie felt.

"Eddie," Steve said slowly, reaching a hand out tentatively, "I'm going to touch you now, okay?"

Eddie shook his head, eyes moving back to the floor. All his anger was gone, replaced with nothing but heartbreak. He felt small and tired, his voice pathetic to even his own ears, "Please don't."

But Steve didn't listen. Instead he gently circled his hand around Eddie's wrist, pulling him out of the hallway and into the living room. Eddie wasn't sure why he was letting him drag him to the couch. And he wasn't sure why he was letting Steve pull him into his lap. But he was. Maybe because part of him was still hanging on to the miniscule hope that this wasn't happening.

Steve maneuvered him how he wanted, putting him in Eddie's new favorite position. His face pressed into the crook of Steve's neck, breathing him in while Steve held him. He had no idea why Steve was doing this, and he was too emotionally exhausted to ask. He hated how safe it made him feel, how quickly it worked to calm him down.

God, he was fucked up. Doomed to horrible, unsatisfying relationships because he's an emotionally damaged freak. Clinging to his soon to be ex boyfriend. His fake ex-boyfriend.

How could someone he felt so comfortable with be such a fucking psycho?

Steve was rubbing his back as he cried, his voice steady, "Eds, baby, I think I know what happened. And I'm going to need you to hear me out on this okay? Can you do that for me?"

He really didn't want to. But Eddie nodded anyway, still hiding away in his safe place. His safe place that was directly tied to the source of his new found problems.

"You remember that I was a dick in high school, right?" Steve asked.

"You're a dick now," Eddie sniffled, like he wasn't cuddled up to said dick's chest. But it was true. He peeked up at him, surprised to see Steve still looking so calm. Calm but sad. But...it was almost like he looked sad for Eddie.

Steve let out a small laugh, taking the chance to tilt Eddie's face up to fully look at him, "I know, I know. But I wasn't always one. The whole...mean girl thing started in grade school. Do you want to know how?"

Eddie furrowed his brow, confused on what that had to do with anything.

Steve sighed, "Well...it started with Carol Perkins. Carol Perkins who was convinced that Tommy Hagan had a crush on me, back when we were like seven. You following me?"

Eddie nodded, though he was still a little baffled on what the hell that had to do with anything.

"So she dared me to ask him out, offered five dollars if I did it and everything. Which to an eight year old is a lot of money."

Oh no. Eddie stared at him, the pieces of this whole mess were starting to come together, in startling clarity.

"And I did it," Steve went on, "And he did have a crush on me, which was actually kind of sad. But y'know, it was just a little kid thing. He grew out of it. Especially since our three-day relationship got shut down. Our parents were real fast about that when they found out. But Carol gave me my five bucks, Tommy never figured out I didn't mean it, and I have a dumb story that I only pull out when I'm bored shitless. One that I just happened to reiterate today at work. And I'm starting to think we may have had an audience while I was telling it. Does that ring any bells?"

Eddie could feel a blush crawling up his neck. He didn't even know what to say. He felt a lot of things in that moment. Disbelief, embarrassment, guilt, hope, all of it was too much to handle.

"Oh," He managed to squeak out, so embarrassed that he kind of wanted to die, "I-oh."

"I can call Robin right now if you don't believe me," Steve added, "Or better yet, I'll call Carol. She'd be happy to tell you the whole story."

Eddie shook his head, staring at a particularly interesting stain on the couch. Anything to not look at Steve, "I um, yeah. That's okay. I believe you. I..."

He wanted to apologize, but how do you apologize for something like that? First he went in eavesdropped, then he just assumed that his wonderful boyfriend was a monster, yelled at him the second he came through the door, then cried on him, all while saying he wanted to break up. And Steve had stayed so calm during it all, never even raising his voice while Eddie had a psychotic break.

What did Steve ever see in him again?

And the guy was still smiling at him. He tucked a piece of hair behind Eddie's ear, "Now that that's cleared up, I'm really hoping that you still don't want to dump me."

That at least got Eddie's mouth moving. He frantically shook his head, the word vomit coming up and out, "No! I-Steve I'm so sorry. I don't know what came over me. I just heard that a-and I freaked out because...because it made sense. More sense then you actually wanting to be with me. It's stupid. I'm stupid. I...I don't know what else to say."

"But it doesn't make sense Eds," Steve said gently, "I love you. You know I love you. I would never do something like that to you. And I know I was an asshole before, believe me I do. But I'm not that guy anymore. I haven't been for a long time."

He looked so sad saying all of that out loud, it was almost enough to have Eddie crying all over again. Eddie nodded, at a loss for what more he could say besides, "I know. I'm sorry."

"I don't forgive you," Steve said simply, which definitely was enough to have Eddie tearing up again. But then he was lacing their fingers together, leading Eddie's hand up to kiss each one of his fingers. He smiled at him, "You're going to have to make this up to me by staying my boyfriend. In fact, consider this a dare. If you stay with me forever I'll let this whole incident go on our death beds. We got a deal?"

Eddie nodded quickly, laughing a little when Steve used their combined hands to wipe away some of the wetness on his face, "Yeah. It's a deal."

Steve pulled him in for a kiss after that and Eddie was struck with the same pleasant feelings from that morning.

How did he ever get so lucky?

#submission #steddie fic #steddie #asks #kinda #tumblr weird like that #but thank you for the prompt <3 #silly steddie #very silly #misunderstandings #this little exercise #is officially helping

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starryrain · 4 months

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a long night

a cute little fic i wrote today! it is set like a year after s2 of good omens and you can read it just under the cut !! both of them are male presenting in this, but i might write a fem one because i am a sucker for sapphic stuff.

let me know if you want a part 2 !!

description: aziraphale and crowley aren't talking, but they decide to meet one final time.

Crowley looked out of the window of the Bentley, their glasses slung low. He turned his head, the phone in his palm buzzing absurdly. With a clench of his jaw, he flung it into the backseat, where it undoubtedly hit one of his new plants.

“Sorry, darlings,” he said, patting a leaf. “But that’s what happens when leaves go the slightest tinge of yellow.” He sighed, slamming his foot down on the accelerator. He didn’t know where he was going. He didn’t care.

A chirpy, familiar voice rang through the speakers of the phone. “I don’t have leaves, Crowley. And I’m a singular being!”

A skid of tyres against asphalt. A chain of hastily muttered curses. And the scramble into the backseat to retrieve his phone.

“I wasn’t talking to you!” He yelled into the phone. “I don’t talk to…to-”

“What? Your friends?” Aziraphale’s voice was soft, and Crowley hated himself for having missed it.

No. No. You did not miss a thing. You do not miss that cowardly bastard.

“You are not my friend. I don’t have friends. I despise you.”

A soft laugh and a twinge struck the heart that Crowley didn’t have. “So you’ll talk to your plants, but not me?”

He hung up the phone with no words, only a sigh, resting his hands on his temples. Flipping off the cars that were honking behind him through the window, he set his foot onto the pedal, heading for his flat, where he would put his new plant, and then drink copious amounts of alcohol. Whisky, preferably. Crowley likes whisky. Aziraphale hated whisky and had always complained about the sharp-

NO! No thinking of that useless slop! He bit down on his tongue, driving faster and skidding as he parked the Bentley in front of his flat.

The door flew open with a flick of his hand, and Crowley walked through the hallway, his new plant in hand. Setting them down, Crowley flung himself onto his chair, taking his glasses off before leaning his head back and closing his eyes, before opening them again to find one of his bottles of Talisker.

The Talisker was smooth and everything that Crowley needed. Before he knew it, night had begun to drape its’ sleepy embrace over London. And if he could see the stars, Crowley would’ve laid back on the roof of his flat, watching his creations dull out with the light pollution of the city. It was a punishment of the highest cruelty, but he had accepted it long ago. Running a hand through his crimson hair, Crowley cradled the half-empty bottle, his peace undisturbed.

Well, his peace was undisturbed until the answering machine rang. He frowned, letting the caller talk.

“Crowley! You answered!” Crowley shot up in his chair at the sound of hearing the angel’s voice for the second time that day.

“No! I am not talking to you!” He went to hang up, but he tripped on the chair, hitting his head on the edge of his desk. “Fuck!”

“Are you alright, dear?”

“Shut up!”

Crowley could practically hear Aziraphale’s eyebrows raising. “Very well.” He sighed and gritted his teeth.

“Why are you calling, Angel?”

A pause. Silence that Crowley hated. “It’s been a while since one of our dinners. I thought we could go somewhere and eat. The Ritz-”

“Things have changed,” choked Crowley. “It’s like you said, nothing lasts forever.”

A sigh came from the answering machine. “Just one last time? Then I’ll never talk to you again.”

What was once a threat, now an offer. How the tables turned. Though it still felt like a threat.

Crowley sighed. “Just this one time. And then we’ll never see each other again.”

“Done.”

Aziraphale paced around the bookshop, ignoring the concerned look that Muriel was giving him.

“You haven’t actually sold any books, have you?” He asked, frowning.

Muriel shook their head with a smile. “Of course not! Crowley comes in every week to check in, too! We’ve decided to keep it open one day a week and close the rest! And nobody even cares!” They let out a laugh. “Humans are so interesting!

Aziraphale continued pacing, adjusting his bowtie. The last time. It’s the last time. And then we’ll never talk again. That’s good, right?

The door swung open, and a bell rang. “We’re closed-!”

“I know, Angel,” remarked Crowley dryly, and Aziraphale spun on his heel, finding Crowley at the door, leaning against the frame, in an all black double-breasted suit that looked oddly similar to the one that he wore on their 1941 escapade.

And Aziraphale was back in the same spot as a year ago, and the ghost of Crowley’s pressed his lips on his. It ran a shudder down his spine. Shaking himself out of the memory, Aziraphale smiled at Crowley, locking the shop up and sitting in the Bentley for a second before Crowley flashed a grim smile at him and slammed his foot down on the pedal.

The Ritz twinkled with many lights, and as they passed through the building, Crowley settled into the familiar feeling of being with Aziraphale. They sat themselves at a miraculously empty table, ordering quietly and waiting for their food to arrive. In the meantime, Crowley popped open a bottle of champagne that he had swiped from someone else’s table, gave himself a generous serving of the drink, and then poured the same into Aziraphale’s glass, ignoring his bright smile.

Bless him and his smiles, scorned Crowley. Stupid, pretty angel.

“For the record, this doesn’t mean I like you,” he said, sipping on his champagne.

Aziraphale shrugged. “Nor do I. The feeling is mutual.”

“Very mutual. But I don’t like you more than you don’t like me.”

Aziraphale frowned. “That doesn’t make sense.” He sipped his own drink, eyeing Crowley carefully.

FUCK.

“So, what’s new?” He asked, setting down his glass and slouching further in his chair. “Y’know, in Heaven. Because you went there. And left me.” He smirked, drinking some more champagne and saying nothing, only making a bemused expression at Aziraphale’s face.

“Well, doesn’t the food look lovely?” grinned Aziraphale as his plate was set on the table. Crowley rolled his eyes. It was going to be a long night.

Aziraphale and Crowley were both terribly, horribly full. And awkward. The drive back to the bookshop was quiet between the two of them; the air was heavy with tension. Crowley had played on Aziraphale’s feelings, and he seemed actually regretful about his actions. Aziraphale couldn’t do much; he could only eat his food and drink the alcohol. So he settled for looking at Crowley the entire night.

Crowley noticed, of course. He noticed anything Aziraphale did.

It wasn’t hard; he looked fantastic. Of course, Aziraphale wouldn’t admit that out loud. Well, he would, with the right amount of alcohol and coercion. But Crowley didn’t really feel like coercing his… whatever Aziraphale and he were into admitting that he looked fantastic.

He parked a block away from the bookshop, a habit that he had clearly not forgotten. In comfortable silence, they walked inside and settled on chairs. Crowley’s chair crinkled with a sound of paper, and he realised that it was because he was sitting on a note. Standing up and tossing his glasses aside, he read the note aloud:

Mr. Sir Aziraphale,

I am out for a walk to go communicate with the funny humans down the road. They said I can stay ‘for the night’, so I am going to do that, whatever it is. Mr. ‘I’m Not Nice’ Crowley knows what I mean. I think. Thank you!!!

-Muriel :)

Crowley raised his eyebrows. “Mr. Sir Aziraphale?” He laughed, putting the note away.

Aziraphale shook his head. “Mr. ‘I’m Not Nice’?”

“Oh, shut up.”

Aziraphale smiled that fucking smile. That. Fucking. Smile. And the fact that, from the angle he was at, it looked like he was kneeling-

Crowley looked away, giving himself a moment to regain composure. “Why did you leave, Angel?”

Aziraphale’s smile dropped. “Why didn’t you stay, Angel? I…I needed you!” He choked out, blinking hard.

Crowley shook his head, clearing his throat. “And yet, you still have nothing to say.”

“I didn’t have a choice.”

Crowley scoffed. “Yes, you bloody did!”

Aziraphale stood up, his hands trembling. “No. Look at me, Crowley.” Crowley, against his will, looked at Aziraphale. “I. Didn’t. Have. A. Choice.”

“You still left,” sulked Crowley. Aziraphale threw his hands up, scoffing.

“What are you scoffing for? I have a genuine issue, and you’re all, ‘Oh, it’s not my fault’, like that’s going to help!”

Crowley was frowning now, his hands on his hips as he ranted. Aziraphale had turned around, pressing his hands to his temples.

“And you’re all wishy-washy and nice, and-”

Crowley stopped talking. Because Aziraphale was holding his head in his hands. And he was kissing him. And Crowley was kissing him back.

“Oh, shut up, will you?” Aziraphale whispered, his breath tickling Crowley, before kissing him again.

Crowley pulled back, his chest heaving with heavy and rapid breaths. Clenching his jaw, he pushed a confused-looking Aziraphale back onto his chair, cradling the angel’s jaw.

“I still don’t like you,” he whispered. "But... there are some things I need to do,” he said, before clambering on top of Aziraphale.

Oh, it was going to be a long night.

#anthony j crowley #aziraphale #crowley #good omens #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #aziraphale x crowley #writing #fanfic #fanfiction #good omens fanfiction #good omens fanfic rec #good omens fic #good omens angst #good omens possible smut

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star-containment · 6 months

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i have so much respect for people who take a piece of media they like (good omens in this case) and find all these cool clues and theories in it

i just look at it and go “ooh the characters!” and stare at them, no thoughts, head empty

#anthony j crowley #gomens #good omens #david tennant #good omens 2 #neil gaiman #michael sheen #aziraphale #ineffable husbands

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crimson-calligraphyx · 5 months

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Tag List: @cheyfi @kingdomof-omens @daylightlvrs @blade-in-red @ladyveronikawrites @jay02bo @itsmrsfuentes @cncohshit @catj422 @lma1986 @chels3a-smile @kiwi475

A/N: sexual content. Sorry the chapter is lengthy lol.

Even though I was glad that Noah convinced me to see the guys last night, getting up this morning absolutely sucked. I stayed up much longer than I should have, and I was exceptionally fatigued rolling out of bed because of it, but it was worth it. It had been a long time since I've laughed as hard as I had.

I really need it, and it made me realize how much I missed them. It's been what? Two or three months? And they still welcomed me in with open arms, Folio especially, literally picking me up and spinning me around.

That dumbass. I swear his goal in life is to give Noah a brain aneurysm, always getting a rise out of him from his actions, even though it was all in good fun.

I chuckled to myself at the thought as I continued making my way around the bakery, tallying what items were in stock and making notes of what needed to be ordered. Both the flour and sugar were getting low, and I dreaded lifting each 50 lb bag to refill the bins, but it had to be done. With a huff, I put my checklist on the counter and squatted down, positioning the bag in a way it would be easiest for me to lift.

"Excuse me, what do you think you're doing?" "Jesus fucking Christ!" I about jumped out of my skin hearing Noah's disapproving voice cut through the silence. Straightening up, I placed a hand over my erratic heart and turned to see him standing there with his arms folded over his chest. "No, it's your husband, Noah," he deadpans. I rolled my eyes. "Ha ha, very funny," I puffed out a breath, combing a hand through my bangs. "Seriously though, what are you doing here?"

A smirk breaks through his unusual scowl as he uncrosses his arms and closes the gap between us. "Stopping you from doing what you're not supposed to be doing," he scolds playfully before squatting and lifting the bag of flour with ease. "You know you're not supposed to lift more than 20 pounds, Liv." "It was only for a second—" "I don't care," he laughs incredulously. "Doc said no heavy lifting, so no heavy lifting. Where's this going?" I sighed, motioning my hand towards the bin behind him. "You probably shouldn't be either," I grumbled.

He lays the bag over the bin, shooting me a pointed look. I put my hands up in surrender, knowing the next words out of his mouth were going to be something about how he's not carrying a tiny human, and stepped around him to retrieve a knife. I hand it over to him and he quickly cuts open the bag and empties the contents, crumpling it before tossing it in the trash. He then moves onto the next bag.

"Thank you," I say once he's finished. "I'm sorry, I'm just used to doing this by myself." He gives me a light smile, brushing my bangs back before kissing my forehead. "I know, love, I know. But you gotta let me help you, especially now." I slip my arms around his torso and look up at him with a bashful smile, a blush crawling over my cheeks. "I know. I didn't want to bother you, with your breathing and all." He shakes his head, disregarding me. "Don't. I know my limits, and I'm more than happy to help." He cups my cheek, delicately running his thumb across my still-flushed skin. "Let's finish this up and head back home to relax." "I'm here until noon, though."

He places both hands on my hips and scrunches his mouth to the side, mulling over my statement. "Okay, so we finish this, you finish your shift, and I'll have lunch ready for you. Anything you want. Then we'll relax. How's that sound?" His thumb slides under my shirt and delicately rubs against my side, causing me to wriggle in his grasp from the sensation. "Sounds like a date," I giggled. His dark eyes glistened, crinkling in the outer corners as he smiles at my words, and my heart flutters at the sight. "It's a date," he reiterates, giving my hips a light squeeze. I stand on my toes and give him a quick kiss before returning to the task on hand, trying to fight the warmth swirling in my stomach and the giddy smile from spreading across my face.

Though I hadn't been expecting his help today, I was more than grateful for it as he took care of the freezer, which also involved some heavy lifting. However, my heart sank with concern when he emerged from the walk-in; he was having a full-blown coughing fit, having to brace himself over the 3-base sink. And as usual, he insisted he was fine, but with a heavy eye roll I forced him to sit down and catch his breath while I brewed him a cup of tea.

He took the steaming cup with a sheepish smile, holding it up to his nose and breathing deep. "Thanks, love," he exhales, taking a hesitant sip. He winces when he burns his tongue, swallowing harshly. "Watch out, it's hot," I tease with a wink. "Why don't you head on home after you finish that? We're about done with inventory, and Juliana and Holly will be here any minute now to set up shop." "You sure you don't need anything else from me?" he questions, running a comforting hand down my arm and taking hold of my hand with a squeeze. I squeezed his hand in return with a polite shake of my head, just as the girls make their way in.

"Morning, Liv!" Jules chimes, stopping short when she sees I'm not alone. "Oh, and good morning to you, too, Noah." She grins and puts her belongings on a hook, walking by us to preheat the oven. "Wasn't expecting to see you here. How've you been?" "Not so bad, just helping Liv with inventory. She's a little sluggish this morning," he muses, winking at me, which earns him a light smack on his shoulder from me. "How are you? And Holly?" He leans forward to peer behind me.

Holly quietly greets us, hanging her things up and slipping her apron on, immediately engaging into work mode.

"Don't mind her, she's not a morning person, as ironic as it is for someone who works at a bakery. Especially on inventory day," Juliana murmurs when Noah quirks an eyebrow. "Anyway, I'm good. Keeping busy here." She pulls the muffin trays from under the oven, setting them on the counter with a loud clatter. "You wanna help with some baking?" she jokes. "I already did," Noah says quiet enough so that only I could hear, wagging his brows at me before glancing down at my belly. He snickers when I once again hit him lightly on the shoulder.

"Actually, he was just leaving," I answered for him, pulling him to his feet. "But I haven't finished my tea," he feigns a whine, only to laugh when I shot daggers at him. "Alright, alright, I'm going. I'll see you at home for lunch. Be good." My cheeks burn hot, hoping they wouldn't question what he meant by 'be good'. "Noah," I hiss his name, beginning to push him towards the exit. "That's enough out of you." He snorts, finally walking towards the back door with me in tow. "What? I just want you to have a good day, that's all." There's a tone in his voice, and I know he's trying not to laugh.

I fold my arms over my chest when we're out of sight, glowering at him, unamused. "Not funny. You know I don't want anyone to know yet." "Relax, they're not gonna know you're pregnant just because I told you to be good," he rolls his eyes. "Anyways," he sighs, "I'll see you at home. Relax and try to have a good day, okay?" I mutter a quick 'okay', and he flashes me a small smile after kissing me goodbye.

When I returned to the kitchen, Juliana was working away at getting the muffins baked, pouring the batter that Holly had prepared into the tins. She glances up at me when she senses my presence and smirks—my stomach churns uncomfortably. She knows.

She doesn't say anything though, just carries on with baking, that devious curl never leaving her lips, and I wasn’t sure if that made me feel better or worse. I shake my head at myself and take a deep breath, picking up the checklist, hoping to settle my nerves by distracting myself with finishing inventory.

"It's nice to see you happy," Juliana says as I hear her open the oven doors, the whoosh of the fans blowing out a gust of heat. "Hm?" I quirk a brow, peeling my eyes away from my list. My heart jumps to my throat when I see that smug grin on her face again. "I said it's nice to see you happy. It's been a while since I've seen you smile like that." She states, placing one of the muffin tins on a rack. I furrow my brows. "Like what?" "He teases you and you get flustered, then you have this goofy smile on your face that I know you're trying to hide. It's cute; you guys are cute."

Scarlet crosses over my cheeks once again and I breathe out a quick 'Oh'—that's what that smirk was about earlier.

"Like that," she laughs, putting the last muffin tin in and shutting the oven doors. I hadn't even noticed I had been grinning at her words. "Yeah, well..." Clearing my throat, I avert my eyes to my checklist with a bashful chuckle. "Honestly, things weren't great between me and Noah for a while there, and I thought I lost him." I admit, having never told the girls why I hadn't been quite myself the last few months. "Recently, things have been getting better, and as silly as it sounds, I feel like I'm crushing on my husband all over again." "It's not silly, Liv." She turns to me after setting the timer on the oven, a genuine smile on her face. "It's a good thing. Whatever you thought you had lost was never really lost, it just got a little buried. You just had to do some digging, is all."

There's a warmth that swirls in my stomach, and spreads to my chest as I think about how much things have turned around as of late; how much effort Noah has put into mending what had been damaged.

I pushed him away, and I was the reason he developed that godforsaken disease, yet he still came running to my side when I needed him—after a fucking month of not speaking to one another. He was suffering, barely able to breathe, but he still did what he could to support me no matter how hard it was for him.

Coming to my appointments, running to the store to get me necessities when I asked him not to, showing up here at the bakery to make sure I wasn't doing anything over strenuous, and helping me because he knew that I would.

Now, every time I lay eyes on him, there's this pang of remorse knowing what I've been putting him through—but it always gets swarmed and consumed by the butterflies coming to life inside of me as soon as I see that grin on his face. His dark irises seem to light up with adoration as he smiles down at me, and I swear there's a surge of electricity between us whenever he places a gentle hand on me.

This was how it was when this all began; we're so close to getting back to what we were—I can almost taste it.

Rushing through the front door due to the unexpected rain, I cursed at myself for not having at least a hooded jacket for my walk home from the bakery. That, and never thinking to check the damn weather before going into work.

With a huff, I placed my belongings down just as Noah makes his way around the corner to meet me at the entryway. "What happened to you?" he chuckles, turning to head down the hall and returning with a towel. "I didn't know it was supposed to rain," I whined, starting to walk towards our bedroom and stopping when I took note of the living room.

The sectional was set up in a way where we could comfortably lie down with the back and armrests bordering us, a large blanket fanned out over the cushions. The lights were set low, the LEDs casting an amber glow against the far wall behind the TV—which was displaying a view of a sunrise at the beach, turquoise waves slowly rolling over the sand and back.

Noah drapes the towel over my shoulders and I turn towards him as he wraps it over the front of me. I take hold of it and clutch it to my chest, smiling up at him. "What is all this?" He shrugs, fighting back a proud smile while rubbing my upper arms to spread some warmth across my chilled skin. "Well, I wanted to take you down to the beach but as you can see, it's raining." He humors with a light laugh, and I roll my eyes. "So, I did what I could to bring the beach to you."

My heart swells at the thoughtfulness, tears immediately springing to my eyes. "You're too much," I say as my lips tremble, and he doesn't waste a second to stop them by kissing me. I melt into him, warmth radiating through my whole body as our lips sync together, practically leaving me breathless. We break apart slightly, our mouths open, both of us breathing in to get an ample amount of air before crashing together again.

I can taste the salt from my tears against his lips while his hand cups my cheek, brushing them away with his thumb. He smiles into our kiss, a chuckle vibrating against my lips. "Stop crying," he whispers. I giggle and pull away, sniffling while wiping the remaining tears away. "I'm sorry, I just wasn't expecting this." "All I did was move the couch and put a YouTube video of the ocean up," he laughs. "It's really not all that much." "Maybe to you, but you know the sunrise holds a special meaning to me."

He brandishes a gentle smile, eyelids hooded as he stares down at me with candor heavy in his eyes. "I know," he runs a hand down the length of my damp hair. "Let's get you changed into some dry clothes and have some lunch. I had sushi delivered right before you got home—" "I can't have sushi, Noah," I frowned. "Raw sushi. I did a little research; everything I got is cooked and low in mercury content." I sighed, grinning. "You are the best."

I trotted to our bedroom and stripped of my damp clothes, draping them over the side of the tub to dry, and stepped into some sweats and one of Noah's hoodies. Knowing my hair would dry in a frizzy mess, I quickly blow-dried it before meeting him back in the living room where he set the sushi and an arrangement of snacks out on the coffee table.

We each grabbed a plate and a pair of chopsticks, choosing what we wanted before settling onto the sectional, sitting with our legs folded in. There was a comfortable silence between us as we ate, the only sounds being the gentle waves and the occasional call of a seagull playing through the surround sound.

I finished my plate first and put it off to the side, resting my head against Noah's shoulder with a smile of contentment. He finishes his food shortly after and wrapped his arm over my shoulders, hugging me close to him. We instinctively unfold our legs and lay back; my head was now on his chest, my leg and arm draped over his body as I snuggled up close to the heat radiating from him.

My eyes flutter shut as he rubs my shoulder, and I couldn't help the grin from spreading across my face. I haven't felt so comfortable, so peaceful and at home, so...complete in far too long, and I owed it all to Noah.

As I laid here in his arms, listening to the calming sounds of the ocean and his deep breathing, I was brought back to the very first time I saw the sunrise. Hues of pink, orange, and yellow erupting from the horizon of cobalt, cascading skyward into baby blue. So beautiful, so mesmerizing, and I knew it would be devastating if I couldn't witness it anymore.

I picked my head up from Noah's shoulder, gazing at the peaceful expression on his face—eyes closed, his lips curled in the tiniest smile as he ever-so-slightly moved his head side to side, most likely to a tune in his head. His expression changes, turning to that of surprise when the next three words flew out of my mouth: "I love you."

He slowly opens his eyes, chocolate irises locking with my blues while his lips part to say something, but nothing comes out. He reaches out and delicately trails his fingertips down my face and to my chin, his thumb brushing over my lips. He still doesn't say anything, just caresses my face as if he expected me to dissolve into thin air at any second.

"What?" I whispered, my stomach churning anxiously. He shakes his head lightly, and my nerves melt away when I watched a smile break across his face. "I just... I didn't think I'd ever hear you say that again." "Oh," I mumbled with shame, dropping my gaze from him. He shifts so he's on his side now, and picks my head up by my chin. "I love you too, Olivia." I can see the tears glossing over his eyes, but he blinks them away and crashes his lips to mine. "So much," he says against them, never fully breaking our kiss.

Desire quickly flares inside of me; he suddenly wasn't close enough. I fist his shirt and roll onto my back, pulling him down with me as one of my legs settle over his hip. Our teeth clack together, and he pulls away slightly to laugh. "Guess these pregnancy hormones give you super strength, huh?" I breathed out a laugh. "I guess so. Now shut up and kiss me." He shakes his head with a snort, "Yes, ma'am."

I lace my fingers into his hair as we reconnect, holding him close to me, and in that moment, I'm flooded in all the ways I missed him. I felt starved. As if he could sense it, his tongue lashes out, gliding against my bottom lip, and I meet his with mine—tongues twisting and turning, relishing the familiarity of each other that we both had been longing for.

He ground his hips into me, and I can feel his growing erection through my sweats, pressing against my inner thigh. Heat begins to pool low within me, just thinking about the way his cock would feel gradually filling me, stretching me in the way my body so desperately needed.

More. I needed more.

He groans when I give his hair a light tug and roll my hips up towards him, wanting to satisfy the dull ache between my legs. I do it again when he doesn't quite get the hint; this time he moves, and a chill runs down my spine when his lips reach my jaw, the stubble that he had growing in rubbing against my skin. He peppers my neck with feather-light kisses, his teeth grazing along the way, and stopping to nip right below my ear. His breath cascades across my neck in a quiet laugh when he hears the mewl I let out.

"Is this what you want, love?" His voice was so low, I almost moaned simply from the seduction laced in his tone. "Yes," I whispered, clawing my nails against his scalp once more. He hums, slipping his large hand underneath the hoodie I was wearing and trailing his fingertips up my side. My skin prickles and my nipples harden just before he palms my breast, rolling his thumb over the pert bud. "No bra?" "They're sore; figured I'd be staying in, so why wear one?" "Makes sense," he concurs, running the tip of his nose up the side of my neck and to my jaw, promptly giving me a quick kiss. "Maybe I can help with that?"

His dark eyes glimmer with lust, and there's a smirk spreading across his lips that makes my core throb, wishing his face were between my legs instead. All I do is nod, both of us shifting to remove my top. He throws it behind the couch before he cups my breasts with hesitancy, delicately kneading the tender area, waiting to see if I'll stop him. I allow him to massage them for a brief moment, but he stops when he senses my discomfort. They were just too sore right now.

He whispers an apology, laying gentle kisses on the swell of my breasts before making his way down my belly. My stomach swirls with arousal and my chest heaves, anticipating his touch; all I could do was stare down at him as he halts at my waistband, peering up at me with hunger. His fingers grasp the top of my sweats, eyes begging me for access as he reluctantly waits for the go-ahead.

I lift my hips and assist him with shimmying my bottoms down my legs; he takes his time removing them, palming my right thigh with a firm squeeze. He continues caressing down my leg with both his hands and lips before doing the same to my left. "No panties either?" he muses while still holding my leg and places a kiss to the inside of my ankle. I bite my lip with a giggle, shaking my head 'no'. "Just the way I like it," he winks, beginning to trail his lips up my calf.

The further up my leg he went, the more he lowered himself against the couch until he was nearly flat, face level with the apex of my thighs. I see the hunger in his eyes when they flicker to my slick folds and back up, a smirk tugging at his mouth. He doesn't break eye contact as he slowly lowers his face down and teases me by kissing over my mound, up and across to each hip bone, and settling his mouth against my tiny bump.

"You're so beautiful, in every way,” he whispers, kissing my belly again. "Every bit of you. Your smile, your laugh." Kiss. "Your bubbly personality." Kiss. "Your soft skin, your growing bump." Kiss. "The way you say my name. The sounds you make." Kiss. "And even the way you taste," he licks his lips, and I clench around nothing, dying for him to touch me. "Noah," I breathed out. "Please." "Mmm, like that," he hums, placing his hands on the back of my thighs, holding me to him as he finally reaches where I needed him to be.

I take a sharp breath in when he licks a stripe through my folds, my hips bucking forward when his tongue lands on my clit. He hums—I can’t tell if it was in amusement of my reactions, or a groan of satisfaction as he damn near devours me like this was his last meal on earth—and the vibration coasts through my core, forcing a moan out of me.

I fist his hair; his fingertips dig into my thighs as he groans again, his tongue methodically running through my folds. He was so meticulous with his actions, knowing the way my body would respond to each and every flick of his tongue, and he had me chasing that high. My hips roll towards his face, and he takes my clit into his mouth, my stomach tightening as he sucks.

My senses are so heightened, I come undone within seconds, stars shooting behind my eyelids as I squeeze them shut and moan out his name. My body trembles and my back arches, my nails dig deeper into his scalp as his tongue relentlessly pulls me through my climax.

“Wow, I didn’t even need to use my fingers,” he muses with a smirk plastered on his face, his lips glistening with my slick. I try to think of a witty comeback, but I can’t. All I can do is shake my head at him, focusing on coming back down to earth, and trying to regain the breath he knocked out of me.

He clambers on top of me, and my hands instinctively find their way under the back of his shirt as he plants his mouth on mine in a heated kiss—I can taste myself when I take hold of his bottom lip with my teeth. He moans and I chuckle, now scratching my nails down his toned back.

“Christ, Olivia,” he mumbles, pulling away to look down at me; his breathing is labored, his lips now plump. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.” “I don’t?” I quirked an eyebrow, digging my nails further into his back. His muscles flex under my fingertips, and I giggle when he bites back a groan as his dick twitches against my leg. He shakes his head incredulously, his dark bangs shifting and blanketing his face. “Maybe you do.” “Maybe I do,” I shrug, watching his eyes grow dark with desire. “I want to fuck you so badly, Olivia,” he growls. “Then do it,” I say, removing my hands from under his shirt.

He sits up, pulling his shirt over his head, and tosses it to the floor. I watch his chest heave as his hands clumsily unfasten his belt and unzip his fly—was he nervous, or overly eager? He slowly pulls his jeans down, along with his boxers, and his cock springs loose, slapping against his belly. He takes hold of himself, gliding his hand up his shaft, and I swear my mouth watered when I saw the precum glistening as he rolled his palm over the tip, spreading it back down his length.

Christ, Olivia. What has gotten into you?

He settles himself between my legs but hesitates, his eyes searching mine as he places a delicate hand on my cheek. He swallows harshly, “I don’t… am I going to hurt you or—” I giggled at his concern. “You’re not gonna hurt me or the baby, I promise,” I reassured him, combing his bangs back with my hand and giving his head a light scratch. “Are you sure?” I rolled my eyes. “I’m sure. The baby’s not gonna come out with a dent in its head from your dick, Noah,” I chuckled. “What if—” “So help me God, Noah, if you don’t put your dick in me in the next ten seconds, you’re gonna have a dent in your head.” I hooked my leg over his hip, hoping to urge him on. He shakes his head and laughs lightly. “So assertive.”

In one swift movement, he slowly enters me, and we both moan out in unison. He rests his forehead against my collarbone, a staggering breath caressing my skin as he rolls his hips away. “Fuck,” he sighs, “I almost forgot how good you feel.” My hands smooth up his back, one hand tangling into his hair, and he picks his head up to look at me with a sheepish grin. “Me too,” I breathed a laugh, pushing my hips towards him. “Keep going. Please.” “As you wish.” He ruts his hips into me, an impish smile on his face. He was still hesitant; I could tell with each attentive thrust into me, and as good as it felt, I needed more.

My heel presses into the small of his back, and I began to run my nails against his tattooed skin. His eyes flutter shut, a light moan slipping past his lips as he continued his languid pace. “Noah,” he looks at me when I say his name. “Don’t hold back. Show me what you forgot, show me how much you missed me.” He chuckles, and it’s like a switch flipped inside of his head, his eyes burning into mine with a sudden darkness. “Fuck, Olivia. You’re really going to be the death of me.”

I don’t have time to say anything or even laugh; his lips are on mine in an instant, his hips snapping into mine with fervor. My fingers tighten, digging into him further as a moan escapes me, and he takes that to his advantage, shoving his tongue in my mouth. Our kiss was sloppy, influenced by desire, hunger, need. But I didn’t care, everything in this moment felt so right, so satisfying as his cock hit me in all the right ways. My body was buzzing with euphoria as I drank him in and savored the feeling of him encasing me, breathing in his intoxicating scent.

He suddenly pulls away from me, and I whimper from the emptiness. With a growl, he sits up and repositions me with my legs resting on his shoulders. I cry out when he thrusts back into me, hitting me at a different angle that would undeniably tip me over the edge. My back arches when there’s pressure on my clit—it took me a second to realize his thumb was rubbing against me.

Sweat was beading across his forehead as his eyes locked with mine, and the fire burning behind his irises was my downfall. My walls clenched around his length, and I swear I was levitating as my chest rose under his control, my body quaking while he coaxed the orgasm out of me.

My legs slip off his shoulders, and once again he repositions me so that I’m on his lap. He holds me close to him, his large hand supporting me at the small of my back as he continues to thrust deep inside of me. I can’t move; my head lols back and I feel his lips against my throat, peppering sloppy kisses until he bites down below my jaw. His moan vibrates down my jugular, and I feel the warmth of his breath as he pants through his nose.

He gently lies me back down against the couch, his body collapsing on top of mine while he slips out of me. We're panting together in fucked out bliss and my hands find his hair again, raking my fingers through his sweat stained locks. He hums, pressing a kiss on my collarbone before rolling off me. He scoops me on top of him, my leg settling over his torso and my hand lands on his cheek. I run my thumb over his flushed skin and he once again hums and presses a kiss into my hair.

“Did we just have sex on the beach?” I mumbled, a tiny grin on my face. He snorts, and I know he’s shaking his head at me without having to look at him. “If that’s what you want to believe, then sure, love.” I giggled, picking my head up to look at him. He looks at me with adoration, a tired smile gracing his lips as he ran his hand through my hair. “You’re cute. Lie back down, let’s take a nap. It’s been a long morning.” I do as he says after giving him a kiss, settling against his chest.

His chest rising and falling slowly relaxes me, and I notice one thing as his steady heartbeat begins to lull me to sleep: he wasn’t wheezing. Not even in the slightest.

|Chapter 20|

#fanfic #fan fiction #noah sebastian #bad omens #bad omens band #fanfic writing #romance #fantasy #quandary #hanahaki #hanahaki disease #noah sebastian fanfic #noah sebastian fan fiction

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chaotic-orphan · 1 month

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Intoxicating Fear (Xiii)

Family Time

Continued from // Masterpost

*~*~*~*~*

Kit’s palms were sweating as he walked into the hospital, stopping at the reception desk and smiling at the receptionist, Heather. She smiled with her painted red lips when she saw Kit. It shouldn’t have made him nauseous, Heather always had red lipstick on and it suited her. She was very pretty with her blonde hair and big blue eyes and red lips, but it just reminded him now of Ambrose.

“Hey Kit, you goin’ up to your old man?”

“Yeah, if that’s okay.”

“Of course, doll. Go right ahead.”

Kit thanked her and walked on to the stairs. He needed the stairs to give him the time to gather his thoughts. What was he going to say? How was he going talk to him after knowing exactly what Ambrose was like? When he knew exactly what Omen was capable of… and Kit was getting off light.

His mind was still somewhat in tact. How was he supposed to look at him, the man that took Kit into his house and raised him, and know that he had been spared?

The guilt bloomed like tar in his gut; pitch black, oozing and heavy. Fuck, his hands were shaking. What if his powers flared up when he was in there? He couldn’t control his red lightning that Ambrose kept bringing out in him… and it only happened when he was… well, angry, but —

Fuck.

Kit paused on the final step to Mentor’s floor. How much of himself would he see in Mentor now? How much suffering? Would he recognise the commands that Ambrose plagued his mind with?

It didn’t matter.

That was the thought that forced him up the final step and down the hallway to the psych ward. It didn’t matter what he thought or what he would see or face, because it was Mentor. If the roles were reversed, Kit knows that Mentor would be in here to see him— every single day, not every week.

The power-proofed psych ward was on the basement floor so if patients wanted to jump out of windows they could do it with minimal damage to themselves or others.

Kit hated walking up to the doors and pressing the button to be buzzed in. Hated how he knew that even if somehow Mentor got better miraculously, he wouldn’t be able to get out himself and come home.

Kit hadn’t been to Mentor’s house since the docks either, he should probably pay it a visit, put on the heat. The thoughts of the empty house getting damp and lonely… well, Kit just knew that mentor wouldn’t want that.

The door buzzed and Kit pushed it open. He walked down the hall, took a right at the nurses station and then stopped at the last door on the left. It was opened, so was his window. Mentor sat in his armchair staring at the birds as they sang a happy tune.

Kit paused at the door, just watching Mentor as he hummed softly back to the birds. He looked peaceful, wearing his favourite maroon sweater that Kit had gotten him one Christmas and his blue and red chequered pyjama bottoms.

Kit swallowed and stepped into the room, but where before Mentor would have noticed him lingering in the doorway, he didn’t even turn his head as Kit walked into the room and sat on the edge of his bed.

“Mentor,” said Kit softly. The corner of Mentor’s lips quipped up into a small smile at Kit’s voice, and Kit wanted to cry. He caught him on one of his rare good days. “How are you doing?”

“The birds are singing, Kit,” Mentor replied, his gaze dreamy. “The sun is shining. You’re here. I’m somewhat lucid.”

He turned his head to Kit, his warm blue eyes smiling. “I think I’m doing pretty great.”

Kit couldn’t help himself. It wasn’t a conscious thought, but he had crossed the short distance between the bed and Mentor’s chair to throw his arms around his— his family. He wanted so badly to tell him everything that had happened. Why he hasn’t visited in the last three months. Explain everything, tell him he knew what Mentor was going through because he was going through it too.

He settled for Mentor’s arms wrapping around him in their strong warm embrace, not at all cold like Ambrose.

“Hey kiddo, it’s okay.”

“I just…” the words choked on the way out, so Kit just squeezed Mentor tighter. “I miss you so much.”

“It’s alright. You’re here now, it’s all that matters isn’t it? Right now. We don’t have long before some nurse will give out to me for having visitors eh?” Kit laughed despite himself and pulled away from Mentor, nodding. Mentor didn’t let Kit’s arm go, he gave it a small, reassuring squeeze. “So we need to catch up on everything important, right?”

Kit nodded, his heart overwhelmed with joy. “Yeah.”

“Go on, sit down,” said Mentor, gesturing to the bed and Kit obeyed.

Mentor leaned forward and clasped his hands together, dropping them between his knees and fixing his features into a more sombre expression. Kit had the sudden feeling that Mentor somehow knew about Ambrose and his whole tragic ordeal, but then something glimmered in his eyes — an old familiar mischief that Superhero said Kit inherited from Mentor.

“Who’s top of the premier league? What have I missed? What about the rugby, and your car guys— what’re they called?”

“Formula one?” Kit asked with a startled laugh. He forgot he could be happy, but Kit wasn’t thinking about anything other than how good he felt.

“Yeah! Formula one, Ferrari and all them. I need all the updates because they only have the shit channels in here, and none of them are sports.”

Kit laughed again before he descended into a recap of all the sports developments he could think of recently. Well, almost recently if he discounted the last three month gap in his knowledge.

From sports they went onto movies, from movies they talked about the house and Kit’s apartment and then Mentor asked: “and how about work? Are you still in the Hero business?”

Kit could feel his smile fade at the question. That was the question of the hour was the it? Was he still a Hero? Could he even be considered one anymore?

He ignored the quiet voice in his head that asked: did he even want to be one anymore?

Instead Kit skirted around the issue. He told Mentor that Superhero had taken over as the new Superhero, that Kit worked closely with him. “Oh yeah. I always liked Superhero. He’s a nice guy, good moral compass.”

Kit told him that they were still hunting down Omen and Mentor’s eyes narrowed into points as sharp as daggers. “No.”

Kit blinked. “What?”

“No,” Mentor repeated. He got out of his chair and he walked towards Kit, grabbing both of Kit’s hands and squeezing them before kneeling in front of Kit. Kit stared down, his eyes as wide as saucers. “Kit promise me! Promise me you won’t go near that man.”

“Mento—”

“Kit!” Mentor cut in, his voice urgent, his eyes pleading with all his soul. “Promise me! You’ll stay miles away from him. He is only pain. I spent twenty years in the Hero business and I had never met a monster before him, Kit. You promise me!”

“I—”

“Promise me!”

“I promise,” Kit whispered. He didn’t mean for it to come out so quietly, but the urgency that Mentor was speaking with— Kit couldn’t say no to him. Not when he was like this. Tension released from Mentor’s shoulders as he let out a sigh, squeezing Kit’s hands again before letting them go and getting to his feet.

He put a hand in Kit’s hair and Kit froze, remembering cold fingers yanking his head up — but no! This was Mentor, not Ambrose. Mentor ruffled his hair affectionately in the same way he used to when he first met Kit and then withdrew his hand.

“You’re a good kid, Kit.”

Kit scoffed as he got to his feet. “Kid? Reckon I could still take you old man.”

Mentor’s eyes lit up with that glimmering mischief that Kit missed so much. “Oh yeah? Think you’re a tough guy now?”

“Tough enough to knock you on your arse.”

Mentor hummed like a monk, bringing his hands together in a pray before moving into a kung-fu pose, palm stretched out in front of him raised towards the ceiling. “You have much yet to learn, young Padawan.”

When Mentor flexed his fingers for Kit to give him his best shot, Kit smiled softly and walked towards him, finally wrapping his arms around Mentor instead. Mentor stiffened initially then relaxed and enveloped Kit in his warmth. “Hey Kid. It’s okay.”

It wasn’t fair, none of this was fair. Mentor wasn’t old enough to be retired, he was only… what? Late thirties? Early forties? He shouldn’t be here in this fucking psych ward, he should be at home with Kit. He should still be the number one hero. He should… he should have his own mind back. If it wasn’t for Ambrose, Mentor could still have his life!

“Hey… hey! Hey!” Mentor started shouting and Kit let go of him, stepping away. Mentor’s face contorted into fear and anger and disgust as he backed up to the wall, gasping. “Hey! What?! What did you do to me?”

Kit’s eyebrows knitted down into pained expression. “Mentor I—”

That was all Kit got out before Mentor was on him. Mentor grabbed Kit by his t-shirt and slammed him back against the wall, knocking the air from his lungs with a harsh hiss. “Mentor!”

Mentor’s fists curled in tight to Kit’s shirt, knuckles digging into Kit’s collarbone painfully. “What did you do to me! Huh! Make it stop! Make them stop!”

Mentor yanked Kit forward and shoved him back harder against the wall. Kit stared with wide eyes, frozen in shock. Mentor… he had never seen Mentor this bad before, where he didn’t even recognise him.

The screaming had alerted some nurses that came running into the room, yelling Mentor’s name.

“You ruined me!” Mentor wailed as nurses put their arms on him and tried to get him off Kit. “You ruined me! You destroyed me!”

“I—” Kit began but cut himself off, no words ready to flow from his lips in his defence.

“Mentor we need you to calm down and let go of Kit,” one of the nurses said.

Mentor shook his head, angry tears bubbling up on the side of his eyes. “You have some nerve showing up here, Omen. I would recognise you anywhere.”

“What?” Kit asked, breathless. His voice coming out so broken, choked. The nurses grabbed Mentor’s wrists and pried him off of Kit.

“Kit, you have to go. I’m sorry.”

“I—”

“Kit, I know it’s very distressing but please.”

He didn’t even look for the nurse who asked him to go. He just left in a stupor.

“Monster! Monster! You’re letting him go! I’LL FIND YOU ONE DAY, OMEN!” Mentor screamed, his voice echoing down the hall all the way to Kit’s ears. Kit flinched at the horrid sound of it, too broken and crazed and angry. “MONSTER! MONSTER! YOU’RE LETTING HIM GO!”

Kit flinched as a hand hit his shoulder. “Oh sorry, Kit.”

Kit turned to face a nurse who had a sad, pitying smile on her face. He was a little numb to it, he didn’t even smile back. “I just want to say he does that with us all,” he said kindly. “He calls us all Omen, and I know it must be shocking to hear it.”

Kit cleared the lump in his throat. “How… uh, how is he?”

“His lucid moments are getting longer, stronger, he remembers more.”

“And these moments?”

The pity in the nurse’s eyes said it all. “Longer, stronger, he’s… well, you saw him.”

Kit nodded because he didn’t trust his voice to speak. He gestured to the door, and cleared his throat and the Nurse nodded. “Yeah, I’ll let you go. Just… just don’t ruminate on it, Kit. That’s not him, that’s not the Mentor you know.”

Yeah, Kit thought, and even his thoughts sounded heartbroken to his ears. I know.

That was the real cruelty of what Ambrose did to Mentor. He took away everything that was Mentor, that made him the number one Hero, a father figure, an older brother. Omen sucked all his goodness out and replaced it with his own sick poison to try and diminish Mentor to nothing but a raving lunatic that had to be locked in a psych ward for his own safety.

When he walked out into the fresh air, Kit threw up in the nearest bin because: that could have been him. Ambrose could any day decide that he’s bored of Kit and then melt his mind like he did to Mentor, he could do it with a simple thought. Destroy him…

No, the nurse was right. Mentor isn’t gone. He isn’t destroyed, Ambrose missed that part even though it’s probably what he wanted. The lucid Mentor Kit hugged and laughed with and grew up with, that was Mentor. Ambrose didn’t destroy Mentor, and he wouldn’t destroy Kit either.

Kit ditched the idea of going back to his shitty apartment where Ambrose was no doubt waiting for him, or possibly waiting for him which was worse.

Kit’s mind went back to the rules and he smirked.

You can’t move apartment.

Ambrose never said anything about moving back home. Technically, Kit wasn’t even moving. He had some clothes back home, he could just relax there for a while. Take a load off. He wasn’t moving anywhere.

He stopped into the shop to grab some groceries before taking the metro back to his real home. Kit and Mentor’s home. It was a nice house, not too big or too small.

Kit remembers when he saw it for the first time, he thought it was huge and too much. The lawn was perfectly mowed, Mentor telling Kit that they would need to plant some flowers or something to cheer it up a little. The hedges around the wall surrounding it made it feel so warm and cosy.

Now the grass was overgrown, the flowers dead, the hedges needed a good chop. Kit frowned as he stared at the house, the stone walls with their big windows that they would throw open in the summer. It was so strange that Mentor wasn’t here with him.

If he was he would rock up beside Kit and pat his back, tell him: “it just needs a bit of work and a bit of love.”

With the drab Autumn weather, the house had an eerie glow to it, like it knew Mentor wasn’t coming home too. That suited him fine, maybe Kit and the house could find some comfort in each other.

He opened the heavy wooden door, the sound of the familiar lock clacking open took, what felt like, a tonne weight off of Kit’s shoulders. It smelled the same way it always did, he couldn’t quite put a name to it, but it smelled like home.

The first thing he needed to do was put on the heat cause fuck it was cold in here. He deposited the groceries on the kitchen island and his keys before waking to the utility room and pressing the heat on.

Please have some heat, please have some heat.

With a click and a whirr the heat came on and Kit silently thanked Mentor and his need to over-prepare for everything, because what if it gets cold in summer. LBetter to have it than want it.

Kit put the groceries away, almost robotically. He wasn’t hungry so he didn’t eat. He clicked the kettle on and grabbed his favourite mug, plopping in four teaspoons of coffee. Then switched the kettle off and left his mug on the countertop.

He turned, crossed his arms over his chest and leaned his lower back against the counter, worrying his bottom lip.

He didn’t really want to do anything.

He didn’t remember what it was like to want something.

Well… he did, he just didn’t— he had wanted to not be in pain. He wanted to not be around Ambrose, but after that? He kind of forgot what it was like to have a life of his own. What it was like to live before Ambrose had taken him and tortured him.

He—

He rolled his eyes and let out an audible, frustrated groan. He should go to bed, or, catch up on all the sports he missed. At least then when he saw Mentor again he would be able to tell him about the most recent updates instead of months old information.

Kit walked to the living room and settled down into his favourite seat on the sofa, fighting everything in him not to glance over to Mentor’s empty seat. It’s not like ignoring the seat made him feel any better, he still had that aching, gnawing in his chest that made everything feel a little wrong. A little off.

His phone buzzed in his pocket while he was flipping mindlessly through the sports channels, none of the programs catching his interest or attention at all. Did he really used to watch TV for fun? He could always look up the results or whatever, but it wasn’t really the same. He pulled out his phone, and stared down at the lock screen.

A text from Ambrose lit up the screen. Two simple words, that filled Kit with an unreasonable amount of anger. It hadn’t even been a day yet without the bastard there to torment him. He couldn’t even go a day without gloating.

Ambrose: Miss me yet? :)

Kit turned his phone off. It was dramatic, but it made him feel a little better. As if Kit was the one in control and not the other way around. Kit sighed and threw the phone onto the couch, leaving it there as he turned on off the TV and stood.

Today was just… too much of everything and anything and maybe, just maybe, if he slept tomorrow when he woke up he’d feel a little less like a zombie. A little more human. The idea pushed him towards his bedroom, ascending the stairs with heavy feet.

*~*~*~*~*

Continued here

Orphanage roll-call (lmk if you wanna be added or removed): @beatenbruisedandbloody @404lunar1216 @whumpyworld @nameless-beanie @andithewhumper r @annablogsposts @whumpasaurus101 @0eggdealer @rejectedbytheempty @sleepy-pearl @n3rv0usn0v4 @whumpatize-me-captain @sunshiline-writes @burningkittypoet @honeyed-euphrates @sacredwrath @theonewithallthefixations @acer-gaysimpstuff @m3rakii @xxgalgurlxx @princess-bubble-blossom @blood-enthusiast t @steh-lar-uh-nuhs @andtheysaidspeaknoww @dutifullykrispyland @mononeigbour

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caramel1mochi · 8 months

Text

ぐちゃ ! (Splat!) [Yoru x F! Reader] [4]

Heya everyone!

Just a quick note; if you spot a random 'You' halfway through a sentence, it's supposed to be 'Yoru' but it keeps getting autocorrected and it doesn't stop NO MATTER WHAT SETTINGS I CHANGE.

Anyway, that's it, have a good one!

❤ฺ·。

Yoru x F! Reader

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 4.5 / Part 5 / Part 6

Genre: Fluff, a tiny amount of angst. Very tiny. Trust me.

Synopsis: Hapless doesn't even begin to describe you. With your life flipped upside down within the span of a day; you're left to rely on your best friend Tala to help you pick up the pieces and build the new one forced upon you. And this 'luck' seems to have caught the attention of one of her friends.

。+❤ฺ·。❤ฺ·。+❤ฺ· +❤·。❤ฺ·。+❤ฺ·

At first, you thought Neon was being dramatic when she talked about how the contingency of you having your own room was a terrible one. You had to have your own private space after all, right? You were a bloody adult.

Unfortunately, having your own space also meant that you were free to cuss and rant in Tagalog all you wanted while throwing your belongings around in a skewed sense of ‘organising’, or whatever ran through your mind at the time.

And that’s exactly what you’ve been doing since you escaped Omen’s sight.

Who the hell did Yoru think he was? That’s the question that you kept asking yourself, furiously grabbing your blanket and airing it. You knew his type. The ones who think they’re entitled just because they helped you a few times? And even then, you didn’t ask for his help! He offered it! So why was he getting on his high horse?

Gah, it was all just so moronic, you thought as you set the blanket down and folded it to properly fit the small bed.

You didn’t notice that, over the course of the past few minutes; your voice increased in volume and so did the loud thuds as you threw your items around. Which is the reason why two knocks on the door interrupted your incessant fury.

With a barely audible screech, the metal door slid open to reveal, thankfully, a familiar face.

“Oh, hey Neon.”

“Hoy, what’s going on here?”

You sighed and walked off to your vanity desk, organising the magazines you tossed.

“You heard that, huh?”

Neon laughed, already stepping in and running her fingers through the painting you had hung up. Delicately, so as to not ruin it, though. You were already pissed enough and god knows that she could tell.

“You don’t know how thick the walls are here, huh, Y/N–” she shook her head, “sorry, A/N.”

Just as you met her gaze with a smile, you were quickly pulled into a hug. So quick, the tufts of your hair barely even had time to settle as she tightly wrapped her arms around you.

“By the way, welcome to the team! I’m so happy you’re finally with us!”

“I’ve been here for a week, dummy.”

Despite your sarcastic remark, you felt all of your anger melt away in an instant, promptly hugging her back.

God, she was just the cutest.

“I just thought I’d give you the welcoming nobody else was going to!”

Nobody else, huh? That phrasing reminded you of a certain someone. Neon quickly pulled away. And immediately, just looking at her incredibly amicable round eyes stomped out any lingering hint of wrath you felt. And you couldn’t help but grin at this sight.

“Neon, seriously, what’s going on? Did everyone leave and you just have nobody to talk to?”

“Well, yeah, but since we have free time, we get to do something!”

…

Wait, she wasn’t joking?

“They’re actually gone?”

“Technically, they’re in a meeting right now. We’re just not a part of it.”

Your eyes widened in surprise. How come there wasn’t even an announcement? At least some chatter from the others as they made their way there? Is that why it was quiet enough for Omen to have heard you and Yoru arguing?

“There’s a meeting right now?”

“If you don’t know about it, then it means that you’re not gonna be in whatever they’re doing. Wanna go see?”

Before you could even open your mouth to answer, you were already pulled to the empty hallways and forced to march down with her, her grip on your left wrist as hard as it always is. But this time, after all the training and the way Harbour would slap your back as a way to express his joy, safe to say that you were definitely used to it.

On another note, your shoulder blade definitely had a crack in it somewhere.

“Wait, wait, where are we going?”

“To check out the meeting room! I don’t think you’ve ever been there, yet!”

With how silent the hallways were, you could hear your very steps echoing. And it made sense after what she told you.

However, this silence would allow you to listen in on a very distant yet muffled voice in just a few seconds. And with how harsh the tone was, its recognisable pitch, you could tell it was Viper before you could even make out one word.

The closer you got to the meeting room, the more audible her voice was. And just like that, you both found yourselves moving towards a wide open door, the only source of light coming from the centre of the table, projecting something to them as Viper explained whatever.

Both of you took a peek inside to see what the fuss was about. But it was hard for you to get a look at the model of the building they were examining, seemingly surrounded by a body of water. Not when everyone sat in a circle around said table. You began glancing at many agents you both recognised and didn't recognise.

There was Phoenix, Jett, Gekko, Skye, and…

Yoru.

“Ugh.”

“What?”

You cleared your throat, forcing a smile, but not without questioning how Viper tolerated such a man’s presence, not when he sat like he owned the place. Slouched on the chair, arms crossed, completely uninterested.

“I mean– is it, uh, is it usually this dark?”

“Not really. Whenever it’s dark like this, it means something serious is going on. Me and Sage actually made a little rhyme for it whenever we’d see Viper or Brim mess around with the light switch!”

As she went on her little tangent, your eyes bore into the back of Yoru’s head with unrelenting anger. God, he just looked so punchable.

“It goes like this; if there’s light, then the workload’s light! If it’s dark, then you better get ready for some dark stuff! It’s not creative, but we were making up songs while we were surrounded by a bunch of rocks and had to wait for a rescue.”

Only after you observed the way his hair moved upwards did you realise that Harbour sat amongst them. Uh oh. He was in on this mission, too? That means you won’t be able to talk about this bomb thing you discovered until he gets back, right?

“A/N?”

“Yeah– I was, uh, I was just listening to what Viper was saying. Freaky stuff.”

“I know! I wouldn’t want to be Yoru right now, but he says he’s used to scouring things near the deep ocean.”

You scoffed.

“Yeah, sure. Whatever he says. So, what’re we doing until they’re back?”

You met her gaze. And of course, she beamed with a smile, her brown eyes glimmering under the harsh lights above you.

“So, A/N, since we both have free time and money, you wanna go do what I’m thinking we should do?”

…

“Uh, I don’t think I should be wasting–”

“Hoy, don’t be such a wuss! We’ll finally get to buy you that makeup you always wanted!”

Though you perked up at this, it quickly died down once you had another reason not to do this.

“No way, what if we–”

“We have time, money, freedom, and no rent to pay. You’re out of excuses and coming with me.”

Before you could retort, she grabbed your wrist and pulled you down the hallway once more. And, of course, with her contagious joy, you couldn’t help but also share her excitement for this trip.

It’s been a while since you had the freedom to dress the way you wanted. Wait, scratch that, you never really had said freedom unless you slept over at Neon’s house as a teen... Huh, maybe she was right. With how everyone else around here dresses, what’s the harm if you decided to wear fishnet stockings, right?

❤ฺ·。

Most of the agents left the meeting room excited, chatting with each other about the plans they'd set and what they're going to do. Mostly, however, about the unique location of the base. Even Harbour was excited, even though he had every right to be since it was in the middle of the ocean.

However, surprisingly enough, Phoenix wasn't one of them, following Yoru with an incredibly sour expression. Unable to read the room, he didn't realise the Japanese wanted to be left alone.

"Nah man, there's no way Viper took me out of the mission so quickly! I got cheated!"

"Phoenix. It's a base surrounded by water."

"And?"

"And the section we need to get into is submerged in water."

"So what?! Fire can still be useful!"

Yoru stared at him with a blank expression, before walking away. And Phoenix immediately followed. As per usual, with a preposterous counter-argument ready. If he could, Phoenix would burn an injured person if it meant he’d somehow be able to heal them.

"Wait wait, hear me out, I heard from somewhere that if you put fire on ice, it burns instead of melting 'cause of some chemical jargon. What if, by some force of nature, the same thing happens to the water?"

"You'd just be boiling it, idiot."

"Oh, come on. You're making it sound so useless!"

Yoru stopped and met Phoenix's gaze, both of his hands in his pockets.

"Why don't you go check if Neon has something planned?"

There was a reason she, Sage and Jett always had those outings, she was the mastermind behind all of them.

"Nah, no chance, fam. I saw her and A/N leave before the meeting was over, she's gone gone."

Already? Yoru thought, before shaking his head and both of them continuing down their path.

"Then go shoot some bots, or something. I have stuff to do."

"No way! After the shouting match I heard there, I ain't touching that spot until tomorrow."

"Tch, what? Shouting match?"

"Yeah, fam. Shouting match. Omen and I were chilling in the lobby and we heard shouting from there. Dunno what was up, but..."

Phoenix then remembered a key detail. Didn't Yoru tell him earlier that he would be training, and that's why he was unavailable most of the day? Then that meant… He chuckled to himself.

"Wait, was that you? Mate, how feminine does your voice get when you’re mad?"

"Did you just compare my voice to A/N's?"

"Wait, that was A/N? Why was she yelling?! Nah, there's no way you started an argument with her! Weren’t you just getting along?"

Disinterested in the conversation, Yoru took out his butterfly knife and began flipping it, its clacking sticking out against the moderate silence around them. Getting along is a stretch, he thought.

"Put down the tinfoil hat, Phoenix. There wasn't an argument. I just told her what was on my mind."

"Mate, what's on your mind can make the bloody president resign! Remember when you obliterated Sage for a small mistake?! I swear I saw her cry!"

"For the last time, she was sweating. And what's wrong with telling her to quit being passive?"

"That's not harsh?"

"She agreed with me, idiot."

"Look, I get what you mean, but I still think you should be nicer with your words, you feel me? A/N's kinda sensitive, unlike me."

Yoru immediately stifled a chuckle and cleared his throat.

“I’m already nice in one way. I’m not slathering my words in honey.”

“Mate, you’re hopeless.”

And with that, Yoru had no further retorts or desire to continue such a fatuous conversation.

But just because he shut himself up doesn't mean he didn't have ammunition upon ammunition of counter-arguments. And the most important among all of them; this was Valorant, not some daycare. People here should be used to harsh words. Thankfully, he was one of them, which is why he was unconcerned when you snapped back at him.

Nevertheless, he took a turn and walked down the hallway, their shared path dividing into two.

"Whatever. I'll see you after the mission, Phoenix."

Phoenix stared at him walk down the corridor, crossing his arms. And as per usual, despite his concerns, Yoru absolutely did not give a damn. It was evident just in the way he’d walk.

Maybe Phoenix should apologise for you, or fully scold him when he gets the full story.

❤ฺ·。

For the first time in a while, the fresh air of the outside world freely filled your lungs like mystical fairies sparkling some dust of serenity in you. And though it matched the one on the island you’d frequent for training, this one was different. This air was littered with a sense of peace.

You had been out shopping for the past few hours, with nothing to worry about. Not money, not anyone, nothing, other than keeping an eye on Neon so that she doesn’t stray too far away and leave you alone. It was a record for you to go so long without stressing about anything, at this point.

“You know, now that I think about it, that bracelet kinda adds to your look, doesn’t it?”

You held up your arm and lifted the long sleeve up in confusion, staring at it in the mirror. Of course, angling yourself in such a way so that the other customers couldn’t see what was going on. And you could definitely understand what she meant.

“Oh, yeah, it does.”

She stepped up behind you, both of her hands behind her back as she sported a cheeky smile. Did you even need to say anything to know she had something in mind? You flinched once she pinched your loose plain shirt and lifted it up, almost like she was grossed out.

“Jeez, this plant is so metal and stuff, your outfit is so boring in comparison.”

You rolled your eyes with a smile, waving her away.

“I know, you don’t need to say it.”

“What do you think of this?”

As if it was on cue, she immediately lifted a charcoal black top, its design carefully formed to fit the shape of a dainty hourglass figure. High quality, multiple patterns delicately laid throughout alongside a few buttons that helped it pop, it was so pretty. Without wearing it, you knew it fit you, and you already imagined what to connect this with.

But it wasn’t before you immediately shut this idea down.

“Neon, I’m not wearing a corset again!”

“Why not?! It’s not like anyone will say anything!”

“But it’s too much! I think I’ll just go with the choker this time. Maybe next month I’ll come back and get this.”

You pointed at the simple black choker you held. And immediately, you were met with an unamused expression.

“This doesn’t even have a pattern on it.”

“I wanna take it slow. What would Harbour say if I showed up in that?”

She giggled, putting the corset away.

“The guy dances with death every single day; seeing you in knee-high boots is not gonna do anything to him. Right…?”

You blushed, jokingly shoving her away and turning to the shelves where the chokers were set.

“Tumahimik ka! He’s like, forty!” <Shut up!>‎

Neon laughed, refusing to take her words back.

Then, one choker caught your eye. One with a heart in the centre, holding the whole thing together. Right next to a spiked one you considered getting, it was irresistible. And you flinched once Neon suddenly snatched it, observing said spikes.

“Why not this one? It looks cool.”

You rolled your eyes, putting back the plain choker in favour of the one with the heart. Then, you stepped away from the shelves, looking around for the cashier. It reminded you of Yoru.

“I don’t like spikes.”

“What’re you talking about? You wore spikes all the time.”

“Not anymore. They look like they’d hurt.”

Neon cheekily smiled.

“Yeah, duh! Yoru has these gloves with spikes on them. And once, I saw him punch someone with it, I think he got a scar on his cheek from those spikes!”

You threw her an expression of disgust, before walking down the aisles and towards the cash register you found. Neon took the choker with her and followed, intentionally holding it with her left hand so that it would be hidden out of your sight.

“Neon, that’s so crass.”

“But fighting is crass! You think we look like pretty ballerinas when we’re on the field? No way, we look like animals!”

You smiled and met her gaze.

“I’ve spent my entire life working in customer service. Nothing can shock me after that.”

Neon set the two chokers on the counter. Unlike you, she didn’t bother to look at the cashier as he worked, watching you take out your wallet.

“Oh, right, I forgot. Didn’t you work in a salon once?”

“Don’t remind me.”

You both continued chatting as you purchased the items. And being so distracted with whatever she was saying, you didn’t even notice that you were also buying the spiked one, the worker setting them both on a plastic bag.

And with a smile, he handed it to you, both of you immediately making your way out of the store.

Within the next few seconds, you already had the heart choker wrapped around your neck, angling your somewhat-messy bob so that it would cover some of it from the passerby. It felt uncomfortable for the first few seconds, but you quickly got used to it once you saw your reflection on the nearby window. And pretty was an understatement.

Neon scrutinised you with a wide smile on her face.

“I can’t believe it, you look less like an NPC, now!”

Before you could retort, Neon’s phone buzzed and she quickly pulled it out. And immediately, she began rapidly typing back, her smile falling considerably fast.

Her sudden wide eyes immediately concerned you.

“What’s up?”

“I, uh– we should go back.”

“Why, what happened?”

“Phoenix’s telling me the mission went south, they’re hurt! We have to go back and check on everyone! Come on!”

And with that brief yet sufficient explanation, she grabbed your wrist and rushed down the sidewalk; bits of her electricity cracking with each rapid step.

You were pulled away faster than you could comprehend, now forced to share her panic.

❤ฺ·。

You came back to chaos.

The area was filled with the panicked voices of your fellow co-workers, most of them standing in the hallways just outside the infirmary rooms. Each door closed, and there was no sight of the two healers.

“I can’t find anyone!”

Neon called out, the unnerving atmosphere clearly getting to her. And you couldn’t blame her, not when each voice was louder and less recognisable than the last, everyone clumped together into one blur of various colours in the medical wing. None of them were people you knew.

Then, you heard a distant voice, high pitched, babbling in a language you couldn’t understand. But you knew you heard that voice before.

“Do you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

Gah, there’s no time.

You grabbed her wrist and moved through the crowd, mumbling an apology with each person you gently pushed. And with each step, that voice had gotten louder and louder with every room you passed.

But it promptly went silent.

Just as you ushered a blonde man out of the way, suddenly, the door on your right violently swung open to reveal Sage, holding a dishevelled Jett close to her.

“Jett! Jett, what happened?”

Neon quickly rushed to her friend, but you noticed how the door was immediately slammed shut behind them, giving you no time to see what else was inside. Jett responded to her question, but it wasn’t a coherent string of sentences, Sage patting her back in reassurance as a teal aura wrapped around her hand and the Korean’s left shoulder.

“She’s gravely injured. Just give her a minute.”

Both of you noticed how she clutched her right bicep tightly, an odd discoloration blocked by her hand. And with her white skin, the harsh pink was obvious despite Sage’s efforts to heal her. With the way her sleeve was violently ripped to bits, a deep black painting the edges, it was concerning.

“What happened? Who’s in there?!”

“Follow me. We need to get her to a quiet room.”

And with that, all four of you made your way down the medical wing, moving towards an empty area.

You gently shut the door as Sage quickly worked on healing Jett, the discoloration slowly shrinking to a more manageable size, enough for her to be able to fully cover it from you and Neon. And both of you noticed how, despite her shock, she really wanted to keep it concealed. But only Neon had the guts to speak out.

“How bad is it?”

“Third degree burns. It was much more gruesome when it first occurred, but I have it under control.”

“Third degree burns?”

Sage met her gaze, strands of hair sticking out in a disorderly manner, alongside the sweat that dripped down her chin. In every sense of the word, she was exhausted.

“I’ll tell you later. I just need to get this fixed, urgently.”

You nodded, understanding what she meant. With the injury strong enough to put Jett in shock, you could tell why she didn't want to explain right next to her.

"Is everyone else okay?!"

You piped up. And thankfully, you both earned a nod.

"We managed to escape before the base completely exploded. I'm not even sure what happened."

"How? You weren't there?"

Jett winced once Sage's hands wrapped around her arm, forcing her to stop holding it so tightly. And despite you both now being able to get a clear look at her arm, there was only a blotch of light pink that slowly shrunk as the healer worked. It looked less gruesome than the glimpse you got just minutes before, thankfully.

And it seems like she’s gotten calm enough to be able to form sentences.

"I– I think I need a drink. Uh, Neon, can you help me out?"

"Sure, no problem."

And with her support, Jett and Neon left the room, walking extremely close side by side so as to keep the Korean from losing her balance.

Immediately, just as the door shut, your eyes darted over to Sage's.

"What happened, exactly?"

Sage took a deep breath, grabbing the nearby rolling stool and taking a seat. One more second, and she knew that her legs would've buckled under her weight.

"I’m not sure, I wasn't with them, but I know something went wrong. When I arrived, Jett had a massive burn on her arm and Yoru was disfigured. From what she told me, sections of the base were falling apart."

Disfigured…?

You watched her rest her head on her hand, taking a deep breath.

"Is, uh," you started, nervous, "Is Yoru okay?"

"I– I think… he's stable. I have to go check in on him, nevertheless."

Sage suddenly stood up and immediately aimed towards the door, the conversation cut short. And just as she went to leave, you quickly caught her attention once more.

“Wait, is there anything I can do to help?”

She met your gaze, weakly smiling.

“Water would be great. But make sure you knock first. I’ll be right next door.”

You nodded. And with an even wider smile, she promptly turned on her heel and took her leave, heading towards the Japanese.

With a sigh, your mind drifted back to Neon and Jett. They should be in the cafeteria, right? She mentioned something about water. Maybe you should go there as well.

❤ฺ·。

The serene silence amidst the HQ was flipped on its head. Now, despite escaping that constricted hallway where constant words dripping with anxiety were exchanged, you still felt tense. What happened to Harbour? Skye? Was Jett okay, even after she was healed? What about Sage? She looked absolutely spent. And…

What about Yoru?

A loud clunk snapped you out of your trance, and you blinked to find yourself in the doorway of the cafeteria, Neon standing right over the sink, a glass being filled up with water in her hand. Just as you arrived, she turned off the faucet and faced Jett, neither of them catching on to your presence as they chatted. Their tones low and melancholic, it only added on to the intensity of the general situation.

Jett seemed to have calmed down, judging by her relaxed posture as she took the glass from Neon. There, she noticed you, weakly bringing up her good arm to wave.

“Hey, A/N.”

You waved back, awkwardly smiling.

“Hey… are you doing okay?”

“Yeah, I’m alright, I was just telling Neon what happened. By the way, did Sage say anything about Yoru?”

You approached the sink, taking out a glass and washing it.

“Uh… She said he was stable. I’ll give her the water and check in for you.”

“Thanks, you’re the best! Also, nice choker.”

You smiled to yourself, muttering a ‘thanks’ whilst you worked. Even in complete anguish, she somehow managed to notice it and even compliment it. What a sweetheart, you thought.

The water loudly swirled in the glass as you filled it.

“Is everyone else okay?”

“Nobody else got hurt, just me and Yoru. And he got the worse end of the stick, by the way.” She rolled her eyes, bringing the glass of water up to her lips. “Of course it’s us.”

“Seriously, what happened to Yoru?”

“I’ll tell you when you’re back.”

You groaned, turning to look at them as she gulped down, presumably, the second glass of water.

“Come on! Sage won’t tell me, and now you won’t tell me?”

To be fair, she didn’t know what happened.

“It’s– it’s awkward for him, okay? I don’t want him to get mad if I told anyone! And it’s not like I told her, all Neon knows is that a pipe burst on my arm!”

“What?”

“Yeah, straight through! Burned like hell!”

Now you knew why she was so desperately trying to cover her arm. It must’ve looked so grim.

You let out a huff, noticing the look of genuine concern over Jett as she explained. And it wasn’t the fact that she was hurt, more-so about Yoru, and how he’d go ape on her if she said anything. Like that mattered in this situation.

“If this is how all missions are gonna be, then isn’t it fair that I should know?”

Neon awkwardly laughed. Clearly, she hoped you wouldn’t bring that one specific point up.

“Okay, A/N, wait, I know this all looks bad but I swear, not all missions are like this. This only happens, like, once in a blue moon!”

“And that moon came up right after I–”

Oh, right. Luck.

You held up the glass of water, a few droplets falling to the ground.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You promptly left with the glass, heading back towards the room where Yoru was. And your mind was slowly dipped in turmoil with each conversation you had. Sure, Jett was shocked, but she clearly came down from it and was ready to talk.

God, how big of an ego did Yoru have, and why did everyone just accept it?!

You sighed and took a turn, working to push these thoughts off of your head.

Yoru was hurt. Seriously hurt, by the way they talked about him. You shouldn’t be holding a stupid grudge when his life was in danger. Maybe, just this one time, you could give him a pass…? Until he gets better, that is.

❤ฺ·。

The rest of the day, even after it ended, wasn’t easy for anybody. The lingering aroma of death still haunted the halls even after the break of dawn and you were marching down the hallways alone. Out of everyone, you carried the most burden. Mentally, that is.

Yoru was completely unconscious. You were sure of it.

Even though Sage didn’t let you in the room after you’d given her the water, the entirety of the day went by without a single sound from him. And you watched that door like a hawk. Only Sage left that room, but there was no sign of the Japanese.

You couldn’t help but think, was this all your fault?

You remembered how people back home would avoid associating with you because of your luck. After Neon befriended you and disappeared without a trace, your reputation was set in stone.

And with what just happened, were they wrong not to think otherwise? According to Neon, this never happens. And Yoru, after insulting you, was subjected to a horrible fate.

Was he even–

You stopped in your tracks once you saw a familiar figure sitting at one of the tables of the cafeteria. Back turned towards you, you recognised him by the spiky hair.

“Yoru?”

You called out, concern bleeding into your tone. He turned around, glancing at you from the corner of his eye, before looking back at his food.

“Hey.”

You quickly moved up towards him, laughing awkwardly. Relief overwhelmed you like never before at the sight of the grumpy Japanese. Just seeing him alive in front of you, it was cathartic. And wearing a plain white tee, you would’ve never guessed it was him, either.

“Yoru! Juskó, are you okay?” <Yoru! Oh my god,>‎

He ignored you as you approached his left, not turning his head all the way to meet your gaze. And weirdly enough, instead of some gourmet food, he was drinking a glass of water with ice in it, swimming like pretty mermaids.

“What do you want, lady?”

You placed a hand on your hip, furrowing your brow. Jeez, now you remembered why you argued.

“I wanted to check in on you, I thought you died! I was worried about you!”

“Tch.”

He lifted the glass and took a sip, and your eyes immediately locked on to his exposed right arm. There was a harsh light-pink tone that overtook the entire limb. Ungloved, every single detail was free to be scrutinised.

…

Was he purposely not looking at you head-on?

With this in mind, you immediately moved in front of him. And now, you finally got a good look at his face. And the sight was… incredibly hard to look at, to put it lightly.

The right side of his body, whatever wasn’t concealed by his shirt, was painted in the same pink, and it looked verbatim like first degree burns. And this was after Sage healed him, you couldn’t imagine how it looked when he was first found. How did all of this happen…?

But you could see a deeper red near where his neck was, like that part wasn’t healed properly.

It must be so painful for him to even grab the water and drink… Ugh, okay, scratch that. Too vivid.

“Go away.”

He said through gritted teeth, snapping you out of your shock. And quickly, you cleared your throat with an awkward smile.

“Sorry– do you, uh,” you looked at his right arm, pink, seemingly useless, “do you want me to cook you something?”

He raised an eyebrow, insulted. And it’s not like he didn’t catch on, either.

“I’m ambidextrous.”

…

“Yeah, but… I’m– I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

He took another sip, breaking eye contact with you. And with that, you heaved a tired sigh, turning to the stove to your right, completely unused. If he came down his high-horse and just admitted that the heat of the stove would get to him, there would be sympathy. But how could you be mad at him in this state?

He was clearly helpless despite his aversion to showing vulnerability.

“Yoru, whatever you want, just say it, I’ll make it. No skin off my back.”

“I want you to leave me alone.”

God, he was impossible, even when you were trying to make amends.

You sighed, finally turning to the stove to make your own food. Neon wouldn’t mind if you used some of her ingredients, right…? The grocery trip you would’ve gone to yesterday was cut short by… well, you know. Hey, the choker made you feel confident, at least.

You moved to the fridge and got to work, taking out what was needed for your own breakfast. It’s been a while since you’ve cooked your own food, so you might be rusty.

Yoru winced once the clunk of your plate ripped him from his day-dreaming, watching you as you sat in front of him with your breakfast. Thankfully, no plate for him.

But as much as he didn’t want to admit it, the food smelled okay. Which was surprising considering the bland stuff he watched you consensually eat. Yoru quickly recognised the dish as tapsilog thanks to Neon, who would usually make this whenever she was forced to cook.

“So, what happened?”

He raised an eyebrow.

“You know, the mission, and stuff. Jett hurt her arm, and you…?”

You looked him up and down, noticing how the burns only took over the lower right side of his face, having grown threateningly close to his eye. Just a few more inches, and he’d have a clouded lens. Would Sage be able to heal that?

Like an approaching wave of volcano, the sight of Yoru slightly smiling immediately caught your attention.

“Didn’t Jett tell you?”

“Uh, no? She didn’t want you to get mad if she did.”

“Tch.”

You rested your arms on the table and waited for him to continue.

…

Ugh.

“So?”

“It’s not a big deal. One of the pipes burst on Jett’s arm, I covered her from the upcoming explosion, and accidentally took the damage from the wall of pipes behind me. That’s it. Now stop–”

“Wait, wait, what?!”

A wall of pipes went off on him? The toxic fumes, everything? And he was so nonchalant about it?! Just the burns on Jett’s arm, whatever you caught, looked agonising. And he had double that amount explode right on him.

If it weren’t for the existing marks on him, you’d definitely think he was lying.

“How aren’t you maimed, at least? You look fine!”

“Sage’s magic does wonders.” He proudly pointed at his neck, where the deep pink resided, “This spot was mangled when I woke up.”

To say you were horrified would be an understatement. No wonder Sage didn’t allow you to see him. You really didn’t want to believe what he was saying was true, either.

“You’re saying that you covered Jett from the explosions, but it hit you. How?”

“I wrapped the rift around her front. But I swallowed the damage from behind.”

“What–”

Wrap the rift around her? What does that even mean? Like, a mystical shield?

“Why didn’t you– you know, wrap that… around both of you, all the way through?”

“Lady, I had two seconds to keep her safe. I thought I had my back against a wall, at first.”

…Keep her safe? Did those words really just leave Yoru’s mouth without a hint of irony or sarcasm?

“But what about you?”

“What about me?”

“You kept her safe. Do you care about Jett that much?”

Yoru wryly laughed at such a stupid concept, immediately dismissing you with a wave of his good hand.

“As if. I acted on instinct.”

And yet, his instincts demanded he put her before him? Even if those pipes weren’t behind him, he fearlessly covered her on both sides using everything in his arsenal; even himself. Doesn’t sound very selfish to you, you thought.

Wait…

“Are you gonna hold this over her head?”

“What the hell do you take me for?”

…

Wow. You really weren’t sure what to think about him.

Yoru pushed the chair back and went to stand, but you quickly held a hand up and stopped him.

“Yoru, wait.”

“What?”

You sheepishly slid your plate of food towards him, an awkward smile lifting your lips.

“You didn’t eat yet.”

He stared at you, and his hostile expression quickly softened at such an unexpected offer. Alongside that, you could also sense an air of confusion.

“I’m not eating that.”

“You need to eat something, Yoru. You’re hurt, your body needs it.”

“I’m not in the mood.”

“One bite, at least? Please?”

“I don’t want your–”

“Just this once!”

He stared at you for a few seconds, clearly annoyed at how persistent you were. Where did the coward A/N go, the one who couldn’t even tell Harbour she was too tired to go back to training? He thought.

…

He sighed, pushing the chair forward and taking the fork into his hand.

“Fine. Just so you’ll shut up.”

You beamed with a smile, watching him pick up a small piece of the beef with his fork.

However, your smile quickly fell once you noticed his face slightly twist at the sight of it, despite the steam that escaped it. To you, it looked incredibly delectable, and frankly, it was a crime you weren’t the one eating it.

“What’s up? Do you hate the seasoning?”

“No. Meat’s just not my first choice.”

“But I thought you liked hibachi grills.”

He shook his head.

“Nevermind.”

He took a bite, leaving you even more confused.

You stared at his face as he ate, not realising how weird you looked, not when you really wanted to know what he thought of the food. It’s not like you didn’t ask yourself why the hell it mattered. Wasn’t this the same man who called you spineless to your face just the day before?

And you felt bad just because he… saved Jett’s life, and didn’t plan on holding it against her.

You turned your gaze away, unable to stop yourself from smiling.

“What’s your deal?”

You shook your head, a quick and impossibly awkward giggle escaping you.

“Nothing. You know, now that I think about it, I should get back to training.”

Yoru watched you stand up and quickly walk off, escaping his line of sight within a few seconds. And for a moment he questioned your sudden switch, before completely dismissing it and eating his breakfast.

Unlike you, his emotions had minimal control over him.

He didn’t care.

❤ฺ·。

As much as you didn’t want to admit it, you sort of understood now why people gave Yoru a pass on his abrasive behaviour. After putting his life on the line, allowing himself to get severely injured, all for the sake of Jett’s survivability? How could you hate him after that?

You sighed to yourself as you worked, struggling to find the muscle that ejects sundew. How did you do it last time? All you recalled was angrily pointing at Yoru… Wait, maybe it’s connected to your index–

Nectar suddenly engulfed your hand by accident, dripping down to the floor. Wrong trigger…

You sighed and left the training range, moving towards one of the tables where a box of tissues sat, like they were waiting for you.

Then, a set of cyan slits caught your attention, and you turned to find Omen standing near the lockers. Just seeing him felt incredibly calming.

“Hey, Omen.”

He met your gaze, but his awkward posture quickly set you off.

“What’s up?”

…

“A/N. Nice choker.”

You grinned in pride, using two fingers to caress the heart choker once more. Second compliment on the accessory, already? And from Omen, too. Maybe this thing’s paying off.

“Maraming salamat. Thank you. But are you okay?” <Thank you so much.>‎

Omen shook his head, turning back to his locker.

“Nothing, I was… set off by the smell just now.”

You awkwardly laughed, quickly working on wiping the nectar away, desperately praying he didn’t read up on your abilities and didn’t know it was coming from you.

“I’d forgotten what you can do.”

Damn it.

“Sorry about that. Used the wrong muscle, and stuff.”

“What were you trying to do?”

He gently closed the door to his locker and approached you. Panicking, you immediately wiped up the remaining liquid and tried to find the trash before the scent could irritate him any further. You really didn't want to be reminding Omen of his biggest fears. He was too sweet to be hurt like that.

Where was the trashcan?!

“I wanted to shoot that sundew bomb again, but I don’t know how I did it the first time.”

“I see. And… isn’t Harbour your coach?”

“Well–”

You really hoped he wouldn’t have asked this question. But at least it wasn’t Yoru asking you this. It’s not like you didn’t think about it, either. But he was exhausted just like the other agents. You couldn’t bother him, not after what just happened.

“I– I wanted to practise alone, you know? I’m not in the mood to talk, and stuff.”

Omen stared at you in silence for a moment, before nodding.

“Very well. I was about to leave, anyway.”

Uh oh.

“Uh, wait–”

You quickly held up a hand and stopped him just as he took one step away. And thankfully, he did.

“You know, it– uh, it’s not so bad having you around.” You awkwardly smiled. “Mind staying? It’ll be fun just to talk.”

“Talk?”

You nodded, anxiously scratching at your bracelet. And the few seconds that passed felt like whole hours, before he finally spoke up.

“I can do that. Let’s go.”

Even though Omen had a soothing aura, talking to him was also incredibly stressful. At least you could go off of the eyebrow movements with Yoru. But him? There was literally nothing other than maybe the slits.

Nevertheless, you both entered the training room, and only now did you remember the puddle of nectar you accidentally left behind. Omen stopped, took a deep inhale, before ‘clearing his throat’.

“I didn’t want to say anything, but I have half a mind to turn this scent into a candle.”

…

“Is… Uh, is that a bad thing?”

“Just tempting. The smell’s pleasing to the soul.”

You eagerly smiled and stopped right in front of him. In the vast area, your voices echoed like you stood in a massive field. A massive dull, closed off and grey field, but I digress.

Separated into two classifications, poison and nectar, you were delighted to discover than he smelt the latter.

“Candles that smell like everyone’s favourite thing ever? I’m up for it!”

“I’ll need a cup-full of it first. Then, I’ll see if I remember the steps…”

You both continued chatting about nonsense as you tried to summon the sundew.

And for the whole hour that you were there, progress was naught. For some reason, you just couldn’t find the trigger for it. All you did was summon more of the nectar by accident. But you avoided crushing the building to bits.

Omen even offered to leave to let you focus, but you couldn’t part. Not yet. Not when he was exactly like Yoru, albeit a kinder version of him. One you could talk to without being looked down on for existing.

You sighed, pulling back your hand and staring at it. Your arm started to ache with how much you kept it pointed straight forward, and how much pressure it took to keep producing the nectar, but nothing would come out.

However, your mind drifted elsewhere.

“Omen… you saw what happened to Yoru yesterday, right?”

“Mhm.”

“Is that, uh, normal?”

Omen met your gaze, and you could sense his confusion by the subtle tilt of his head.

“Yes, we all get injured in this line of work.”

“No, but, he had pipes explode right on him. He almost died. Does that usually happen?”

He crossed his arms and leaned on the wall once more, clearly pondering. It’s not like he didn’t know the answer to your question. But considering the dread that bled into your tone as you spoke, he wanted to figure out how to ease this information onto you.

“...What happened to Yoru was a rare instance.”

Before you could let relief calm you, he immediately spoke up again.

“I understand how fun your friends make it seem, but, A/N, Valorant isn’t a fun get-together. Dying on the frontlines is still highly expected.”

All relief was squashed within a second, and you put down your arm in surprise. Omen noticed this, quickly continuing his sentence.

“Obviously Sage can bring us back should that ever happen, but my point stands.”

You awkwardly laugh, feeling panic suddenly engulf you like a flood. Something he also took note of.

“Kailangang magbiro ito…” <This has to be a joke…>‎

You stretched your right hand, struggling to keep the poisonous fluid and everything alongside it at bay. As much as you tried to keep yourself relaxed, your shaky voice gave everything away.

“W– well, is there, you know, a way to get out of this? This isn’t what I– it’s too much, you know? It’s– It's not– I don’t think this is something I can handle.”

“I… can’t say for sure.”

You put your hands on your temples, struggling to keep calm.

With how little they talked about it, you never realised how appalling the circumstances were, not until you saw it in action. You saw the burns on Yoru, and those burns were after he was healed. You couldn’t not imagine what he looked like when it all first happened. But most importantly, how did he feel? How much pain did he endure before he passed out? And how high were the chances of that happening to you?!

Amidst the turmoil in your head as you mumbled nonsense in Tagalog, you hadn’t realised that Omen stepped up to you, the slits combined with his presence snatching your attention with ease.

“You’re sure there’s no way out of this?! Mali ito, ako– hindi ako dapat nanatili rito!” <You’re sure there’s no way out of this?! This is wrong, I– I shouldn't have stayed here!>‎

He put his hand on your shoulder, his touch slowly bringing you back to reality.

“Take it easy, A/N. You’ll be alright.”

“No I won’t, what if that also happens to me?!”

“It won’t. I guarantee it won’t.”

“But– but–”

“You let your fear control you too much, A/N. Half the things running through your mind are impossible scenarios.”

He saw the poison that dripped from your hand. You didn’t notice it, but thanks to this, being around you forced him to remember his own array of problems.

“Wh– what? How do you know?”

His posture loosened, giving you an air of amicability.

“It happened to me when I first became… this.” He pointed to himself. “It’s only when you truly get on the field do you realise how repetitive things really are.”

…

How repetitive things really are? As in…

“So… I’ll– I’ll be fine?”

“You will. And you’ll even be laughing at yourself a few months from now. That’s what I did.”

His lighthearted tone took its toll on you in a positive way. Just by the softness of his voice, it managed to calm you down and force a smile to lift your cheeks.

Omen was just so… kind.

“How are you feeling?”

You sighed, running your dry fingers through your hair.

“I– I feel better.”

“Good. Now, how about those candles we talked about?”

…

“That– that sounds… It sounds great. Okay, yeah, let’s do it.”

With a friendly pat on the shoulder, you both walked out of the training room and headed towards elsewhere, ready to get your mind off of everything.

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