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andvys · 2 months

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I'm begging for you to take my hand | E.M.

Warnings: reader is a single!mom and was dumped by her previous boyfriend, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of heartbreak, Eddie being a bit of a grump but this is pure fluff

Pairing: Older!Eddie Munson x fem!single mom!reader

Word count: 4k

Summary: It's a hot summer afternoon when Eddie's life changes for the better, and two very special people step into his life.

Author's note: this little oneshot was based on this reuqest. and I once again have to thank my bestieee @hellfire--cult for helping me out. I worked on this idea back in July and then just abandoned it cause I didn't like the way I wrote it, but Roe threw her amazing ideas at me and helped me out, thank you bby!

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The sun is shining, the birds are chirping, Def Leppard is playing on the stereo, the bottle of beer is cold in his hand as he lies out in the sun, enjoying his free afternoon – life couldn’t be better.

While all his friends are living their ‘perfect’ white picket fence lives that aren't as perfect as they once thought it’d be, Eddie is enjoying his life in utter bliss and peace, with no one disrupting his sleep or his precious free time.

He is still writing songs, still performing at The Hideout, still living his life while everyone else is busy with their wives and their kids – something that Eddie never saw himself having. He wasn’t cut out for this life and he is content with what he has now.

He has a good job that allowed him to leave the Trailer park behind, he now lives in a small house in a quiet neighborhood with no kids screaming through the streets and irritating him, at least until now.

A small giggle disrupts his peace, he squints his eyes open after taking his sunglasses off only to see a little kid running into his backyard, laughing loudly as he escapes the young woman who is running after him. There’s no doubt in him that you’re some incapable babysitter, the distressed look on your face gives it away.

“Jamie, get your ass back here! This is not our house and you’re naked!”

“The fuck,” Eddie grumbles, getting up from the lounger he was enjoying the sun on, he puts the bottle down and makes his way over to the boy who runs through the grass in only his blue swim trunks, his curls bouncing as he giggles even louder when the woman gets closer, he isn’t looking where he’s going, and runs straight towards Eddie, who bends down and picks up the boy from underneath his armpits before he can escape further.

A small gasp escapes the boy’s mouth but he then continues his giggling when his eyes find Eddie’s, who is holding him up now, with a distance and an angry look on his face as he stares at the boy who just looks like a copy of him with the long brown curls, and his brown eyes.

He looks over his shoulder, seeing you from up close now as you rush over to the two of them. He can’t even stop himself from ogling you in your little skirt that barely covers anything and your skimpy bikini top. Your hair is a mess on your head and your sunglasses barely stay in place, you look flustered but so very beautiful and hot.

And way too young for him and his thirty eight. You can’t be a day over twenty.

“Mommy! He has the same hair as me!” The boy laughs.

Eddie’s eyes almost bulge out of his head at the words mommy. You look way too young to be a mommy, especially for a kid who’s definitely over the age of four.

You’re not some incapable babysitter, just a stressed mom.

The kid is squirming in his hold but he reaches out to him, grabbing his curls with his tiny hands, he tugs at it causing Eddie to scrunch his nose up.

“Hey! Don’t do that, shithead!”

Jamie keeps going, not caring about the grumpy tone in Eddie’s voice or the angry look on his face, he continues laughing.

You pant like crazy as you finally halt in front of them, trying to catch your breath. Your chest is heaving up and down, and despite the squirmy kid in his hands, he can’t help but look you up and down, once again.

“I-I am.. shit..”

“Mommy!” Jamie exclaims.

You fan your face with your hand, rolling your eyes at your boy.

“Jamie.. shut up.. for a second,” you mumble, already knowing that you will feel guilty for saying these words to him later on, despite the giggle that falls from his lips. “I-I’m so sorry.. We are – I’m not used to running like this anymore, oh my god.”

“Mommy said a bad word, sir.”

“I heard,” Eddie mumbles.

You breathe a sigh of relief, knowing that he could’ve gotten away further if it wasn’t for this… kind neighbor. It takes you a moment to catch your breath, but when you finally do and you raise your head to look at the man who is still holding your kid, your breath gets knocked out of you again. Not only are you met with the most handsome face you have ever seen, he was also blessed with the prettiest eyes and hair, his pale and toned body is covered in tattoos and you almost drool over the beautiful stranger.

Your eyes move down his body, and it doesn’t go unnoticed by Eddie. His lips tug into the smallest smirk and he steps towards you, meeting your wide eyes when you raise your head to look at him with your flustered face.

You blink, breaking eye contact as you take your kid from his hands. Jamie instantly wraps his arms around your neck but his eyes are glued on Eddie, just like yours are.

“Say sorry to our new neighbor,” you whisper through your embarrassment.

“Eddie,” he nods, revealing his name to you.

Eddie. You repeat in your head, as though you could ever forget his name.

“Sowwy Eddie!”

Eddie chuckles a little, but shakes his head, raising his eyebrows at you, “new neighbor?”

“Oh yeah! We moved in yesterday. Sorry if the trucks made a lot of noise…” You say shyly.

He waves his hand at you, “oh no, I might have been at work at that time, so trust me, I didn’t hear anything, darling.”

Your eyes widen at the nickname, cheeks burning underneath his gaze. You swallow harshly.

Eddie looks down at your hand, instinctively looking for a ring on your finger only to find none.

“Oh uh, this is Jamie, by the way,” you chuckle softly as you pinch your son’s cheek, before you introduce yourself to him, giving him your name with a shy smile on your lips.

He repeats your name, making you blush even more when it rolls off his tongue so… prettily.

“I-I uh.. we’ll get going,” you murmur as you take a step back, looking down at Jamie who is still staring at Eddie, “I’m sorry again, we’ll see you around.”

You give him a shy smile before you turn around and walk away, unaware of your son waving at Eddie with a grin on his small face.

Eddie sighs, begrudgingly raising his hand to wave back.

He already knows that it won’t be the last he will see of him… or you.

A few days had gone by since he met his new neighbors, and he hasn’t seen you or your boy since then but he heard music from the open living room window the other day and the smell of cookies lingered in the air when he came from work earlier today.

Eddie is enjoying a peaceful evening out on the porch, playing around with his acoustic guitar as he enjoys the last rays of the sun, the fresh breeze kissing his skin.

The bushes that divide his backyard from yours rustle, and from the corner of his eyes, he sees the mop of curls. He stops playing and leans back in his chair as he glances at the little audience – the little boy that peeks over the bushes, watching him.

Eddie can’t help but groan in annoyance.

“Watcha doin, Eddie?” His soft and small voice cracks Eddie a little, almost feeling guilty for the groan that just escaped him.

“Playing guitar,” he grumbles.

Jamie sighs, still staring at the man with his big brown eyes.

“Can I watch?” He asks, giving him the best puppy dog eyes he has ever seen.

How could Eddie ever say no to someone so adorable?

“Sure, just stay over there.”

“Yes, sir.”

Eddie continues playing, closing his eyes again and goes back to what he was doing – enjoying his evening. He doesn’t realize that after the second song, Jamie starts getting closer and closer, ignoring what Eddie said to him earlier. The little boy sits down on the porch steps, staring at Eddie and the way he plays the song so easily, he watches with awe in his eyes and a bright smile.

Only when Eddie stops playing and the soft clapping pulls him out of his thoughts, does he open his eyes to find the boy so close. He almost chuckles, of course he didn’t listen.

“Do you know the barney song?” Jamie asks, tilting his head in a cute way.

“Barney?” Eddie mumbles.

“Yeah!”

Eddie furrows his brows, shaking his head slowly, “I don’t think so, bud.”

The little boy sighs, frowning and looking down at his hands with a dejected look on his face, one that fills Eddie with the slightest amount of guilt.

With a sigh, he starts playing a different song, one that he remembers from his childhood. The theme from Ducktales.

Jamie perks up, he looks at him with wide eyes and a smile on his face, clapping his small hands together again.

“Life is like a hurricane here in duckberg–”

Eddie’s eyes widen in surprise when he starts singing, a smile tugs at his lips as he continues playing, nodding at him to keep singing.

His heart soars a little watching that kid – not that he would ever admit. But watching the way his eyes shine with happiness and dimples appear in his cheeks as he smiles even wider fills his chest with a warmth he had never felt before – is that adoration the grump feels?

“I didn’t think you’d know that song. The cartoon is very old,” Eddie says when he finishes playing the song, he puts his guitar down and places his elbows on his knees, looking down at the curly haired boy.

“Well, my mom is very old!”

Eddie chuckles, shaking his head in amusement.

You are very far from old, he still isn’t sure about your age, but he is convinced that you’re in your twenties.

“I know the song too, does that make me old too?”

“Yes!” He nods, his curls bouncing wildly.

“Jamie!”

Both Eddie and Jamie perk up at the sound of your voice, they both watch you rushing over just like you did a couple of days back.

Eddie chuckles when he sees you rolling your eyes but sighing in relief at the sight of your kid.

“Jamie, stop bothering our neighbor!” You groan, softly as you throw an apologetic look at Eddie.

“But he’s so cool!”

Eddie chuckles, and this time you do too. You stop in front of them where he can see you better – his breathing stutters a little when he sees you properly. Your hair is up in a bun, your glossy lips glowing beneath the evening sun, you have flour on your cheek and your hair, it’s clear that you were busy in the kitchen when Jamie made his escape, Eddie would’ve snickered at the look on your face if he wasn’t so awestruck by your beauty.

“I’m really sorry, Eddie,” you mumble, trying to smile at him as you take your son’s hand.

“It’s fine, sweetheart,” he smiles, ignoring the way his stomach fluttered when you said his name.

When you say your goodbyes and you walk away with your son, Eddie can’t help but stare at the two of you, a soft smile resting in his features.

“Is he my daddy?” Jamie asks, a little too loudly.

Eddie’s eyes widen and he almost laughs at the gasp that falls from your lips, followed by a loud ‘Jamie!’ He watches the way you turn around, as though to check if he heard it but Eddie quickly averts his gaze to save you from the embarrassment.

He stares down at his guitar, pressing his lips together.

The slight fluttering in his stomach that’s already been there when he saw you the first time, now feeling even stronger than before.

You’re single, you clearly don’t have a husband or a boyfriend. And somehow that makes him feel… relieved.

That night wasn’t the last he saw of you or your kid. Jamie keeps showing up in his backyard whenever Eddie is outside, whether he’s just lounging in the garden, playing guitar or trying to write a song, the boy comes over all the time, melting Eddie’s heart more and more and sneaking his way into his life, pulling you along, as well. And Eddie can’t help but grow protective over the little boy, enjoying his company and yours.

While he was annoyed the first few times, he now feels excitement every time the boy shows up with his toothy grin and the curly hair that resembles his.

Over time, he learned more about you – Jamie’s dad was a drummer in some rock band that Eddie had never heard of, he wanted nothing to do with his child or you when you found out you were pregnant. He broke your heart, dumped you and left you to go through it all by yourself. You were only twenty and you had no one, you were all alone. It’s something that left Eddie seething in anger when he found out, how could anyone do this to you? How could anyone neglect their child? How could anyone not want you and this sweet boy around?

Because he does, he wants you around after only a few weeks of knowing the two of you.

He couldn’t even blink before you both sneaked your way into his heart.

It’s a Friday night when the doorbell rings, the sound pulling him away from the book he was reading. He throws it on the couch and gets up, walking over through the long hallway that leads to the front door. He doesn’t expect to find you on the other side when he opens the door, but it’s always a welcoming sight.

“Hi,” you say softly, blessing him with that beautiful smile of yours, filling his heart with warmth.

“Hey sweetheart,” he smiles at you before his eyes fall on Jamie who seems to be shying away from him today, hiding behind you. He reaches his hand out to him, ruffling his curls, “hey bud, feeling a little shy today?”

“Jamie wanted to ask you something.”

Eddie raises his brows, leaning against the doorframe, he crosses his arms over his chest, “oh?”

Jamie hides even further, peeking out from behind you though as he looks at the man through his bangs.

You giggle, eyes flashing with amusement.

Eddie’s heart flutters at that sound and he can’t help but stare at you.

“Come on, bug.. ask him, the worst he can say is no and we’ll get someone else,” you say softly, smiling down at him as you squeeze his hand.

“No!” He protests, giving you a pout, “I want Eddie to teach me!”

Eddie tilts his head in curiosity, looking between you and your kid.

“Mommy got me a guitar…” Jamie says shyly.

“He’s been hooked since he heard you play,” you smile at Eddie.

Eddie’s eyes soften at your words, he looks down at your boy, bending down to his eye level.

“And what did you want to ask me, bud?”

Jamie slowly steps out from behind you, revealing a band shirt to the older man that instantly lightens up his eyes, the boy takes another step forward.

“If you… If you can teach me,” he whispers shyly.

Eddie is stunned and surprised that a small kid likes him in this manner. Eddie is grumpy, a little cold and distant most of the time, something that scares away all the other kids but this little boy took a liking towards him, he wants to be like him, like a mini him. And Eddie’s heart soars at that, he feels pride rushing through him.

“Alright, I’ll teach you.”

His big eyes widen in excitement and this time, he can’t even hold back, he jumps up and down in excitement before he throws his arms around Eddie’s neck, hugging him tightly as he giggles into his ear – melting the grumpy man’s heart completely.

And you, you’re a little perplexed that Eddie willingly wants to spend time with him, you always worried that he bothered him too much already, but Eddie seems to be excited, just as excited as your boy is.

Eddie wraps his arms around his small body, patting his back as he laughs a little. Your heart flutters at the sight of the two of them.

“Let’s go!” Jamie giggles excitedly, reaching for Eddie’s hand when he pulls away from the hug, pulling the man out of his house, “you need to see my guitar!”

“Jamie, maybe he’s busy right now–”

“No, no sweets,” Eddie shakes his head, reaching for the keys on the counter before he shuts the door. He keeps holding Jamie's hand as he steps towards you, surprising you by lifting his arm up and pressing his palm against your back, “I wanna see his metal guitar.”

Your breathing stutters and your eyes widen once again when he pulls you closer, making you feel comfortable and safe in his embrace. He squeezes your shoulder when you step closer to him, throwing a smile at him that almost has him weak in the knees.

Jamie begins to ramble from all the excitement in him and Eddie, he squeezes his hand, smiling down at the boy with a fond look on his face.

His hand moves down your side and he slowly reaches for your hand, not knowing that this innocent little touch makes your insides tingle with something. He presses his palm against yours, waiting for you to intertwine your fingers with his, and when you do, he squeezes your hand, making his own heart flutter with the action.

And as Eddie feels your touch like this for the very first time and the tiny hand that tugs at his fingers, he finds himself understanding what his friends meant when they shared their dreams of a white picket fence and a family.

Because suddenly, as he walks down the street with the two of you, he feels something he had never felt before, comfort and the want and need to protect and care for the people who came into his life and blessed him with… happiness.

And he becomes a part of your life, like the two of you became a part of his.

What starts with guitar lessons turns into something more – movie nights, game nights, breakfast at the diner, afternoons at the lake.

You and Eddie get closer and closer, the pull between the two of you becoming stronger as well. Though you never cross over that line. Not yet.

Your touches are innocent, so are the glances you throw at each other, but you crave him and he craves you and you show each other just how much weeks later at Jamie's birthday party. Eddie was invited as his best friend.

The backyard is filled with kids and their parents who all came to the party as well, laughter and chatter could be heard all the way to the kitchen, where you prepare the snacks with Eddie by your side. His arm is brushing against yours, and you keep biting back the smile as you sneak glances at him, watching the way he cuts the fruit with a concentrated look on his face.

You put down the knife after throwing the fruit into the bowl.

Eddie was so determined to help you out in the kitchen, he didn’t even let you protest against it.

He doesn’t have to do this.

He could be out there chatting with Steve who came here with his kids, but he chose to be here with you.

“Hey Eddie?”

“Yes, sweets?”

You take a deep breath and walk over to the sink, putting the cutting board and the knife down, you hold onto the edge of the counter.

“Thank you for being so nice with Jamie… and well, with me too. The sink is fixed again thanks to you,” you giggle nervously, glancing over your shoulder at him to see him walking towards you with a smile on his face, biting his bottom lip.

“Yeah, well... it’s impossible not to like the little devil… you know what I like the most about him?”

Your cheeks almost hurt from how much you want to smile when you feel him coming up behind you, he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you back against him.

“His mom.”

You start blushing furiously, turning around in his arms to stare at him, despite the flustered look on your face.

The look in his eyes and the fond smile on his face doesn’t help either, it makes you even weaker.

“So… a kid is not a turn off for you I suppose?” You ask, looking at him through hooded eyes.

He tilts his head, “it was before… but then I met my little mini me and you,” he says with his husky voice, pulling you closer against him as his hand moves up your side, playing with the thin material of your dress, “it’s an absolute turn on to see you in momma bear mode.”

You grow even more flustered now, slapping his chest lightly but it only makes him chuckle more and he pulls you flush against him as his face inches closer to yours. He looks down at your lips, he feels the heat of your body against his and god… even that feels perfect enough, he won’t know what to do with himself when he actually gets to kiss you and feel your lips against his for the first time.

“Hmm… Well then you’re lucky that I’m into rockstars.”

His heart skips a beat when you move closer this time, but before your lips could even brush against his, loud footsteps echo through the hallway and Jamie comes running into the kitchen with a plastic sword in his hand and wearing a pirate costume.

“Mommy! I’m a pirate!”

Eddie pulls away with a soft groan and you giggle when you’re forced to pull away from each other.

He looks down at your little boy, a grin taking over his face.

“You know who I am, bud?”

Jamie’s curious brown eyes squint at him, “who?”

Eddie grabs the spatula that was laying on the kitchen counter, stepping towards Jamie and going into a fighting stance, putting on his best mean face, “the most terrible and scary pirate in all the seven seas, matey!” He speaks with a deep, dramatic voice.

Jamie laughs as he runs away with Eddie chasing after him. And you watch smiling fondly, the sight in front of you pulling at your heart strings.

And you aren’t the only one who’s watching him, Steve is watching him too, amused and a little surprised to see him like that. Eddie had been his friend for almost twenty years now, and not once has he seen him so happy with a woman by his side, let alone a kid.

He can’t even bite his tongue when he gets a moment alone with him.

“So… what was that of not wanting kids?” Steve asks him later that night, smirking at Eddie who can’t keep his eyes off you while you’re talking to Steve’s wife.

“Uh,” Eddie chuckles, scratching the back of his neck, “at least the baby part is done with…” He trails off with doubt as he watches you, the way you smile, the way you laugh, the way you look so happy, the way your eyes light up when they meet his briefly. His eyes then move down to your stomach, and suddenly he can’t stop himself from imagining you with a baby bump that carries his own child, his heart flutters at the thought. “But maybe…”

Steve raises his eyebrows in surprise when he sees the lovesick look in his best friend’s eyes.

“Oh boy…”

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x single mom!reader #older!eddie munson #older!eddie x reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson drabble

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stevieschrodinger · 13 days

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Part One Two

A small note: if you would like to be added to the tagging list please ask in a reply to the post, I won't check elsewhere.

Eddie’s sitting on the couch. He’s staring into space, a couch cushion clutched tight to his chest.

Steve creeps in after Robin, hears her say, “Eddie?” softly, presumably so she doesn’t startle him.

He’s sitting in the dark, and they both just leave it that way. Probably an unspoken understanding that they don’t want to unsettle Eddie.

They sit down either side of him, Robin rubbing at his back. Steve keeps his hands to himself, not sure what will be welcome, and even less sure what the fuck he should say. Robin’s just better at this sort of stuff than Steve, maybe because she’s a girl or whatever, but she definitely has the emotional intelligence half of the brain.

Steve doesn’t know if there’s anything he even can say in a situation like this.

Eddie’s eyes are red and his face is wet, and he doesn’t move or look at either of them.

Eventually, Robin speaks gently, “Eddie, we can’t stay here.”

Steve figures whoever did live here probably cleared out when everything went to shit. He’s kind of glad; has no fucking idea how he’d explain away Eddie Munson, possible cult leader and serial killer, breaking into their house.

Steve doesn’t think Eddie’s going to say anything, but he does, after a minute, he nods, and says in a croaky voice, “I want to see Wayne.”

“Yeah, of course,” Robin agrees quickly, “we can do that, right Steve?”

“Yeah,” Steve replies, trying to sound sure and confident with that, when Eddie flinches. Visibly flinches. Turning away, shuffling closer to Robin’s end of the couch. And, okay.

Robin looks at him over Eddie’s head. Steve shrugs. Robin shrugs back. No idea.

Steve carefully, making no quick movements, moves his hand in front of his mouth, mimes using the walkie. Robin nods.

Steve jogs out to the car, walkie’s everyone real quick so they can stop looking. The others have already woken Wayne up, discovered that Eddie wasn’t there, and then gone looking for Eddie, so they’re going to head back there and wait for Steve and Robin to bring Eddie over. Explain to Wayne that Eddie’s safe so they don’t leave him worrying in the meantime.

Steve creeps back in, hoping Robs has made some progress getting Eddie moving. She hasn’t, and Steve peeks around the corner, listening. Robin is still rubbing at Eddie’s back, but he’s talking, “didn’t make any sense to come here. It’s all wrong. It all looks wrong it’s...not how we had it. Our stuffs not here,” Eddie sniffs, his voice breaking, “I thought I’d find them here.”

And then Eddie is sobbing, face buried into the cushion, sobbing so hard his whole body is hitching. He’s making noises that tear at Steve, it’s one of the worst things Steve has ever seen, such an outpouring of grief. Eddie’s so loud with it, almost wailing, barely able to breathe his chest is so wracked with it.

Steve feels absolutely useless, but Robin’s looking for him over the back of the couch, and as soon as he sees her his feet carry him over. Robin’s crying too. Steve’s pretty sure his own eyes are wet. It’s just so awful to watch. So painful, Eddie’s grief.

Steve realizes now, why Robin was so horrified. The truth of it finally sinking in now he sees the evidence of it. Eddie loved them, loved them so much that loosing them is breaking him.

Steve sits back on the couch, Eddie looking up for a second when he feels the couch dip, and suddenly he’s thrown himself at Steve, still shaking with those heaving sobs as Steve reflexively wraps his arms around him. It hurts like fuck on Steve’s broken ribs, but Steve bites it back, like fuck is reminding Eddie of that right now.

“I shouldn't have come here,” Eddie chokes out, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Eddie’s making Steve’s neck wet, and his great heaving sobs make Steve arms hitch along with them. Over the fluff of Eddie’s hair, Steve sees it as Rob starts crying fully, wiping at her nose with her sleeve, her face crumpling with it.

Steve swallows thickly, trying to hold it together but knowing he’s loosing it, and he rubs at Eddie's back, telling him, "it's okay, it'll be okay," even though Steve has no idea if it is or even if it ever will be.

It feels like a small eternity before Eddie sits up and finally moves. He doesn’t look at Steve, has his eyes squeezed shut as he scrubs at his face, and when Steve reaches for him, he flinches so hard he almost falls off the couch.

Rob is there for him then, telling him, “easy, easy,” and getting Eddie up and walking him to the car, Eddie half leaning on her.

Eddie’s opening the car door before Steve even fully stops, high tailing it away like his ass is on fire. Wayne is there in the doorway of the motel room.

Easy enough to find, it’s the only motel in Hawkins, and Jon’s car is parked outside the right room.

Wayne opens the door as Steve kills the engine, and Steve watches in the dim light as Eddie practically throws himself at Wayne. He’s sobbing again, Steve can hear it.

Steve’s only half out the car, but Nancy’s there, shaking her head, “we should leave them to it.”

They’re not going to go back to sleep, but they go through the motions anyway. Steve has a shower, really feels like he needs it. He takes a few minutes extra in there, scrubbing at his face and washing his hair, being very careful of his stitches. He gets changed into sleep pants after, and a loose tee shirt, lying in bed. Even if he just lies here, at least it’s rest of some kind. The sun will be up in an hour away, and the kids had said something about helping out at the sports hall, making sandwiches and putting together bundles of emergency supplies and stuff like that.

Steve said he’d drive them.

“Come on Dingus, I can hear you thinking about it.”

“He wouldn’t even look at me, and he flinched Rob, did you see that? And then…” it just doesn’t make any sense.

“Yeah, I did but...out of all of us, you’re the one he hurt the worst. Like, way the worst. He nearly killed you, Steve. Like, literally, if Eddie had taken another ten seconds to wake up, you would have been lights out. Maybe he remembers.”

That does make sense, Steve hums in agreement, that’s got to be hard for him, “yeah.”

“Maybe it’s hard for him to see you because...well. That’s got to be a shitty memory. Plus, trauma does funny things, what if he remembers you fighting back, you know?”

And that’s true, Steve did land one good hit on Eddie with his bat, more reflexive than anything. Before Eddie had taken the thing right out of Steve’s hands and snapped it like it was nothing, that is.

So yeah, maybe, Steve figures, “he was saying sorry.”

Robin hums again.

Steve’s ribs are healed up, his stitches long gone, all his bruises and scrapes are gone. The town is, kind of, back on it’s feet. Sure, there’s probably an abnormally high number of for sale signs in Hawkins, but everyone who was going to come back has done. Enough that Steve’s got part time shifts at the video store, at least. Mostly to keep up appearances; now that it’s all over, Owen’s got them all a pay out. Essentially for damages and trauma or whatever, but also with a very clear ‘keep your mouths shut’ attached to it.

For that first month, Eddie pretty much only speaks to Dustin. He stays with Wayne, and once every couple of days he lets Dustin know that he’s okay. The message Dustin brings back is the same every time, “he’s okay, he just needs some time.”

@autumncrocusandladybug @duckyreads @neonfruitbowl @slv-333 @starlight-archer @skys-archive @justdreamersdream @moomkin77 @prazinos @dragonmama76 @lingeringmirth @darkwitchoferie @weirdandabsurd42 @zoeweee @thennic @xiaq @tinyplanet95 @steddieyourself @chrystal-lovee @futuristicunknown86 @grtwdsmwhr @mugloversonly @wonderland-girl143-blog

#eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #pre steddie #the party #my writing #steddie dreamed life

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lovesickeros · 7 months

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☆ even the gods bleed [ pt 2 ]

{☆} characters furina, neuvillette {☆} notes cult au, imposter au, multi-chapter, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings none {☆} word count 1.9k {☆} previous [ 1 ]

This had to be a punishment of some sort – some kind of divine punishment.

She was bored out of her mind just watching the sleeping body – she hadn't blinked once in the past five hours, her eyes were really starting to hurt. Yet they still hadn't moved so much as an inch since she sequestered them away to the only place she had known to be safe.

But it'd been almost a week since then.

The only solace she found was that Teyvat had seemed much less hellbent on collapsing in on itself like a dying star.

That counted for something.

Not much, but something!

..Even if their position was no better then it was a week ago.

There was, after all, still the issue of what to do about the false Creator – the actual imposter – and the Archons following them like blind lambs. The other Archons wouldn't listen if she tried to reason with them, and it would only risk the life of Divine One if she spoke of their location to anyone else.

She also was pretty fond of having her head still attached to her shoulders.

So she avoided them all together. Partially because she wasn't sure she wouldn't have a breakdown at the sight of them..she'd never been a fighter, and fighting an Archon? Easy pass.

Instead she was forced to babysit the sleeping Divine until they woke up while Neuvillette handled taking care of the nation and dealing with the other Archons – and by extension the false Creator.

Really though, she would almost think them dead if not for the subtle rise and fall of their chest.

Though..this also left her with a lot of time to herself. A lot of time to think.

She really didn't like it.

There wasn't a lot to occupy her mind and what little there was only distracted her for a scant few moments before her eyes drifted back to the Divine like she was locked in their orbit, unable to escape.

She closed the same book for the twelfth time – she kept count – and returned it to it's meticulously designed place within her bookcase. A low, barely audible huff of frustration escaped her lips before she could bite it down, her stare boring a hole into the body of the Divine One with a sharp intensity she rarely showed.

She was tired, bored and constantly on edge, fearing that at any moment someone would find out about their presence here.

That, at the drop of a hat, she would be powerless to stop the greatest tragedy of her time play out before her eyes.

Neuvillette would have scolded her for being so petulant, especially around the Divine One, if he were here.

But he wasn't.

He was out running her nation, instead.

And what was she doing? Nothing!

She grit her teeth, nails digging harshly into the palm of her hands as she took a deep breath – now was not the time to think about that. She had..much more pressing matters. Sulking and letting her thoughts spiral helped no one, least of all herself.

Yet her attention was caught by a harsh inhale, the rustle of fabric – were they finally waking up? She was exhausted, but it all vanished at the sudden drop of life within the otherwise deathly still body of the Divine.

Her eyes followed the subtle twitch of their fingers, watching as their brow furrowed and their features twisted in something almost like..pain.

..She wasn't ready.

What was she supposed to say?

Should she even say anything? Would that be considered impolite? Does she wait for them to speak first? Should she kneel? Bow?

She doesn't get much time to find her own answer before their lashes flutter, chest heaving with every strangled breath. Every single thought vanishes from her mind the moment she meets their eyes.

For a long, silent moment she thinks that her heart must have stopped.

Their eyes glow like the cresting of the sun over the horizon, painting the world in hues of gold – yet it also reminded her of the dipping of the moon below the waves, casting the briefest, most gentle of lights upon the world engulfed in darkness. In the depths of their eyes was the birth and death of stars in the infinite cosmos – glittering stars in a sea of empty, blank space that left her feeling lightheaded and breathless.

Beneath the splendor is a spark of recognition in their eyes so vibrant it was like a shooting star piercing through the dark night sky, leaving nothing but the wonder in the eyes of the observer as the only proof it ever existed – brilliant in it's beauty, however brief.

It is the most beautiful thing she has ever seen.

"Focalors?"

The lilt of their voice nearly made her knees buckle beneath her – euphoria so consuming it left her feeling she was starving swallowed her whole, her mind blanking in a moment of utter bliss. It was..an indescribable feeling that she doubted she could ever hope to put into words – not in a way that could properly express it, try as she might.

She swallowed the words that threatened to spill from her lips – she couldn't make a fool of herself. Not in front of them of all people. She'd never forgive herself.

"Divine One," She rasps, clearing her throat and covering her mouth with a hand to mask both her nervousness and the small smile that creeps across her face. She quickly regains her composure, hand resting on her hip as she puffs out her chest with every bit of pride she can manage. "I am sure you must be confused, but worry not– your most loyal acolyte has seen the truth!"

The silence is deafening.

She opens one eye, peaking at the bewildered and almost distraught expression of the Divine.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

That..she was not prepared for. Surely they knew who they were! Surely they knew. They had to– she's been praying to them for as long as she's breathed, she's dedicated every hour of her life to living up to their ideals, they can't just–!

"Lady Furina?"

Neuvillette, thankfully, spares her the embarrassment of having a meltdown in front of the Divine, the gentle rap of his knuckles against the door making her and the Divine pause, the soft lull of his voice soothing her nerves and yet setting her on edge at the same time.

"Neuvillette." She clears her throat again, her steps hurried as she marches to the door and pries it open none too gently, a forced smile pulling at her lips. She wastes no time tugging the man into the room, shutting the door behind him with a short huff. The silence is, somehow, even worse then before as the three of them stare at each other in absolute exasperation.

Neuvillette, for his part, manages to get his act together with a sharp clearing of his throat, bowing so low even she looks unnerved. She steals a brief glance at the Divine, and she's taken aback by the uncomfortability twisting their features into a grimace.

Their expression is schooled back into one of empty apathy when he stands back to his full height, but she saw it – she knows she did! Did they not like their worship? Were they not respectful enough? For a moment, she feared the Divine would smite Neuvillette down on the spot..but they just stared at him like he was a ghost.

"Why aren't you killing me?"

The defeated, resigned tone combined with the way their voice cracks makes her heart ache in her chest – it feels as though her entire world is crumbling down at her feet, and she cannot explain why she feels such emotions so strongly, but it is suffocating. It is almost as if Teyvat itself is weeping, bearing down upon her shoulders like a heavy weight.

She feels the urge to weep herself, but she powers through, gritting her teeth long enough for Neuvillette to take his place at the side of her – though it feels more like their – bed, kneeling like he was going to pray.

"Divine One," He offers a hand with a quiet rumble of his voice, the words slipping off his tongue like honey. It's like trying to soothe a stray cat..though she'd never voice such comparisons of the most Divine out loud. "I..we mean you no harm. I swear on my authority as the Iudex of Fontaine and Chief Justice that you are safe with us."

The skepticism she expected, but the reverence in which Neuvillette must convince them – or perhaps they are simply so tired that they simply did not care any longer if it was all some ploy to drive a knife between their ribs. She didn't expect them to actually place their hand in Neuvillette's.

He didn't either, judging by the way he visibly brightened – not that they'd notice, but she did.

..Not that she could really blame him, her heels clicking against the floorboards as she shifted her weight to the other foot with a nervous energy that was practically bursting at the seams, more then a little jealous of the attention he was receiving. She was the one who found them, she was the one who stayed with them the entire time..but he gets all the attention?

How unfair.

"O-of course! We would never lay a hand on our creator," She adds, her voice a little higher pitched then she would have liked as she placed her hands on her hips, puffing out her chest and brushing off the sting of jealousy. "Least of all I– your most loyal, most devout acolyte!"

She felt baffled when she heard the sound of their laughter, her shoulders hunching and her cheeks flushing on mere instinct – she was expecting mockery, but the look in their eyes, still dulled by a pain she cannot even begin to imagine, made her hesitate.

..It was, perhaps, the most genuine thing she'd heard from them ever since before the hunt began.

She wasn't sure why her heart hurt at such an idea, but it was enthralling to see the beginnings of a half hearted smile on their lips.

For a moment, her mask of theatrics was forgotten as she stared at them in a mixture of awe and adoration– and though she didn't look at Neuvillette, she could imagine he must've shared such an expression.

Had she any doubts that they were her Creator, that they alone were the most Divine..they would wiped clean now. There was no mistaking the way the world itself seemed to grow clearer as they glanced up at her like she was worth something.

For a moment, she realized how cold the false Creators gaze had been now that she has felt warmth so gentle it almost made her knees buckle beneath her. It felt like a pale imitation, now.

Nothing could compare to the warmth that spread through her body at the mere semblance of a smile upon their lips. She didn't even mind if it was her they were laughing at anymore, she just wanted to hear them laugh again.

She'd make a fool of herself, if she had to.

She'd never felt so..ravenous for such a thing, but just the briefest glimpse was addictive.

She simply couldn't help herself from striding across the room and clasping their free hand in her own, her smile wide enough to unnerve as she leaned her weight onto the bed. For a moment, she considered pulling away at the way they startled, but her mind was made up by then – there was no going back.

"Again."

#sagau #genshin sagau #self aware genshin #genshin impact sagau #self aware genshin impact #fic tag #neuvillette #focalors #furina #dont ask what happened here idk #this was. also supposed 2 be neuvi focused and then i.#dont talk 2 me abt focalors i wont ever shut up #got a 300k word essay on hand abt how i feel abt her character/how i interpret her personality and her story #focalors jsut like me fr fr (cries at the slightest inconvenience or the slightest mean comment)#shes so pathetic girlfail im gonna chew on her #what happens when reader gets stuck with two emotionally repressed french bastards?? hell #neuvi is the “emotionless” flavor of emotionally repressed in that hes HORRIBLE at showing emotions at all #ask him to smile and its incredibly unnerving and theres too many teeth but hes trying his best please call him pretty or he will cry :(#furina is the flavor of emotionally repressed where she makes it up by having Too Many emotions #using theatrics and masks to show everyone what they want to see but inside this girl is a MESS #constant anxiety and panic 24/7 #will do random shit and look at you and if u dont compliment her she will think u hate her and cry #compliment her and she'll do even stupider shit to try and impress you more #i love my scrunkly little babies they r so stupid and mentally ill someone get these bitches some THERAPY #i want 2 put them under a microscope #watch this be ooc fr furina when more of her lore drops if shes not girlfail im leaving #anyway see u in a week im going on a trip ill get back 2 u in 6-7 business days

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arminsumi · 5 months

Text

Stitches 'n Kisses

Nurse!Geto すぐる / fem!reader

★ Content : fluff, drabble

★ Synopsis : Your husband nurses a wound that you accidentally got on your walk home from work.

★ Warnings : needles

You'd hurt yourself quite bad on your way home from work. Thankfully, the hospital your husband works as a nurse at is close by. Though you freak out about your wound, Suguru is calm and eases you onto a cot.

Suguru stitches you right up and gives you a shot to be safe.

Flick flick flick. Suguru flicks at the spot of your skin where he's going to insert the needle.

"Juuust a pinch." your husband warns in a soft voice.

You pull the same face you've always pulled when getting your skin punctured with a needle. Suguru smirks in amusement at your cute face. He tries to be as gentle and slow as possible so that you feel okay.

He focuses on pushing the syringe down and emptying its contents so he doesn't brush away his bangs. They annoy him eventually, so he blows them out of his face, but that doesn't help. The small moment makes you two laugh.

"So proud, baby." he praises after you take the needle.

He pulls the needle out and presses a gauze against the puncture spot.

"That hurts more than I remember." you comment, "I hate needles."

He chuckles, "I'm sorry. I tried to be as gentle as possible but I guess you're just a real princess, aren't you?"

You fake gasp. "Wow! To think I married someone so rude."

"Kidding." he rasps flirtatiously and puts a bandage on your arm. "I'm sorry you got hurt so bad today, baby, I'll make you feel better with some princess treatment tonight."

"Like what?" you lean closer, ears perked up. "What are you thinking?"

Suguru hums in thought, eyes sultry and soft. He tenderly massages your arm.

"Hmmm... I'm torn between an exquisite dinner at your favorite and just watching trashy romance movies in bed. Unless my princess wants both, then she can have both."

"Really?" you smile, wiggling your feet. "I can have both?"

"You can have more than both. Anything that mind can think of, I'll give to you tonight."

Suguru leans in for a slow kiss. The two of you close your eyes and get lost in bliss with each other as if you're not in a hospital, it's funny.

Suddenly, his work phone buzzes with an imminent message and interrupts the moment.

He reads the message and heaves a sigh. "Well, that dinner date and movie will have to wait for tomorrow..."

"It's okay. I'll wait forever if I have to."

"I'm sorry."

"It's really okay, Suguru. The only thing that upsets me is that you look so tired and yet you have to keep working now for who knows how long."

He shrugs, "It's the career I chose. I'm responsible for it, I could have become a cult leader." he jokes.

"Hell, I'd follow you." you laugh.

He readies to leave, and receives another imminent message. You've got to pick up your little one from nursery school, so you also get ready to leave. Life is at its busiest right now.

Before you leave, Suguru reels you in for another long, drawn-out kiss.

"Promise me you'll pamper yourself like a princess when you get home, yeah? Just treat yourself like I would. Put some music on, light candles, take a long bath. Maybe I can try get home at around one or two."

I do not permit the copying/reposting/translation/plagiarism of my works. Do not steal what I've worked hard to create.

This is fictional work.

#fluff #geto #geto suguru #suguru #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #geto x reader #suguru x reader #jjk suguru #getou suguru x reader #geto x you #geto x y/n #jujutsu geto #geto fluff #suguru fluff #suguru geto #geto suguru x you #getou x reader #nurse geto

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seokgyuu · 5 months

Text

part of the @svthub 70's collab

Lee Seokmin is a very successful and admired Detective in the NYPD. Up until now he has had no trouble catching the bad guys. But when an especially horrific serial killer starts roaming the streets of New York City and he faces perplexity for the first time in his career - his superiors send a unit from the FBI trained to profile Serial Killers, which contains none other than you - Seokmin’s High School Sweetheart.

Pairing: Detective!Seokmin x FBI Agent!Reader

Genre: Criminal Minds/Detective AU, exes to enemies to lovers, Serial Killer AU, angst, Smut (MDNI!)

Warnings: Serial Killer theme, description of violence, description of dead bodies, cult themes, mentions of suicide, mentions of blood, mentions of abuse, mentions of suicide, character death (none of the main characters); smut warnings: fingering, penetrative sex, dirty talk, usage of the word “baby”, begging, reader has female anatomy, unprotected sex, creampie

Wordcount: 15.8k

a/n: I finally made it!! after months and months of writer's block I finally finished this fic, and I am actually really happy with it. Please mind the warnings, as this goes into darker themes. I also want to note, that I am no expert in terms of criminal language especially during the 70s in the us. So, if you spot anything that isn't all that accurate, i apologize! I also want to thank @multi-kpop-fanfics, @bitchlessdino & @strawberryya for reading through this and telling me i, in fact, do not suck at writing lmao. ily guys!!

taglist: @the-boy-meets-evil, @wooahaeproductions, @wongyuseokie

Lee Seokmin was a proud man. Proud of his grades in school and university. Proud of the man his parents had shaped him into. Proud of all the cases he had solved as a detective. With pride comes vulnerability, though. Especially in cases like these when he doesn’t have the right to be proud of himself. When he feels lost and helpless and his superiors look at him as if he had never solved a single case in his career.

He knows. He knows he isn’t giving them or the people of New York City anything to go by. All he can do is say he needs more time. Time that no one has.

“More people will die, Lee.”

Seokmin hates Jeffrey Stolper. Hates him like fire burns. There is nothing he can do about it. Balling his fist under the table, Seokmin slowly raises his head. There is a certain emotion in Stolper’s eyes, an emotion Seokmin was happy to say he hadn’t seen many times before. His older colleague was gloating. While they were working together, their boss put Seokmin in charge because of the very obvious numbers differentiating them. Seokmin solved cases. Stolper left them cold. Seokmin couldn’t count the amount of times he had helped Jeffrey from drowning in his own misery, and this was the thanks he got. The older man was gloating because, for the first time in practically ever, Seokmin was lost.

“Thanks, Stolper, couldn’t figure that one out myself,” he mumbled, letting his free hand roam over his sweaty face. Scoffing, the older male with the slowly graying hair leans back in his chair.

“Not the hot shot everyone says you are, aren’t you?”

“Shut the fuck up, this is not the time.” Seokmin’s voice is quiet but sharp, and Jeffrey laughs, his chest heaving as he seems to be vibrating with the horrendous sound of his arrogant laugh. It takes everything inside Seokmin not to get up from his chair and punch the hell out of the man.

“Lee, Stolper.”

Both of them get up when their superior walks in, a big man with a receding hairline, a stubble on his strong face, and an old suit on his large frame. Frederic Bream isn’t much of an empath, but he does a good job.

“Captain.” Seokmin and Stolper speak at the same time, watching as the captain nods and then waves his hand, telling them to sit back down. Once all of them are seated, he clears his throat.

“I know you hate to admit it, Lee, but we have no leads on this. No leads and a new victim.”

Seokmin’s heart falls down to his feet. Fuck. Another dead girl? Who will it be this time? He feels sweat starting to form at the top of his head.

“Another one?” Stolper is serious and reaches for the case file Bream put on the table. Seokmin feels as if someone had dumped him in ice water, unable to move, shivering. He hates the fact that Bream is right - there are no leads. So far they haven’t gathered anything from what this monster does except that he always does it the same way.

“Lauren White, 23. Student at Columbia,” Stolper reads, his face in a grimace, “she was found near Times Square, too. Fuck, Lee, I told you to put more patrols out!”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Even if we put every man we have on the streets, this city is huge, Stolper. He could just start moving them somewhere else.”

Stolper doesn’t respond. Instead, he shoves the file over to Seokmin, who takes it with his jaw tensed.

“This is different from before, boys,” Bream clears his throat, “this is a high-profile murder. She is the daughter of the district judge.”

Seokmin looks up from the file.

“Why is this different from the other four victims? Because she has an important dad, suddenly the tables turn?”

Bream sighs, pulling a hand over his red face.

“It’s not fair, I know that, Lee. But this changes everything. The judge is furious. Was a real fucking asshole about it too, even for someone who just lost his daughter. He wants the slasher to be caught yesterday.”

“Oh, and we don’t? Captain, please, this is bullshit!” Seokmin scoffs, throwing the file back on the table and glaring at his superior, who looks straight back at him.

“I know. We all know Seokmin. It’s a bad situation. But, some might say, it did bring something good.”

“And what’s that?” Stolper speaks up, crossing his arms. Bream clicks his tongue.

“We got sent help. From the FBI.”

Silence is what follows. Seokmin feels the ice inside his veins melt and instead get replaced by fire. He knows Stolper feels the same. Everyone here feels the same. The fucking feds.

“They can’t take this from us. We’ve been on this for months,” Seokmin hisses, and Bream nods again, licking his dry lips.

“They won’t take it from us, Lee. They are only here to help. In fact, they aren’t… our usual feds.”

“What does that mean?” Seokmin raises his brows, leaning forward, hands on top of the table.

“They are a completely new department. Focused on the behavior of criminals, analyzing them, trying to figure out what is wrong with them.”

“They are killing people. That’s what's wrong with them!” Stolper shouts, and Bream holds up his hand.

“I understand that you’re upset. God knows I am, too. But there is nothing I can do. Go talk to them. They just arrived.”

The ice is back, and this time it hits Seokmin right in the face. They are here already? Waiting for them? Embarrassment flows through his veins, mixed with an emotion he has never felt before regarding his job: failure. His legs are shaking as he gets up, but he tries to play it off, his body tensing when Bream leads them to the door and opens it.

The hallway to the main hall suddenly feels longer than it is. The walls are closing in on Seokmin, the gray concrete threatening to suffocate him as he walks over the horrendous blue tiles he never understood were placed in the first place. Nothing really seems to be matching in this precinct. Most especially Seokmin and the federal agents waiting for them downstairs. He doesn’t know how his legs lead him to the glass front that shows the inside of the busy station downstairs. Everything is the same gray color. Everything is the same horrible blue. The only difference is the people standing in the right corner of the room all gathered around the whiteboard Seokmin has so carefully put together these past few months.

His hands are sweating. This isn’t fair. This is his case. They aren’t supposed to be here and take credit for what he has done so far. What exactly have you done, Lee Seokmin? The voice in his head reminds him, and he balls his hands into fists as Bream opens the door leading to the stairs that will finally bring him to the federal agents he knows he’ll hate already.

The atmosphere in the room is tense. More tense than usual because everyone in it is unhappy with the current situation. As if it isn't hard enough that there is a killer on the loose, now there are FBI agents trying to take this away from the NYPD? This is his town, Seokmin’s town! No one knows it as well as him. He knows every corner, every store. Every good place to eat, every bar to avoid. The people know him; they trust him with this, and now he is just supposed to accept that he can’t continue what he started?

He doesn’t know how, but somehow, he does end up right behind all the agents and one of the other detectives, Jeanne, and doesn’t even try to hide the fact that he is bitter. His arms are crossed as he listens to Jeanne explaining what is on the board. She had been a part of this - just like all the other detectives had been whenever they could. It’s not like crime suddenly stopped in New York City just because a serial killer was roaming around. If anything, it just got worse.

“That’s about all we’ve gathered. I know it’s not much, but it’s all we got.” Jeanne closes her explanation, and Seokmin watches the backs of the agent's head nodding. Bream then clears his throat, making the others aware that they have joined and once the team of strangers turns around, Seokmin thinks someone has yet again taken a bucket of ice and dumped it all over his head. Because why on earth are you here?

You see him the second he sees you. It’s almost funny how your professionalism slowly slips out of your control, how seeing him makes memories flood your brain and almost drowns you. Why is he here? He, who had left you with a sour taste seven years prior to this moment? Why is he standing there in a well-fitted suit, looking the best he ever had in a precinct that shouldn’t have anything pretty inside it?

“Detectives, may I introduce you to agents Son, Song, Kim, Seok and Y/L/N. They were sent here by the FBI to help us with the investigations.” Jeanne smiles, but Seokmin knows it’s not an honest smile. You see it, too. When you had gotten the memo to go to New York City and help with the slasher murders, you had already known the detectives wouldn’t be too happy to see you and your team.

“It’s nice to meet you. I’m the team leader, Hyunwoo Son.” You hear your boss speak, and you want to look at him, but your eyes are back to being glued to Seokmin. Lee Seokmin. The one who had taken everything from you when you were nineteen.

“You too. I’m Detective Stolper. This is Detective Lee.” Bream doesn’t sound sincere. For once, Seokmin is relieved his older colleague likes to speak over him. He doesn’t know if he would have been able to say a word.

Catching a serial killer is one thing. Catching him with someone you share an uncomfortable history with, another. You are sitting as far from Seokmin as you possibly can. With as many people between you as there are.

Hyunwoo is standing at the front with Matthew, explaining what your team has gathered as of now. The rest of the precinct is listening to the presentation, and you just know they are all biting their tongues. No one wants you here. All of them think you’re a fraud. While you understand where they are coming from, you also think it’s time for them to accept the newly found ways to analyze the behavior of killers like the case at hand: the Manhattan Slasher. The air is thick with sweat, and you are sure 70% of it is yours.

“We want to make clear that the work your precinct and especially you, Detective Lee, have done so far is incredibly helpful. We don’t want to discredit what you’ve done and we also don’t want to make you feel as if you’re getting kicked off the case. We aren’t your usual federal agents, Detectives, we are here to be of support to you. You still go outside and look at the crime scenes. You still get to do your work. We are here to assist, to see things we have been trained to see, things you cannot see, not for lack of smarts but lack of training.”

You had always admired Hyunwoo. How he spoke so clearly and calmly, how he never failed to make a person feel seen. You can feel the atmosphere shift. Some of the police officers visibly relaxing in their seats. You still don’t dare to look at Seokmin.

“Now, to what we have gathered. Dr. Matthew Seok will lead you through it.”

Seokmin wonders how old Matthew Seok is. He can’t be any older than 23. How on earth is he already a part of one of the newest FBI departments? And gets to be in charge of the presentation? And how does he already have a god damn PhD?

“Hi everyone, I’m Dr. Matthew Seok. With the help of the information you’ve gathered, we were able to come up with a profile for our unsub.”

Seokmin feels a scoff in his throat but manages to hold it back. A profile? What is he talking about?

“We are positive the unsub is a white man in his early to late 30s. He most probably grew up with an abusive mother, which explains why he only picks women as his victims. He doesn’t care about their race or social standing, which tells us he doesn’t hate one specific type of woman, but all of them. The age range of his victims is from early to mid twenties, meaning his mother had him young and gave him up around that time.”

You should be used to it by now. The reaction from the precincts. But it bothers you just as much as it usually does. The way they look at each other, the way they are already fed up with you being here. Your eyes wander over to the rest of your team, who you know are just as fed up as you, but they are better at hiding their emotions. Yuqi just stands there with her gum in her mouth, her arms crossed, and hoping she’ll get to go on the field soon. While she is an excellent profiler, she did train to become a field agent. It was pure coincidence that Hyunwoo had overheard her talking about this one case even Matthew had been struggling with. Jungwoo is the quietest one of your team, especially in situations like this. He just stands there, hands folded in front of his frame, eyeing the situation calmly. The team leader himself stands next to Matt still, his arms crossed as well and his gaze wandering over the crowd of people. A traitorous part of you envies him for being able to look at Seokmin without any repercussions.

“How the fuck do you know that?” A voice now erupts from the sea of people. You turn around to see the man who had walked in with Seokmin. Stolper, you think his name was. A frown appears on your face.

“It’s not our job to explain profiling to you,” you say coldly and the older man’s eyes find you - just like Seokmin’s do. You decide to ignore them and turn back to face Matthew.

“Uhm. Yes, well, we do ask you to look into certain… well, behaviors. People like our unsub aren’t exactly the most masculine. He is probably very thin and might even have a disability - perhaps a prosthetic leg or something that makes him feel inferior. Look into churches, veteran centers, see if you find anyone that could match the profile and-,”

“You mean to tell me that the killer could be a vet?” Bream now interrupts, his eyebrows raised. Seokmin presses his lips together. If his colleagues hadn’t been wary of your bunch before, they sure as hell are now. War Heroes? Their precious American patriots that fought for their country and won a war? How could you even dare to speak ill of them?

“No. He most probably didn’t serve. He tells people he did and that that’s the reason he has said disability,” Matthew continues calmly and you smile slightly. It was a reach, your reach, but so far all your reaches had been a shot to the bullseye.

Then there was a sudden thud somewhere behind you, followed by hurried footsteps and news none of you could pretend didn’t make you sick to your stomachs.

This feels wrong. It’s broad daylight, there are people everywhere. You stand next to Matthew, your hands buried in your pockets, and listen to the statement of the girl that had called the police.

“She was just next to me and then.. and then suddenly she wasn’t. I- I was confused and looked around and then I saw this- this man and how he dragged her by the arm into his car. No one did anything, no one- no one helped her and I- I didn’t-,” her voice breaks off and another set of tears well up in her eyes. Seokmin nods understandingly.

“Miss, you have nothing to blame yourself for. It is a busy street and you and your friend were not glued by the hip, alright? We will do our best to find her and you shouldn’t worry about what you could have done differently. You called us right away and that's the best thing you could’ve done.”

Tears are rolling down her face, sobs are erupting from her tiny body, and you wonder if Seokmin would ask her out if it wasn’t for the circumstances. The second the thought hits your brain, you freeze. What the hell? Why on earth would your mind go there? In a situation like this? You shake your head to yourself and look around - the police have put tape around the area where Kelly has gotten abducted. Her friend, Jean is being questioned, along with the few other people who claim to have seen something. But other than the witnesses, there isn’t much to go on about. The car he had dragged Kelly into had been an old one and Jean couldn’t exactly tell what kind. She also hadn’t been able to make out the license plate. So, all in all, it was all more or less useless information.

“Detective Lee, I will need you to go to the morgue with Dr. Seok and Y/N,” Hyunwoo is suddenly there, right next to Seokmin and you hear his voice and feel your stomach tighten. The professionalism has to stay in its place, you know that. There is no room for you to fall back into old patterns; that one silly thought you had earlier was enough. You can’t let it get any further.

But the tension is there and it's suffocating. You’re in the backseat of Seokmin’s car and Matthew is talking the man’s ear off with information you have heard millions of times before. Thankfully your friend and colleague doesn’t feel what you feel, what Seokmin feels, and for a short second you ask yourself how he even became the youngest member of your team - only for you to remember you have never met a mind as brilliant as his, with the exception of human interaction. He isn’t too good at those.

The morgue is just like any other you’ve been in. This one still feels different, though. Probably because of the young girls you know shouldn’t be dead laying on top of the examination tables with nothing but a thin blanket over their pale, lifeless bodies. You should be used to this by now, you think. But you doubt you ever will be.

Matthew is standing next to one of the women, the fourth victim, Fernanda Franco, with this look on his face you’ve seen many times before. You’re standing opposite him, your arms crossed and your eyes shifting over the body, wondering how much pain these women had been in.

“He did a thorough job with the cut,” the coroner says now; he is standing on the side of the room, holding a file, “my guess is he is good with a knife, maybe working with animals.”

“Right,” Matthew mumbles, a frown on his face as he leans forward, eyeing the victim from top to bottom. It’s somewhat fascinating how good he is at spotting things others haven’t seen before. Perhaps it had made you jealous a while back, but fortunately, that is over. Instead of being jealous, you appreciate his work and his abilities.

Seokmin, meanwhile, is also looking through files. Mostly from the crime scenes. How the women looked before the coroner took care of them. The fact that they are all still here, and not yet down under, no funeral held at this point, makes his stomach turn. He knows it’s wrong. But as long as they haven’t found the killer, as long as there might be more evidence on the bodies… Seokmin suppresses a sigh. He wants to give the families the chance to find closure so badly. If only by giving them the opportunity to put their daughters, sisters, grandchildren to rest.

The pictures are still hard to look at. The blood everywhere. The stained clothes. The signs of clear torture. Nothing sexual, at least. But then again, perhaps the killer doesn’t need to sexually assault them to feel arousal. That’s what Matthew said earlier. Seokmin closes the file and pulls a hand through his hair, his hat safely stored on one of the cabinets.

“Dr. Richmond,” Matthew’s voice makes Seokmin look over to where you are standing.

“Dr. Seok?” Richmond walks over to Matthew who is standing bent over the body, his hand holding… the victim’s ear. Immediately, you and Seokmin step closer, both of your eyes glued to the women’s earlobe. Something inside your stomach turns, goosebumps suddenly all over your skin and you feel your breath getting stuck in your throat.

“Why wasn’t this in the files?” Matthew now continues to ask, his eyes not leaving what he found. Dr. Richmond feels his face go pale and sweat starts to form on the palms of his hands. Blood is rushing through his ears and there is nothing he can say, nothing he can try to come up with because the bitter truth is-

“He didn’t know it was there,” Seokmin finishes the thought and Richmond swallows hard, hands wiping away at his lab coat. The detective is right.

“Do all of them have this?” You ask now, finally able to move away from Fernanda and move over to Jennifer Cartwright, who looks way too peaceful for what had happened to her. But then, you are happy she does. A part of you hopes she is feeling peace wherever she may be. When you reach for her earlobe, you already know it will be there. You take a deep breath.

“I’m- I don’t understand. I never… nothing like this ever happened, I-,” Richmond’s voice echoes through the room, but none of you pay him mind. The small crosses, carved into the soft tissue of the women’s earlobes, take all of your attention.

There were only a handful of people in the meeting room. Your team and Seokmin and his superior officer. It bothered you, kind of. More people had to know.

“These crosses, they have been used before,” Matthew is pacing through the room and Hyunwoo is right there at the front of it, his arms crossed and his thumbnail between his teeth. He is thinking, listening.

“This was in the late fifties, early sixties. A cult, they all followed this one man, Jonathan Brixley. He claimed to have somewhat superpowers, and while most didn’t actually believe him, he was such a good preacher, they followed him anyways. They weren’t known for being violent up until they seemed to vanish. Many thought they might have done a suicide pact, but no bodies were ever found. But what we do know is that whenever one of their own died, they would carve a little cross into their earlobe. Almost unnoticeable. Almost like a birthmark - it’s not even that surprising Dr. Richmond didn’t catch on.”

“He didn’t catch on that all of the girls have the same strange birthmark?” Seokmin frowns. You roll your eyes.

“We are all aware that this isn’t the ideal situation, Detective, but perhaps being bitter about it doesn’t make it better.”

It’s the first time you and Seokmin have directly talked. Or more like, the first time you had openly acknowledged each other's presence.

“With all due respect, Agent, I don’t care. I want to be bitter, I am allowed to be bitter. If we had known this weeks ago, we might have cracked the case by now!”

“I highly doubt that, Detective. With all due respect,” Matthew chimes in and the (unpleasant) moment between Seokmin and you is over.

“And why is that?” Seokmin’s superior officer asks.

“Well, as I said, the cult vanished. Finding out where the last remaining members are is almost an impossible task. If there even are any - I doubt they’d wanna be found. For all we know, they could be hiding in plain sight and we wouldn’t know.”

The atmosphere gets even more uneasy. If that’s even possible at this point. Seokmin scoffs and looks away, his hands in fists. You should know how to de-escalate but your head comes up empty. It’s almost as if there is an invisible barrier that forbids you from actually trying to be reasonable with Seokmin.

Just when Hyunwoo seems like he wants to say something, the door opens. One of the police officers, a woman with red hair you don’t know the name of, comes in.

“We have a situation,” she says and her eyes are full of something even you, a profiler, isn’t so sure what the meaning of is. It looks like fear, confusion, but also something like hope. Immediately, everyone gets up and follows her outside, where you spot the board with all the pictures of the victims on it… and a red thread connecting one of them to a new face.

“That’s the girl I talked to earlier.” Seokmin breathes and he looks over at Ruth, who nods.

“Yes, Detective. Jean told us that she knows one of the girls - Rebecca Twain. They used to go to the same church, same goes for her friend, Kelly, that she called in as abducted.”

Your eyes widen at that and you look over at Matt, who has his hand over his mouth, his face in a frown. A church. That fits the idea of the cult. All of you who were in the room earlier know that. This is good, this is an actual clue, one that might even lead to something after all!

“What church?” Bream now asks the police officer named Ruth.

“She wasn’t too sure. Said they haven’t been there in ages. She knew Rebecca when they were children and Kelly came to join them a few years later. But they haven’t gone to the church in at least 12 years. She said she would call us with more information, but so far she hasn’t.”

It doesn’t take a genius to understand why she hasn’t called the station yet. You sink down, leaning against one of the desks now, a hand rubbing over your face. This was bad. Seriously bad. Whenever a cult was involved in anything, it could only be so much worse than anticipated. Of course, her parents wouldn’t let her talk about it. Who would ever want to talk about something like this? Being part of a cult, if now or in the past - with everything happening these past years.

“We need to speak to her parents. Now.” Hyunwoo is already out the door, probably heading to his car and you look over at the rest of your team, who all seem more or less as lost as you. It turns out to be Seokmin who follows your team leader first and once you see his figure speed past you, you also begin to move.

The ride is quiet. Hyunwoo’s hands are white around the steering wheel. You sit next to him in the front, Seokmin in the back. All of this feels surreal to you and you are sure it’s not that different for Seokmin. Serial Killers were a constant part of both of your lives, but you - you haven’t been for a good amount of years. It’s like a bad taste in your mouth, as if somehow the food you would always cook perfectly suddenly went bad, had a foul ingredient in it, was cooked for too long. You’re not sure what it is, but it doesn’t sit right with you.

Seokmin, in the back seat, feels about the same as you. He is used to gruesome murders, to killers who don’t care about anything but themselves, but he isn’t used to having you around in all of this. Someone from his old life that he doesn’t associate with any of this. Never in a million years would he have predicted you becoming a federal agent. When you dated back in high school, you had always talked about wanting to go into politics, fighting for women’s rights, feminism, all that jazz. You had even applied to all the IVYs, wanting to study political science. So, how did you end up here?

“We will have to be careful.” Hyunwoo now breaks the silence and makes Seokmin and you look at him.

“The parents won’t be too happy to share their story, I can imagine. No one likes to admit they were in a cult, not after Manson.”

You nod and Seokmin scoffs, leaning back in his seat and crossing his arms.

“One would think people wouldn’t even join any cults after Manson,” he says and Hyunwoo laughs bitterly, nodding slightly as he takes the next right at the intersection.

“Right. Sadly, it isn’t as easy as that.”

You look at Seokmin through the rearview mirror, watch how his jaw is tightened and how his arms are crossed, how his suit jacket is discarded next to him on the backseat. You wonder how long he has been part of this lifestyle, how long he’s been a cop. You hadn’t heard from him in years, not even when your friends offered to do some digging for you. It wasn’t because you weren’t interested. More so because you felt like you would get too invested. Looking away again, you straighten out your shoulders. This isn’t the time to think about the past, there are way more important things to focus your energy on.

Five minutes later, Hyunwoo finally parks the car in front of the house of the Roger’s and the three of you get out to walk over to the front door where Hyunwoo rings the doorbell twice. It only takes about twenty seconds before the door opens and a slim woman with bright red hair and red lips stands in front of you, an apron around her waist and a mitten in her hand.

“Yes?” She looks at you with blinking eyes and the three of you take out your respective badges. The woman’s eyes widen.

It is safe to say that getting information out of Jean’s parents is almost impossible. They are a middle class family with middle class friends, he works in real estate and she does her best to keep the house and children under control. They don’t want to talk about their past at the church, or more like, they try to deny it ever was a part of their lives. Talking to them comes close to talking to a wall, if the wall felt guilt and shame and was worried about its reputation. Only when you mention Jean for the third time, reassuring her parents that they aren’t in trouble and that no one was going to find out, that the only mission you had was to find the missing girl and find out who had killed the other innocent women - they budge.

Mr. Rogers gets up, a certain shake in his knees, and walks over to one of the dark hardwood dressers standing on the right side of the spacious living room, where he opens a drawer and takes out what looks like a little notebook. You, Hyunwoo and Seokmin look at him attentively.

“We haven’t talked to anyone from that church in years. Or well, we hadn’t. Up until a few weeks ago. You see, there used to be this… this farm. It was for retreats, we would go there every other month. Sing and pray, meet new people from other parts of the country,” he begins to explain as he walks back, reluctantly handing the notebook to you. Taking it with a small thank you, you look at the page he had opened it to and see a number and a name.

“This is the name and telephone number of the couple that bought the farm years ago. We- we haven’t been going to the retreats since 1961, but a couple weeks ago an old acquaintance from the church called us. Kathryn Anderson, she was pretty close to Pastor Brix-,” he stops himself mid sentence, “to, uh, to Mr. Brixley. She wanted to know if we knew who bought the farm.” “And what did you tell her?” Seokmin asks now.

“He told her no. That we were never interested in knowing,” Mrs. Rogers now answers the question for her husband, “you see, when we left the church it was mostly because of Jean. We figured after a while that perhaps this church wasn’t what we wanted for our daughter. So, we left. It wasn’t easy, but we did it. A couple months later, the whole thing fell apart anyway. Kathryn wasn’t around for that because she had been arrested about six months before we left the church. Got a good couple of years behind bars for attempted murder, the woman. When she got out, she couldn’t reach anyone - after all, the church didn’t exist anymore. Jonathan had perished, no one knows where he ended up and she was unsure what to do. So, she finally got a hold of us and wanted to know everything about the farm. But again, we told her we didn’t know who bought the farm. We just told her it was over and that she needed to find a different safety net.”

You look over at Hyunwoo, wondering if he thinks the same thing you do.

“But you obviously do know who owns the farm now.” He says calmly. The housewife swallows, then nods.

“We do. Paul actually sold the farm to them.”

How convenient, you think. Hyunwoo smiles and Seokmin clicks his tongue.

“I see. Well, thank you for the name and number, but now it would be great if you could also let us know the address.”

“I don’t understand,” you say, your arms crossed in front of your chest. Hyunwoo is sitting at his makeshift office desk, rubbing his temples.

“What exactly do you not understand, Y/N?”

“Why we need to go to the farm. Or no, why he and I need to go.”

“Don’t be stupid, Y/N. Matthew confirmed it, the cult used this farm back in the day. There could be a lead there. And you and Detective Lee are going because you’re my best agent and he’s their best detective. I also feel like you two need some bonding time. Honestly, I’ve got no clue what your issue is with him, but you’ll need to get your act together. This is a serious case and I can’t have you dislike the main detective.”

Dislike. That’s one word to describe it. You bite the inside of your cheek.

“So, you will drive to the farm with him and talk to the couple as well as check out the surroundings. See if you find anything that could be helpful to the case, got it?”

“Yes, sir.”

Hyunwoo nods, satisfied. He then waves his hand, telling you to get out and do your job. You suppress a sigh and instead walk out and almost into your newly assigned partner - Seokmin. He looks about as happy about the situation as you feel, but neither of you says a word while you walk out of the precinct and to the car that would take you the 100 mile drive to Schnecksville, Pennsylvania.

“You drive.” Seokmin’s voice rips you out of your thoughts and you thankfully react quick enough and catch the keys he throws at you. Rolling your eyes, you walk over to the other side and open the car, sitting down in the driver’s seat. The second your door is closed and Seokmin’s door is closed, his presence almost drowns you.

“I was always better at reading maps than you,” he mumbles next to you and you feel your cheeks heat up and your stomach turn and you decide to ignore him and instead start the car.

Seokmin presses his lips together, the map on his lap and his heartbeat loud and clear in his ears. Bream really thinks he did something. Putting Seokmin in a car with you for the next two hours. Apparently, your little bit of tension did not remain unnoticed and now this was his punishment. But what was he supposed to do? Tell Bream that you were his ex-girlfriend from high school who he had left seven years ago with nothing better than a pathetic letter goodbye. It hadn’t been his finest moment, but god, he was nineteen. Back then, he had enlisted in the army after high school, something he was bound to do anyways, and being cowardly as he was, he just hadn’t felt like telling you in person. Then, when he had been discharged, he had signed up for the academy and here he is now. He knows he should say something, apologize for the way he left you. But his pride and the shame don’t let his lips move, don’t let the words come out. And so he just looks at the map and waits to give you instructions. That’s what he can do. That’s how he can cope with being next to you.

The drive is long and quiet and you turn on the radio at one point, listening to quiet music almost soothing. The highway is wide and the city is behind you and you wonder how long you’ll have to be in this car before your head starts to actually fume from all the thoughts running around.

When you see the sign for Schnecksville, you almost sigh in relief. Seokmin tells you which exit you have to take and you follow his instructions, wondering how you actually got through this drive without any actual communication besides his directions.

Schnecksville is filled with nothing and a gas station. You also pass a motel and a convenience store on your way to the farm that is a few miles away from the city center. Once you finally arrive, you can’t get out of the car quick enough, shoving the keys into your jacket when the car is locked. The farm is bigger than you had anticipated and Seokmin, who has discarded his jacket and hat on the backseat, looks just as surprised as you.

“Guess we have some ground to cover. Come on.” He takes the lead and you follow him, even though a part of you feels the need to run ahead. You don’t. You’re not a child.

The woman who opens the door is in her early sixties with graying hair and a cat in her arms.

When you and Seokmin introduce yourselves and show your badges, she gasps slightly.

“Oh, you know, my sweet peach always runs out when I open the door, she is sick, can’t really find her way back when she gets out. Come on in, agent, detective.”

Her name is Mabelle Travis and her husband is Keith Travis, but he isn’t at home right now. He is getting some groceries for them.

“How kind of your husband to help you with that,” you say as you sit down on the couch in the pastel colored living room. Mabelle nods, letting the cat back down.

“Oh, he is the one with the driver’s license, dear. I can only go grocery shopping if he comes with me. Or our son is in town.”

You nod and look over at Seokmin, who is looking at some of the family pictures on the dressers by the door.

“Your son doesn’t live with you, ma’am?” He asks and Mabelle shakes her head as she sits down on one of the horrifically green armchairs.

“No, Detective. He used to, you know, live with us. But that was before we bought the farm. My husband always dreamt of having a farm. When he retired, he thought it might just be the time.” She laughs and looks from Seokmin to you.

“But, what can I do for you?”

“Well, we were wondering if you’d be alright with us looking around the farm? We don’t know if you know, but the farm used to belong to a church before you bought it.”

“Ah, yes. We did know. I think that’s why we got it cheap. What exactly are you looking for, agent?”

“We’re not sure. But we think the church might have some connections to a case we are currently working on.”

Mabelle nods, her face in a frown.

“Oh my. Well, you’re in luck then. We bought the farm years ago, but only recently moved in. So, most of the barns are still untouched. Only this house has been through some construction,” the cat jumps up on her lap and Mabelle smiles down at it, her hand carefully caressing its fur.

“That’s good news, Mrs. Travis. We’ll go take a look then.” Seokmin nods his head towards the back door and you smile at Mabelle before getting up and following Seokmin outside. There are three barns in total - one is large and two are on the smaller side, leaving the two of you with enough ground to work with for the next few hours. You exchange looks and decide to check out the smaller space first, a barn that is completely bare except for a wooden table at the far right that holds a few blueprints. Seokmin checks them out, his eyes scanning them for anything out of the ordinary. You, meanwhile, begin to knock at the wall, listening for hollow spaces, but also come back with nothing. The barn seems as normal as a barn could be.

The second one is a little trickier. It’s not empty, instead it’s filled with boxes that, after checking as good as each and every one, all seem to be empty. You check your wrist for the time, wiping your forehead with the back of the other hand. You’ve really been at it for the last two hours.

“I think we should move on to the last barn. I doubt the rest will hold anything of worth. Come on.” Seokmin is next to you all of a sudden and you flinch, looking away from your watch and at the man, who has sweat dripping down his temple. His eyes are set on your face and you wonder if you look just as exhausted as he does. Clearing your throat, you nod and turn away from him, walking out of the barn and to the next one.

Seokmin sighs, following you outside and grabbing your arm once he catches up with you.

“Y/N, I am just as delighted about doing this with you as you are with me, believe me. But perhaps we should at least try to do our job.”

His words sting more than they should have and you are well aware of that. Funny to think that such wounds would have healed after seven years. You shake off his hand and turn around to face him.

“Oh, is that right, Seokmin? You’re just as delighted as I am?” You raise your eyebrows at him. “As far as I can remember, Detective, you left me with nothing more but a joke of a letter.”

Seokmin bites down on his tongue. You are right. Maybe it wasn’t right of him to compare the two of you.

“I know that. I know I hurt you. And I should have apologized for that years ago. I was young and-,”

“Let me guess? Stupid? That is in fact correct, Seokmin. But I don’t care about an apology, at least not anymore. I just want to get this over with, not have chit-chat with you about the past which neither of us can change anymore. So, will you go to the third barn with me so we can finally leave this stupid town?”

Seokmin watches you walk away, his heart heavier in his chest than before. He really should have reached out sooner. Pulling a hand through his hair, the detective suppresses another sigh and finally follows you to the third and last barn for you to check.

The Travises invite you for dinner and Seokmin and you are both too polite to decline. Thankfully Mabelle is incredibly talkative, loves telling you all the tales about their son, Henry, and how they used to live in the city but then moved to a smaller town. She is excited about her husband’s birthday coming up soon and Henry coming over to visit, and basically her favorite topic to discuss is him. You try your best to resist the urge to look over at Seokmin next to you, to see if he is as amused about this as you are. He is not your ally, not your friend. You shouldn’t be looking for his gaze, shouldn’t be curious of his thoughts.

“Does your son visit you often?” Seokmin now asks after taking a sip from his glass filled with tap water.

“Not as much as we’d like.” Mrs. Travis sighs and pats her husband’s hand.

“He is busy with working in the city, not always available.” Mr. Travis now explains and Seokmin and you nod. That makes sense. You try to remember the last time you had time to visit your own parents. You couldn’t even really remember.

“If there is something we want to check again, would it be alright if we came back?” Seokmin asks when you finally stand at the front door, saying your goodbyes. The Travises nod, allowing you to come back whenever. After waving at them you walk back to the car, Seokmin now getting into the driver’s seat. As you sit down on the passenger seat the atmosphere quickly becomes tense now that you’re alone again. The second your doors are closed, a familiar sound is heard.

“Oh, you’ve got to be joking.”

Rain. It’s starting to rain. What starts with a few drops on the windshield turns into a full on piss of rain that has the both of you staring at the scene for a few seconds. When a second later you hear thunder so close it almost shakes the car, Seokmin reluctantly starts the engine.

There is no way in hell you can drive home in this weather. As much as the both of you hate it, you’ll have to stop somewhere and wait out the storm. Seokmin suggests the motel you had seen on your way here and you nod, knowing there wasn’t much else you could say or do. Having to stay somewhere with Seokmin, somewhere you couldn’t just flee from, seems like the number one worst scenario you could find yourself in. You look at him from the passenger seat, trying to my sly about it but of course he notices your eyes on his face.

“Believe me, I would rather not do this either, Y/N. But I’d rather be safe than drive on the highway in this weather.”

You don’t answer him. Mainly because you would have to tell him he is right and that’s most definitely not going to happen.

“What do you mean by that?” Seokmin looks at the bored looking woman in her fifties. She sighs and shoves the one room key towards him again.

“I mean, Sir, that there is only one room left. We are fully booked. Have you seen the rain?”

It’s very obvious a rhetorical question but Seokmin is about to go on a rant to tell the woman that, of course, he has seen the rain but how on earth does this justify there only being one room in a god damn motel miles away from any big city?

“We’ll take the room,” you quickly interject, handing the lady your credit card that she looks at with a straight face.

“Honey, you’re in the middle of nowhere. Do you really think we take those things?” You feel your cheeks heat up, retreating the card again.

“That’s 16.50$ for the night,” she continues and you hand her a twenty that she takes without a word, shoving the change over the wooden surface, “have a pleasant stay.” She shoves down the small plastic window and you and Seokmin exchange a quick look before making your way to the room you will now have to share.

There is only one bed. You stare at it and so does Seokmin. Because - of course there is. How could you have not asked the woman at the counter? But then again even if you had… there wasn’t much you could have done about it. Maybe a saw, you think, just saw it in half. The two of you stay silent for a good minute, before Seokmin finally sighs, pulling a hand over his face.

“Looks like we can’t do much about this. Just… it’s just one night, alright? We can do this.”

You don’t really understand why he would say that. Why he would speak for you, when you both know it isn’t okay and you most definitely can’t do this. You take a deep breath, throwing your bag onto the very dirty looking armchair next to the door.

“Whatever,” you respond, rolling your eyes as you make your way into the bathroom, if only to get away from Seokmin for a short while. His presence is stressing you out more than you thought it would. Perhaps that had been foolish of you - thinking this wouldn’t be the absolute worst thing to ever happen. But at the same time, it’s not like Hyunwoo had given you much of a choice. He had straight up told you to get your act together and yet… You sigh, the door closed next to you. The bathroom isn’t even half as bad as you had feared. It’s small and the shower could need a scrub (or three), but other than that it’s decent. The toilet looks clean and the mirror hanging over the sink shows you your exhausted face. Dark circles under your eyes that you touch with your cold finger tips. You remember how you looked back in High School. How much you smiled, how happy you were almost every single day. And all because of him. He, who promised you the world only to rip it away when you needed stability the most. It wasn’t fair. Him being here, him playing such a big role in something so important to you. Finding this killer that took lives like it was nothing. Seokmin is here with you and he sure as hell isn’t going anywhere else. The effect he has on you is annoying, to say the least. You don’t want to feel this way, feel insecure and small and like you need to prove yourself to him. He isn’t worth your energy, your thoughts. Not him as a person at least. Him as a Detective is a different story. Another deep breath followed by some water that you splash into your face, is what finally makes you step out again and face your ex-boyfriend that has taken a seat on the bed, the case file spread next to him.

He is handsome. High cheekbones, perfectly shaped eyebrows. His hair is styled back, but slowly the front strands are falling into his face. His face is in a small frown as he looks at the documents, as he tries to make sense where you all fail to find any. Your heart betrays you by skipping a beat, by suddenly sending a wave of sadness over you. He never told you why he left. He just did.

“Anything making more sense now?” You ask cautiously, walking over to him with slow steps. Seokmin looks up slightly before shaking his head.

“Not really,” he mumbles, “it doesn’t make sense. None of this. Why is he curving the crosses into their ears? Why is he choosing these girls specifically?” You sit down on the other side of the bed, gnawing on your lower lip.

“Well, Matthew told you our theory. Abusive mother, hatred towards women.”

“But why- why would he just go after any woman if his mother was a certain type?” Seokmin looks up at you and you feel a sting in your chest. You shrug.

“You’re right to question this theory. It’s not perfect and it will take a few years until we can really say that we have a high percentage of accurate profiles. So far we’ve been good, very good. But not as good as we can be. This unsub is unique because he doesn’t have a type - it almost seems random. Like he goes out on the street and sees a girl and just takes her,” you lick over your lips, letting your eyes wander to the window, the storm on full display, “he is violent, but he also kills them quickly. No signs of sexual abuse. It’s odd and not like anything we’ve seen before.”

Seokmin listens to you speak and allows himself to actually listen. The whole profiling thing - it most certainly hasn’t been something he trusted so far. But now, hearing your words, seeing the look on your face - he almost feels ashamed of his earlier suspicion.

“It’s just-,” he begins, his hand pulling through his hair, “it’s confusing. Why would he not go for people who look like his mother? Why is he not taking revenge on her over and over again?”

You feel your thoughts stumble over that sentence for a good thirty seconds. Seokmin is right - why wouldn’t he take revenge on his mother over and over again? Why would he kill women that look nothing like her? Without really noticing, you get up, your feet carrying you over to the window, staring at the rain outside, hoping it would give you the clue you so desperately need right now.

“You agree, don’t you? That it is odd!” Seokmin gets up too, only to turn around and look at the files again, his arms crossed, eyes scanning all the pictures and clues the team has gathered so far.

“Yes, it definitely is odd,” you mumble, heart racing in your chest.

“Okay. We’ll go over this again. There has to be something we’re missing. A connection between them, a club they all go to. Anything, just… fuck, it feels as if there is clue right there, hidden in plain sight and we are missing it because it’s too damn obvious!”

Hidden in plain sight. You blink against your reflection in the window. Hidden in plain sight. Matthew had said the same thing back at the precinct.

For all we know, they could be hiding in plain sight and we wouldn’t know.

You swirl around, eyes wide and Seokmin looks at you with a confused expression.

“What?”

“The barn,” you breathe, eyes flickering to the table, where the car keys lay right where Seokmin left them, “we need to go back.”

Seokmin tries to stop you, the storm still howling outside, but you’re not letting him. This is too important, too obvious. You want to kick yourself for not realizing it earlier. For seeing something that was right there, but not actually seeing it.

You run to the car, soaked from head to toe when you sit down on the driver’s seat. The door to the passenger seat opens and Seokmin plops down, just as drenched as you are.

“Jesus Christ, Y/N, will you tell me what the fuck is happening right now?”

Instead of answering, you start the engine, the wipers doing their best to clear your view.

“Y/N!” Seokmin repeats loudly and you let out a breath you hadn’t even realized you were holding.

“It has to be in there! In the barn. All those god damn empty boxes. One of them has to have something in it, something they don’t want us to find. Fucking hell, we could have had the whole team here by now, Seokmin! If only we hadn’t been lazy!”

“Wait, hold on. So you think the Travises have something to do with this?” Seokmin asks and you shrug.

“Honestly? I don’t think they do. But it’s still their property now. And most of these boxes are theirs. I’m sure we’ll find something there. We just have to look at every single box.”

You’re almost in a haze, Seokmin thinks. Your eyes have completely changed and the way you drive this car would have been scary if only you weren’t so damn impressive. You have been impressive the whole day, Seokmin thinks. He would never say it out loud (not to you at least) but this job seems to fit you like a glove. Never did it cross his mind back in High School that you’d end up in the same field as him. He gulps down the nostalgia and instead looks out the window, wondering if the rain will stop anytime soon.

It hasn’t been long since the two of you left the Travises and yet, when you arrive, the house is dark. Checking your watch you see it's already after 9pm.

“They said we can come back whenever.” You say more to yourself than Seokmin, but the latter still nods, cursing under his breath when he steps out of the car and into the horrible weather. You run alongside him, passing the house and first barn, setting foot in the one you had a hunch about with both of you drenched from head to toe. Ignoring the cold creeping up, you begin examining the boxes once again. There is nothing extraordinary about them. They are the usual cardboard boxes one uses for moves, all over the country. It’s nothing you haven’t seen thousand of times before and-

“Y/N, look at this.” Seokmin’s voice fills the silence that has only been accompanied by the sound of rain and thunder before. Looking over at him, you see that he is holding up two different boxes upside down. There is a green dot on both of them. Your eyes widen. Quickly, you check your own box - but nothing. There is no dot. Confusion mixed with frustration begins to rise within you and you throw the box to the side, pulling clam hands through wet hair.

“There has to be a system,” you mumble, closing your eyes as you try to calm yourself down. Seokmin hears your words and looks around the room, trying to make sense of how the boxes are lined up. They all look the same. They were all stacked the same when you came in earlier today. There isn’t anything about them that makes one different from the other - except for the dots he had discovered. His brain is working at full speed, his eyes roaming from one side of the room to the other. Only when he looks down, does he see something.

“Y/N, look,” he puts the two boxes he held up to the side and crouches down, your figure standing over him a second later. There were clear lines painted on the floor. He looks up at you and you feel your eyes beginning to shake, as you move as quickly as possible, shoving more boxes to the side and focusing on the floor. And yes, only a few moments later you find yet another line, one that contains boxes with more dots - orange ones. But it doesn’t stop there. Seokmin finds another line and boxes that, once again, don’t have a dot. He wants to pull his hair out, but once you begin looking at the boxes with him, your gaze full of determination, he calms down. Together, the two of you turn over every single box until, after what feels like hours, you let out a gasp. The box you’re holding now doesn’t only have a red dot on it - it also contains something. Seokmin is next to you right when you pull out the small key that makes both of you almost jump in glee. Your hunch had been right. Now all you had to do was find where the key belonged. Your eyes met and without words, Seokmin went to the left side of the room and you to the right one, both of your hearts beating at rapid speed at this point. Neither of you wants to or will leave this place until you find whatever door is hidden behind the wooden planks decorating the walls. Your hands flew over them, knocking to hear a hollow sound, anything that would indicate there being a hidden space. Nervous sweat was now mixing with the rain on your face, the earlier cold all forgotten thanks to the adrenaline you were feeling.

“I got something!” Seokmin suddenly yells after a few minutes and you immediately turn and run over to him, seeing him break the wall free of the plank. Just that there is no wall. It is a thin wooden door with a small lock that looks like it was made for the key safely stored inside the pocket of your jeans. Without any hesitation, you move forward, key back in your hand after pulling it out, and reuniting it with its lock - the door clicking open a second later. Seokmin and you look at each other again before you push the door with your hand, it easily swings open for you and Seokmin to see a narrow hallway led down by an old looking staircase. There is a string hanging down from the ceiling which Seokmin pulls on, lighting up the hallway for you to see more clearly.

“Well, let’s go,” you say and Seokmin nods, both of you with one hand on your gun belts as you walk down the stairs, all the way down to a door that, thankfully, isn’t locked. Pushing this one open as well, you are met by another hallway, longer this time, with three doors leading to different rooms on each side. You feel adrenaline rush through you as you begin walking, Seokmin right behind you. The first two doors lead to empty storage rooms, you taking the ones on the left, Seokmin on the right. Your hands feel clammy and your senses are all heightened as you continue to the next door, opening it at once and checking the insides carefully, gun in your hand. No one is in there - but it’s also not empty.

“Seokmin!” You call out and the man is beside you right then, eyes scanning the room. It’s an office, or at least it appears to be. Right on the wall across from you hangs a portrait of a beautiful landscape and only barely hides a very obvious closet of some sorts. You shove your gun back into your belt and walk straight up to it, while Seokmin goes to examine the desk standing at the left side of the room. He pulls out a pair of gloves from the inside pocket of his jacket and pulls them over his fingers before he begins to open each and every drawer.

“There isn’t much dust around here,” you suddenly say and Seokmin looks over at you.

“What do you mean?”

“Someone comes here regularly. Cleans it of dust, keeps the floors clean.” You look around for a moment, then your focus is back on the painting hanging over the closet. Your hands are also wrapped up in a pair of gloves and you move slowly as you grab the edges of the frame to heave it off the wall. It occurs to you that the last time someone was here, they hadn’t succeeded in putting the painting back into its usual spot. You can tell because it comes off the wall without any problems, having been crooked from the beginning on. Now, you lean it against the wall next to you, before your hands open the closet.

“Is something in there?” Seokmin walks over to you now, nothing interesting inside the desk.

Once he comes to a halt next to you, he feels himself gasp. There is a whole shelf with files that seem to be alphabetically organized. Your heart beat speeds up once more as you grab a random file (Br-Bu) and open it.

“That-,” Seokmin’s eyes widen. As you continue staring at the page, he moves to pull out more of the files. He brings them over to the desk and opens them one by one, until he finds all the names he has been looking for.

“Broshard, Cartwright, Franco, Rogers, Twain and White.”

Seokmin and you are staring at the files. It was all of the girls’ parents. They had all been part of this cult before. It made sense, of course it did. And yet, having it here, black on white, was still a shock. This meant their connection had been right there, so easy to grab, and none of the parents had thought about sharing this with the police. You lean against the desk, hands pulling through your damp hair. Seokmin’s hands are propped on his hips, his eyes reading over the names over and over again.

“We have confirmation now,” he states, “we need to call the precinct.” He looks over at you and you nod, your hands still resting in your hair. Worry rushes through Seokmin and he finds himself standing in front of you a second later, his hands around your wrists to bring your hands back down softly.

“We will get him,” he says then, eyes boring into yours, “we will get him and he will be punished, Y/N, I promise you.”

It’s unprofessional, he knows it and so do you. You don’t ever promise to catch a killer.

“Why didn’t the parents tell you?” Your voice is quiet and Seokmin sighs, shrugging. His hands are still holding you.

“I don’t know. Shame, fear? Whoever is doing this is a cold blooded murder, Y/N, they were probably scared he’d take even more from them.”

“More than a child?” You look up at him, letting the feelings that you’ve been holding back finally crack through.

“I guess so? We will find all of this out tomorrow, we just need to get back to the motel and call the precinct.”

He says the words but doesn’t move. Neither do you. You both stay right where you are, your eyes locked on each other. The air around you shifts, the exhaustion mixes with something you only have faint memories of.

“You are incredible, do you know that?” Seokmin whispers finally, “the way your brain works - it’s incredible. Admirable.”

His body heat engulfs you, makes you feel hot and cold at the same time. You swallow down your doubts and instead let your heart do the talking.

“You’re just as incredible, Seokmin. All the work you’ve done in this case already… if it weren’t for you, we wouldn’t be here right now.”

Seokmin feels himself holding his breath as his one hand moves from your wrist to your fingers, interlocking them with his own while the other moves up, cupping your cheek, thumb caressing the side of your chin. He feels your skin, the softness he remembers better than he wants to admit.

Neither of you is sure who does it. Who dares to close the distance. But you’re kissing, his lips warm and familiar on yours. Your arms move by themselves, wrapping around Seokmin’s neck as he deepens the kiss, his tongue licking over your bottom lip slowly, asking for entrance that you give him without any hesitation. He kisses better than he did back in high school and his hands are more experienced, moving down and up to grab your hips and hoist you on top of the desk, standing in between your legs now. You grab his face, your tongue licking against his, feeling the stress and discomfort of the day leave you with every touch of his skin. The kiss grows more and more desperate, both of you panting against each other and only after a good five minutes do you part, his hands in your hair and yours on his nape.

“We should get out of here,” he mumbles against your lips then and you nod, letting him help you down the desk.

This time the drive isn’t awkward. It’s filled with something else, something you haven’t felt in so long. Not just regarding Seokmin - but in general. Your work is your everything and you and your team travel around the country more than you don’t. Wanting someone, feeling wanted by someone, this hasn’t happened to you in a while. Your gaze keeps wandering to the driving Seokmin, to the man that had once hurt you so much and now was the only thing you could concentrate on.

“If you don’t stop looking at me like that I will park this car on the side of the road and not give a fuck about anyone seeing what I want to do to you, Y/N.”

His deep voice made your insides turn deliciously, the heat between your legs rising as you licked over your dry lips, eyes shaking as you nodded, averting your gaze from Seokmin’s intoxicating frame. As much as the idea excited you it also seemed like a stupid idea considering the motel really wasn’t that far away.

It doesn’t take half as long as it usually would with Seokmin speeding down the road, finally parking the car in the parking lot, getting out of the car and opening the door for you, his hand around yours in no time as he leads you to the door, both of you drenched again when you step inside. But even with all the tension between you two, Seokmin walks over to the telephone on the wall, passing a young man who just seemed to have left his room to go outside. You present him with a nod when he smiles at you, quick to look at Seokmin again who is now dialing the number of the precinct.

When he explains what you found, he speaks quietly and rushed, you by his side the whole time, holding his fingers between yours. The tension doesn’t subside, it only gets shoved to the side as Seokmin talks to his superior, who was still at the station at this time, waiting for your call. Your head feels dizzy, the situation bizarre but also somewhat addictive. The second Seokmin hangs up, knowing his colleagues will leave for Schnecksville as soon as the storm gets better, he wraps an arm around your waist and leads you to your room with hurried steps.

The door falls shut behind the two of you and your body is pressed against it, Seokmin’s one hand skillfully wrapped around both of your wrists, pinning them over your head as he dips down to kiss you, his thigh pressing between yours. A moan escapes you, your hands wiggling under Seokmin’s grasp. He kisses you with the same desperation as before, his free hand underneath your shirt, fingers pressing into your skin.

Nothing is inside your head except the need for him. You don’t want to feel anything but his touch, his kisses, the way his tongue feels against yours - hot and wet and perfect. He moves his arm around you again, picks you up as if you weigh nothing, carrying you over to the bed where he drops you, your eyes wide as you stare up at him. There is no light in the room beside the one coming from outside, making him look angelic. His carefully styled hair is falling into his face now, his lips red from your kisses. His pupils are blown out and the look in his eyes runs shivers down your spine. You watch as he gets rid of his jacket and belt, following his movement as you sit up a little bit, skillfully opening the belt with your gun and leaving it on the floor next to the bed, feeling the mattress move the next second as Seokmin lowers himself onto the bed. Your hands find his nape once more just as he presses his lips against yours again, hands roaming from your hips to your stomach and under your shirt, gripping your breasts one by one and moaning into your mouth when his thumb feels the stiff nipple underneath your bra.

His tongue licks against yours again, your back arching against him as he moves to kiss down your neck, biting and licking and kissing all the same. When he hears your sounds, he feels himself growing harder, his composure almost breaking as he takes off your shirt with your help, shoving the cups of your bra to the side to dip down and suck your nipple into his mouth, your legs wrapping around his waist as you push him closer to you, teeth sinking into you bottom lip. It feels like electricity between you, the way he touches you sends shocks through your body in the best way possible.

“God, I can’t believe I have you under me again, fuck,” Seokmin breathes against your neck now, his breath tickling you. “Been thinking about you so much, you know? About how much more I know now… how I can make you cum, baby, eat your sweet pussy and have you scream my name.”

His words send another wave of shivers down your body and you nod, wishing for nothing more than for your and his clothing to land on the floor.

“Seokmin… just want you to fuck me, please, need you so so bad.”

He groans, cock twitching and he finally moves to open his pants. It’s all hurried and a little bit frantic, the way you pull on his shirt next and the way your bra basically gets ripped off your frame by him. It drives you crazy, how he kisses you, pushing you further up the bed, your head hitting the pillow as he devours your lips and tongue, his hand squeezing your tits over and over, his stiff cock right there between your legs, still caged in by his briefs.

“How bad do you want it, hm?” He breathes out, his fingers now moving downwards, ending up over your clothed pussy, making you squirm.

“Fuck, so bad, Seokmin. Please.”

He sucks on the skin underneath your ear and lets his fingers shove your panty to the side, sliding through your wet folds and moaning against you. You’re so wet, wet and ready for him.

“I wonder if you still taste the same, baby,” he mumbles, continuing to let his fingers glide through your lips, letting one of them sink into you. Your pussy practically sucks him in, eager to feel him inside. Seokmin kisses you again and your nails are dragging along his back as your hips move against Seokmin’s digit inside of you.

“M-more, want more of you,” you cry out when you come up for air and Seokmin nods, letting a second finger slide in too, fully finger fucking you now as he smothers your neck with more kisses, preceding to suck marks onto the sensitive skin of your breasts, your whimpers becoming more and more frenzied. You need his cock and you need it now. So, you let your hand wander down, grabbing around the wrist of his hand that is currently fucking you.

“Want your cock, Seok… fuck me with your cock.” His eyes meet yours, gaze almost crazy as he curses under his breath, nodding before pulling his fingers out of you, bringing them to his mouth to suck them clean - making you whimper in the process. He licks his lips after.

“Still so tasty, baby… all for me.”

He kisses you one more time, deep and emotional and dizzying, before finally ridding himself of his briefs and you of your panties, hand pumping his length a few times. You watch and swallow, remembering how he had felt back then. He had been your first. And now he was going to claim back what he had made his so many years ago.

When he sinks into you, both of you cry out in pleasure, his arms on the mattress next to your head and his lips kissing your cheek, chin and lips. You are still hugging him close, fingers pressing into his nape and back. His first thrust is deep and slow and your eyes roll back, a long moan escaping your kiss-bruised lips. He can’t keep going slow, he knows that. As hard as he tries - he knows he won’t be able to control himself. Which leads to his thrusts becoming faster, to his moans becoming louder and your pussy clenching around him more often. It’s hot and wet and quick, it’s making you feel like you’re in a dream, his teeth sinking into your flesh, your cries spurring him on. Your legs are around his hips, his cock hitting you right where you need it to with every thrust and when you feel his hand sneaking in between you, thumb pressing down on your clit, rubbing it in perfect circles, you know you won’t last long.

“You feel so good, baby, take my cock so fucking well.” He moves, on his knees in front of you now, your legs over his shoulders the next second. The new angle makes you see stars, especially with his thumb still on your clit.

“F-fuck, Seok! I’m so close.” Your cry makes him smirk, his movements becoming less and less controlled, as he is chasing both of your releases. You give up on keeping your eyes open, enjoying the way he feels, the way he hits you right where it feels so incredibly good. Your body is on fire, everything feels more intense and if you had the capacity in your brain you’d probably worry about exploding.

And you do - you explode only a few seconds later, your orgasm hitting you hard, leaving you to cry out his name, nails back in his skin, leaving clear marks that he will be proud of later.

“That’s right, baby, look at you, so pretty coming on my cock, fuck,” Seokmin feels you pulsate around him, feels how your pussy clenches over and over, milking him for all he has and there isn’t anything he can do but reach his own high, cum shooting out his cock and into your spent core. He collapses on top of you, your legs falling off his shoulders, spasming at the intensity of your climax. His breath is right there in your ear and you finally open your eyes again, fingers moving to stroke through his hair. You stay like this for a while, just catching your breath, feeling him so close after so long. Only when he slips out of you, laying down next to you, his lips pressing a kiss to your cheek, do you regain some senses. Smiling at him, you excuse yourself to go to the bathroom.

When you come back out, Seokmin is asleep. Chuckling, you pick up his shirt from the floor and slip it over your head before laying back down, cuddling into his side and letting yourself drift off into a dreamless sleep.

For Seokmin it’s not a dreamless sleep, though. It hasn’t even been two hours he’s been asleep when he wakes up, cold sweat covering his body. He looks down and sees you peacefully sleeping right beside him, one of your hands on his bare stomach, the other under your own cheek. In any other case he would have loved to look at you for as long as he could, but this isn’t like any other case.

The man, he thinks, the man we saw yesterday. Seokmin gets up, careful not to wake you up, grabbing his underwear from the floor, just like his pants. You’re in his shirt so he has no other choice but to leave the room with his chest still bare. His feet carry him out the room and to the small entrance space, right to the phone where he dials Bream’s number again. The second someone picks up, Seokmin begins talking.

“It’s the son, Sir, the Travises son - he’s the unsub.”

The area in front of the farm hasn’t been this busy in years. There are cop cars everywhere, a S.W.A.T team is about to arrive. Seokmin has his hands pushed into his pockets as he talks to his superior officer. You are standing further away next to Matthew and Yuqi, listening to Hyunwoo’s orders.

Seokmin had recognised the son, Henry, from the pictures at the house. You feel stupid for not realizing it sooner.

“Don’t linger on those feelings, Y/N,” Hyunwoo says, “it had been a long day.”

Yes, a long day that ended with you being too horny to do your job properly. You don’t tell him that of course. Instead, you press your lips together and just nod.

Henry is inside the barn now, the barn you and Seokmin found the secret door in last night. His parents and the missing girl, Kelly, are with him. It’s a classic hostage situation and yet even your team is at a loss of words. It all doesn’t make sense right now. Why is Henry doing this? You let your gaze flicker over to the barn, wondering what he is doing to them right now.

The head of the S.W.A.T team is walking over to Hyunwoo now. They apparently arrived just now

“We are ready for your orders, Sir,” he says, shaking Hyunwoo’s hand. Your boss nods.

“Alright, thank you. I’ll let you know when you can go in.” The man leaves again after that and you look at Hyunwoo, unsure.

“We need him alive, don’t we?”

“In theory, yes. But it’s not always easy, you know that. Whatever is going on inside of him, we will only find out if we get him out, but we need to look at the bigger picture. We need to figure out what his deal is.”

Just then, Jungwoo arrives at the scene, carrying a white box.

“You won’t believe this,” he says, putting the box on top of the police car next to you. Seokmin is suddenly next to you, his arm brushing against yours and making you shiver. You ignore the effect once again.

“Henry Crawl, 36, was adopted by the Travises when he was 9 years old. It says here that his mother committed suicide and the Travises took him in - Mrs. Travis being is paternal aunt. She felt responsible for him, considering the father left right after his birth and his mother died.”

“So, they aren’t his biological parents. They didn’t mention that.” Seokmin frowns.

“Which means that there is a chance his mother was part of this cult. Is there an autopsy report for his mum?” You take step closer to the box and Jungwoo nods, handing you the document. Scanning it, your eyes widen as suddenly the reason for all of this is starting to make sense.

“There were signs of abuse - of years of abuse. Scars, bruises, internal damages.” You shake your head, “he isn’t killing women because he hates them. He kills them because he is avenging his mother.”

“She was part of the cult, probably around the same time as the parents of the girls. They probably knew about the abuse and he somehow figured it out.” Matthew chews on his bottom lip as he shoves his glasses up his nose.

“We need to talk to him. Need him to let the girl go as well as his parents.” Hyunwoo looks over at the truck where all the special units are gathered. He excuses himself and goes over to them. The atmosphere shifts, there are nervous droplets of sweat running down your face. The storm might have stopped, but it’s still slightly drizzling down on you. Seokmin’s hand finds the small of your back. You flinch, your head turning to look at him wide eyed.

“It’s gonna be okay, we’re going to get them out of there,” his voice is soothing you, as much as you hate to admit it. You swallow down whatever you’re thinking and shake his hand off, before walking over to Hyunwoo and the special forces, leaving Seokmin behind.

“I want to talk to him.” Your voice breaks through the conversation Hyunwoo is having with the captain. Both of them look at you, eyebrows raised.

“Y/N-,” Hyunwoo starts, but you interrupt him.

“You know it has to be me. I am roughly the same age as his mother was back then. I am a woman. I know what is going on inside his head. Please, Sir, let me do this.”

If there had been more time, maybe they would have argued with you. But there isn’t any time. And so, they nod. As much as it makes you nervous, you also know that you’re right. You’re confident that you can do this, that you have the ability to save this girl and Henry’s parents. Taking a deep breath, you look over at Seokmin, who’s eyes speak more than a thousand words. He knows why you walked over there and he knows that you are the only one for the job. The smile on his lips reassures you more than you want to admit.

Not even five minutes later you have a walkie-talkie in your hand. The other one landed in the barn roughly a minute ago. Now, you’re waiting for Henry to respond after your first attempt at contact. The rain is still falling softly, the sun nowhere to be seen in the sky. It’s early, you’re not sure how early, but you estimate it to be sometime after 6 am.

“I won’t let them go!” The voice coming from the device in your hand brings you back to the here and now, blood rushing in your ears.

“Henry, hello, it’s good to hear your voice,” you say softly, looking over at one of the windows of the barn, wondering if he is watching you.

“I don’t- I won’t let them go,” he repeats and you lick your dried out lips.

“Okay, Henry. I hear what you’re saying, alright? You don’t want to let them go. Could you tell me why?”

“They need to pay for their sins!” It’s not hard to make out that he’s enraged, crying, but still hurt and confused.

“What are their sins, Henry? Can you tell me?” You look over your shoulder at the rest of your team, Hyunwoo nodding at you and you nod back.

“You- you really want to know?” The shift in his voice tells you that your question had been exactly what he wanted to hear.

“Yes, Henry. I want to know, I want to understand.”

There is silence on the other line for just a few moments. You remain calm and don’t ask again. It’s important you give him space, important for the hostages as well as to earn his trust.

“They- they knew about my mum. My adoptive parents. I heard them say it. They knew why the police came to visit. It was because of her, because of mum. She was tortured by them, by the whole cult! And everyone who knew about it and didn’t do anything needs to be punished.” His voice is shaking as he speaks and you wonder if the hostages are in the room with him or if he has them hidden underneath the barn in one of the rooms you found last night.

“You’re doing this for your mum, Henry? You’re avenging her life?”

“Yes!”

“I understand. You did well, Henry. You hurt them the way they hurt you. They should have never taken your mother from you, Henry, that was wrong of them,” the words leaving your mouth aren’t what you’re actually thinking, but they will do the trick. Henry will trust you, he will listen to what you have to say.

“I- I did this for her. I wanted her to know I never gave up on her. B-but-,” he stops and you hear a sob, sure now that he is indeed crying.

“But? You can talk to me Henry, I am here for you.” You bite your lip, hoping you’re not pressing the matter too far.

“B-but…,” Henry starts again, “but he- he betrayed me. He told me- he told me they were the only one’s at fault. He told me he wanted to avenge her too…”

He? You once again turn to your team, all of their faces in frowns.

“Who is “he”, Henry?”

No answer. Henry isn’t responding. You feel a slight panic arise inside of you.

“Henry, it’s okay. You don’t need to tell me, okay? Just- tell me about you, about your mum. You must miss her dearly, right?”

“My mum deserved better than what she got. She shouldn’t have killed herself, she should have fought through it! But she couldn’t. She was so scared of what they had done to her, what he had done to her! I wanted them all to suffer, wanted them all to know what it feels like losing someone they love. And I did that, I did that to him too!” He gets louder with every word.

“Henry, you’re frustrations are valid. But, please, it is enough. You’ve showed them, you’ve hurt them. Enough people have died, Henry. Let your parents and Kelly go and you will be free.”

Henry is silent for a short while again.

“If he doesn’t respond, we’ll go in,” the S.W.A.T team’s leader is now saying to Hynwoo and latter holds up his hand, as if to signal to give it more time.

“Henry? Can you do that for me?” You ask again. Everyone is growing more and more uneasy, the more time passes. Your hands are sweaty and you feel like the rain isn’t the reason for why your clothes are damp again. Just when Hyunwoo is about to take his hand down, to let the special unit do their job - the doors of the barn open and Kelly runs out, the Travises right behind her. They all seem completely out of it but there are clear signs of relief on their faces. Seokmin and Stolper run towards them, helping them when they see, that Mr. Travis is limping and both women are spurting wounds on their face. You close your eyes and take a deep breath before pressing the button to talk again.

“Henry? Henry, are you there?”

“My parents always loved me. They raised me when mum died. But they knew, you know. They knew! Which means, they need to suffer, too.”

Your heart skips a beat when you throw the walkie-talkie to the side and run towards the barn, your team right behind you. You don’t think you’ve ever run as fast as you do right now. The air is tight around you and its rough to breathe.

Henry is right there at the back of the barn, holding a gun to his head. You scream and Hyunwoo shoots forward to tackle him down - but it’s too late. The shot is heard but your eyes are closed, your knees growing weak but you stay standing. Henry is dead even before he hits the floor and there is nothing you can do.

The hostages are free, so it counts as a win. The Manhattan Slasher is finally caught. He lays there, dead on the ground. He is getting carried away now, by two coroners who present you with a nod as you wait for Matthew and Jungwoo to come back upstairs. You hadn’t felt like you could go downstairs and see whatever Henry had left for you to find.

You're sitting outside now, seeing Seokmin approach you, with a file in his hands. You look up at him, blinking against the rain. When he stands in front of you, it’s almost like the sun showed its face after all. He isn’t smiling, though. He just radiates this energy that immediately gets your spirits up.

“The judge,” he says, handing you the file, “it’s all in here. He was the one controlling Henry. Told him all those parents were the reason his mum suffered. And while it’s not all a lie - the judge himself was the actual perpetrator.”

With a slightly shaking hand, you reach for the file and open it, reading through what is evidence of Seokmin’s words. Now, this was something neither you nor your team has predicted. You swallow down a set of tears.

“He used Henry. But for what?”

“My guess is as good as yours, but, if I may try myself at your job: They probably got fed up with his shit. Told him they would rat him out to the police if he didn’t turn himself in for abusing that woman. He began killing their children as a way to keep them quiet. My guess is, that he has been keeping them quiet ever since Henry’s mum committed suicide and they all only recently began to wonder if maybe this was wrong.”

Seokmin’s words reach your brain and they make sense as much as they don’t. You’ve been working this job long enough to know that there will never be something as full closure. People act irrationally all the time, do things no one understands. There is nothing you can do about it but wait it out, wait for the injustice to die down within you. In the end there is no point to try and understand people like this. Not that these parents deserved to have their daughters get killed.

You thank Seokmin with a small nod and he sits down next to you. Next there will be the arrest of the judge. Then the parents will be questioned, and will get a punishment of their own because they didn’t stop the murders when they had the chance. You know they couldn’t because they were scared, but the law is clear.

You feel Seokmin’s hand capturing yours and you look over at him. The business around the farm isn’t done yet. Boxes get carried and there is more forensic personnel than you’ve seen in a while, probably taking apart the basement you and Seokmin had found. It should be relief you’re feeling but right now you’re just tired.

So, when Seokmin pulls you against him, arm around your waist, you don’t even try to stop yourself from laying your head on his shoulder and closing your eyes.

header by @wongyuseokie.

#svthub #svthub.collab #lee seokmin fanfiction #dokyeom fanfiction #seokmin fanfiction #seokmin x reader #dokyeom x reader #dk x reader #dk fanfiction #svt x reader #seventeen fanfiction #seventeen smut #svt smut #dk smut #dokyeom smut #seokmin smut #lee seokmin smut #ksmutsociety

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twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat · 6 months

Text

i love you, i love you (kill me in the morning) ; suguru geto

synopsis; everyone has a weakness. some are harder to get rid of. (or, alternatively; suguru geto befriends a non-sorcerer as a child.)

word count; 10.0k

contents; suguru geto/reader (not explicitly romantic but the subtext is there), gn!reader, geto-typical angst, childhood friends to [redacted], mild gore, suguru geto’s defection but with added angst, twisted depictions of love, depictions of stalking, depictions of death/murder, general bloodlust (geto wants to kill u soo bad but also not really), unresolved yearning, hurt/no comfort, curse user geto is his own warning tbh

a/n; ok so. this is kind of a mess. just my own take on geto’s childhood and defection + how i think he’d deal with a non-sorcerer reader after defecting……. so it turned out kinda. Dark. it’s entirely sfw to be clear!!! just sorta twisted. in conclusion i love my cult leader wife who wants me dead <3 (pls listen to ’kill me’ by indigo de souza it is SO geto)

suguru geto meets you in the afterglow of sunset, by a dusty summer creek.

it’s his special place, hidden in the outskirts of your tiny town; a place where the water glimmers with silver-hued fish, and all the biggest cicadas reside, singing softly and waiting to be caught.

a place where he can be himself. alone, with no one to curse him.

— except, this time, he isn’t alone.

your crying face is the first thing he sees. big, wet tears, cascading down your scrunched-up face, accompanied by little sniffles as you sit there. curled up into a ball, knees against your heaving chest.

the next thing he sees is the bruise on your leg. a scrape on your knee, gritty and a little bloody, but it’s not so awful. he can tell that it hurts, though — you bite your lip to stop yourself from trembling, like you’re trying to be brave. but you look pained.

and it sends a tremor running through his very soul.

suguru was born with a bleeding heart, an empathy unusually developed for his age. always pushing him forward, coaxing him into taking action; this nagging desire to protect, to nurture. born with an inability to avert his gaze from the suffering of others.

so when the two of you lock eyes, he manages a smile. warm and soothing, even though deep down he’s alarmed. but he masks it, slathers over it with something kind, something comforting — and he can tell that it works, from the way your teary eyes seem to soften in the buttery hue of the afternoon glow.

you’re crying. and suguru finds himself wanting to wipe those tears away, more than anything. you look small, and you’re in pain.

(protect the weak, urges some voice in the back of his mind. insatiable. protect those who can’t protect themselves.)

he asks for your name, all while cleaning your wound. the wince that slips from your lips when the cold water of the creek licks at your knee makes his heart clench.

but you tell him. you tell him your name, as the sun sets in the horizon, and he tells you his.

suguru. a sweet kid who sees you fall and patches you up. a cool kid who teases you a little for being so clumsy. who holds your hand tightly in his own, to make sure you won’t fall again.

the sun melts away beyond the cluster of trees that surround you, its burning glow breaking through the gaps between the branches and dyeing the summer creek a deep red. illuminating your blurry silhouettes, as you walk back home. hand in hand.

and that’s how it begins.

the two of you grow closer, in the same way flowers who share a stem learn to lean on each other, grow in the same direction, a mess of mingled roots. a natural connection, blooming out of nothing more than a sweet coincidence — that kind of blissful, innocent childhood friendship. the kind you never have to question.

you learn very quickly that suguru isn’t like the rest. that when compared to all the other kids you know, he’s mature, almost mystical, like he knows something they don’t.

you learn that there’s a gentleness to him, one he could never fully hide. one that shines through when he looks at you, when you play and laugh to fill the silence of the hills overlooking the small town you both live in.

you also learn that he can see ghosts.

curses, you’ll both come to learn, but that’s later. for a child in a remote town, isolated and alone, the familiarity of the ghost stories that adults tell you is the only kind of comfort suguru has to cling to. something lighthearted, to explain the predicament that haunts him — the flickers of black in his vision, that lingering taste of charcoal on his tongue.

suguru is different, you realize, different from the rest. and you eventually learn, from him, that you are far from alone in that belief.

in the town you both had the misfortune of being born into, suguru is the black sheep. his parents think there’s something wrong with him. the other kids think there’s something wrong with him. he isn’t right in the head, they whisper, he sees things that aren’t there.

(it’s a debilitating isolation that never truly leaves him.)

so suguru learns to stay silent, learns to keep his pretty little mouth shut, learns to lie. it’s easier that way. easier to survive, in the remoteness of your tiny town, with all the adults who scorn him and look at him like he doesn’t belong anywhere at all.

and suguru learns to be content, in that solitude. that heaven-granted isolation. a lone white chrysanthemum, in a sea of red and lavender; blossoming alone.

but then suguru meets you.

and, contrary to everyone else, you don’t think there’s anything wrong with him. when you tell him that he’s different from the rest, you mean it in the best possible way. you say it with starlight in your eyes, gleeful, giddy. like he’s special, not broken. like you’re also tired of those other kids, those sneering adults, the silence of a town so isolated it could crush a child’s heart.

like you have something in common. like you’re the same.

and you stay by his side. throughout the most difficult years of his early life, when he’s still growing accustomed to the duty he’ll have to bear for the rest of his life, you’re there. every single day. to smile at him, to speak to him like you’re both just normal kids — even though suguru is well aware that he’s anything but normal.

(when he’s with you, he feels like it, though. feels like he’s just a normal boy, like there isn’t something glued down wrong inside his brain. something twisted, something that needs to be plucked out.)

suguru finds comfort in you. in your presence, in the notes you pass him when classes get boring, in the way you cling to his sleeve while exploring the woods during recess. in the way you grin so brightly after managing to catch a firefly in the darkness of the summer night, all proud and toothy, a childlike innocence he wishes he still had.

you’re sweet, and understanding, and suguru thinks you might be the coolest person he knows. you’re his friend, his very best friend, his one and only.

and when he tells you what’s wrong with him — when he tells you what he can see — you ask him something that will forever rest in his subconscious. a flicker of precious, fleeting, genuine acceptance, one he won’t ever feel again. not until he meets a certain boy with blue eyes, but that comes later.

(a memory he’ll return to, over and over again. even after all the evil in the world has already descended upon him like a crackling hurricane.)

what do they look like?

there is no judgement in your voice, in the way the question slips from your lips. no mocking laughter, no silent rejection or whisper of crazy, evil, wrong. there’s only you, the way you’ve always been, curious and understanding and wise beyond your years.

suguru decides, right then and there, that he’ll protect you forever. no matter what.

you can’t see curses. you aren’t like him, in that regard, and he learns that quickly. and as suguru grows up, grows a little taller, a little wiser, he is glad that it’s true. he’s glad, because he already knows what kind of road lies ahead of him.

he already knows what kind of world you both live in, how unforgiving it can be. how many people die every day, every second, because of monsters only a select few can even see. he already knows that curses aren’t the eccentric, silly ghosts you were hoping for when you were kids — but pure, unadulterated evil.

(he already knows what they taste like.)

and suguru takes careful measures, day by day, to keep you away from it. as much as he can without lying outright. you’re curious, by nature, almost fascinated by curses and sorcery and everything you do not understand. an endearing trait, though it exasperates him to no end.

someone like you has no business sticking their nose into that kind of cruelty, he thinks, that kind of bloodshed.

and you’ve always been clumsy, a little scatterbrained. enough to make him worry instinctively when you’re out of his sight. like when you tripped and scraped your knee, by that tiny summer creek, all because you wanted to catch a dragonfly.

so he tries his best to keep you away from it, all of it, away from a darkness he knows would swallow you whole. away from the small, weak curses that sometimes litter the woods or the schoolyard; away from his cursed technique, the disgust of a power he never once asked for.

(he never lets you see him swallow those things, never lets you witness the way he throws them right back up again before it happens so many times that he grows used to the disgust. you’re sharp, though, and he can’t hide the grimace that always lingers on his features.

you don’t ask — you only give him a packet of gum, to chew away the taste with, and suguru thinks to himself that he’ll love you forever.)

time passes by, slowly but surely, and the two of you stick together.

and as he grows into his teenage years, so much weight already resting on his tiny shoulders, suguru has already developed some sense of it all. of his ability, of the world of sorcerers. he’s already spoken to people like him, has already been made well aware of his potential.

he’s already been given a choice, a choice that was never really a choice at all, but he decides that it doesn’t matter.

suguru decides to become a sorcerer. to train his abilities, to hone his skills. to eventually move away, from the stifling silence of that town, the silence that was only ever filled by you.

and suguru thinks to himself that he’s doing this for you. that in doing this, in being this, he’ll fulfill his promise to protect you.

(forever. no matter what. he echoes the words in his mind like a prayer.)

suguru wants to protect those who cannot protect themselves. those who are weak, those who are alone, people he has the power to help.

but more than anything, above all else, suguru wants to protect you.

you are the most precious thing in his life. and if he can turn the world a little brighter for you, just a little bit kinder, then isn’t that enough? isn’t there enough meaning in that to give him the strength he needs?

there is. suguru decides that there is.

so when he tells you about his plans, under a pleasant, ephemeral starry sky, he does so with conviction. he knows that you will understand, because he knows you. you’re his best friend.

and he’s right. you do understand. you’re proud of him, and he’s your best friend, too.

i’ll support you, no matter what.

the instantaneous answer makes suguru smile. not the kind of smile he plasters on to appease the adults around him, nor the smile he wears when he needs to lie convincingly. a full, genuine smile, that reaches his eyes and blossoms like a flower in the light of the moon; a warm, gentle smile, one you’ll always, always associate with him.

(forever and ever. no matter what.)

and when suguru eventually has to leave, for a high school he’ll spend the next few years of his life living at, he carries that conviction with him. his choice is steadfast, unyielding, inevitable. the only one that matters.

the whistling of the wind breaches his ears, as you both stand on the platform and wait for his train to arrive. a spring breeze caresses your skin, and suguru’s bangs flutter in the wind. sunlight scatters across the train tracks and seagulls cry out in the distance, and the acute sensation of a parting lies heavy in the air.

it’s embarrassing. it’s childish. suguru wants to claim that he isn’t a child, anymore; that he wouldn’t give in to hesitation, at the sight of your meek expression. that he wouldn’t cry, at the thought of moving away from his best friend.

but the slight puffiness under his eyes is evidence enough. evidence of the tears he shed last night, when the reality of the situation finally dawned on him.

suguru doesn’t want to part from you. he’s nervous, too — leaving you alone in that town, all by yourself, with no one around to protect you properly.

it's stupid. because deep down, he knows that you’ll escape too. that you’ll come after him, no matter how long it takes, that'll you'll both end up in tokyo. that you'll end up together, despite his duty as a sorcerer — eating soft serve ice cream cones, playing shooting games at the arcade, strolling around the big city aimlessly. doing all those things you always talked about doing.

because the two of you will always, always find your way back to each other. just like how he found you with that bruise on your leg, all those years ago, a fated encounter as natural as the glow of sunset. two lone dragonflies, who always meet somewhere in the middle of a dusty summer creek.

still, suguru can’t help but feel sad. a little lost. he can only hope you don’t notice the soft frown on his face, the faint redness of his eyes.

(then again, when have you ever not noticed something he was trying to hide?)

there's no need to worry about it, suguru knows. he’s never had to worry about you judging him, looking down on him. never you.

and when his gaze falls on your face, after the train he’s supposed to board screeches to a halt behind him, your own tears are enough to make him realize how silly he’s being.

he laughs, from the bottom of his stomach, when you tackle him into a hug and tell him with teary eyes that you’ll come visit. he squeezes you especially tight, in a boyish fashion he can never quite hide from you, and murmurs into your ear that he’ll be waiting.

he asks you not to forget him. you laugh through your tears, and tell him that you never could.

before he has to let go and step into the train, you tell him that you love him, and his grin blooms with honeyed affection. he ruffles your hair, always gentle, always teasing, always the same suguru.

he tells you that he loves you, too.

— then he’s gone.

(you’ll forever regret not convincing him to stay.)

the two of you stay in contact, all throughout his first year. texting, calling — making sure neither of you get the chance to forget the other. suguru tells you about his life, his missions, his classmates, leaving out all the gritty details. and you listen; attentive, curious.

at one point, you even visit him. his friends tease him relentlessly, but all he does is roll his eyes and flick their foreheads, biting back a smile. that makes you laugh, and he’s relieved that the sound hasn’t changed in the slightest.

and suguru stays the same, throughout that one first year. he is steadfast, unyielding, decisive. he has a conviction he’ll never let go of, and people he's vowed to protect. people he needs to protect.

(non-sorcerers, is what he tells satoru, and he means it. but suguru chooses to omit the fact that he specifically wants to protect one single non-sorcerer, above all else.)

and suguru is happy, with his choice. thoroughly and wholly. the road ahead of him will be long, full of obstacles and thorns, but he always knew that would be the case. and he knows that it’ll hurt, that it’ll be tough, but he also knows that this is what he sincerely wants to do. what he was meant to do. the only choice worth making.

suguru is content. suguru will not falter.

— then, his second year descends upon him.

riko amanai dies. toji fushiguro dies.

satoru gojo becomes the strongest sorcerer of the modern era.

(and suguru geto is left behind.)

it is a slow, sinking realization. one whole year to lose sight of his goal, lose sight of the conviction he held onto so tightly. one whole year to feel it slip through the gaps between his fingers, helpless to stop its course. everything grows muddled, molding, rotting before he has a chance to root it out — and all he can do is wait, as it festers like bile in the bottom of his gut.

suguru geto falters.

(he doesn’t quite know who he is, anymore.)

words he’s swallowed down like curses all his life keep flooding his subconscious, building up inside the back of his throat, spinning and spinning and spinning inside his brain until he feels sick enough to throw up. evil. crazy. protection. responsibility.

duty, duty, duty —

(what does that word even mean?)

suguru doesn’t remember. he can’t recall what made him step onto that train with such conviction, how he was able to smile so assuredly. how he was able to laugh, from the very bottom of his gut, as if it was the easiest thing in the world. he just can't remember.

who is he doing this for? what meaning lies in all this pain?

suguru keeps watching, hoping for an answer that’ll save him just enough. waiting and watching. he’s always just watching, isn’t he? never changing anything. always too late, too weak, too fucking useless to stop even a single person from dying.

he watches helplessly as a little girl gets shot in the head, for the crime of having been born different, for the sake of simple currency. watches helplessly as satoru carries her lifeless body in his arms, across a room full of people so vile that some deep, rotten, intrinsic part of suguru just wants to —

but there would be no meaning to it.

(does there really need to be one?)

suguru honestly doesn’t know, anymore.

riko dies.

(curses spring up like flies. he devours and devours.)

then haibara dies, too.

(in the distance, he thinks he hears the sound of clapping.)

sorcerers. non-sorcerers. curses.

the words begin to rot inside his mouth, like wilted flowers, syrupy sweet and nauseating. crumbling on his tongue, numbing his senses until it’s all he can taste. a mouthful of honey, sticking to the walls of his throat, too sweet to stomach.

this is wrong, he thinks. everything is all wrong.

everything is wrong and i don’t know how to fix it.

— and then there’s you.

during your third year, both of you are busier than usual, but still find the time to talk when you can. the normalcy of your little stories is a comfort, to suguru — but also makes him burn with something he fears may be close to envy.

you tell him about your new school, your new town, your new beginning; bright and dazzling. one that suits you just fine.

the two of you are different, he realizes, all at once. some part of him always knew. you were born to be happy, kept away from the bloodshed, hands unsullied by the deep red that always dries beneath his fingernails. there was never a place for you in the world of curses. and he’s glad, that it’s true, he always has been, but —

(resentment festers in his gut. he can’t tell how long it’s been there, and he’s afraid to know the answer.)

these days, suguru takes a little longer to answer your texts. his voice comes out sounding a little more fatigued when he’s speaking to you through the phone, and he doesn’t talk as much as he used to. your voice soothes him, though, he thinks. just a tiny bit. but it’s enough.

(he’s doing this for you, too. he can’t forget that.)

and when you come to visit him, during his third year, suguru is surprised. surprised to see you, standing outside of his dorm, bags full of his favorite snacks in hand. smiling.

you look the same as always.

(he’s the only one who’s changed.)

it’s a pleasant surprise, though, despite everything. he really did miss you. in his life, your presence alone has been nothing but a comfort, for as long as he can remember. even now, when everything feels so blurry and uncertain, you appear to him as a flicker of starlight; shining through the darkness that’s been plaguing him for the past year.

so he tries to smile, tries to sound the same as always, but he knows you don’t buy it. you know because you know him, despite everything.

suguru wonders what you would think of him, if you could hear the thoughts he’s been having these past few weeks. he wonders what he looks like, reflected in your eyes. he wonders how much he’s changed since you last saw him.

(he hasn’t felt like himself in months.)

your presence is like a balm, to his soul, but it also seeks to hurt him further. because you’re still the same. still so understanding and wise and patient. you can tell that he’s fading, and he can tell that you can tell. but he doesn’t want to tell you why. he refuses to open up to you, because what would that accomplish? how could you possibly understand?

how could you understand his hatred, his resentment, towards the very people he’s supposed to protect? he told you that, himself. he decided to protect them, on his own accord. that’s his duty — steadfast, unyielding, inevitable. that’s all it was ever meant to be.

protect the weak. protect the ugly. protect everyone except his comrades, until all of them lie dead in a pile of maggots and tangly limbs and buzzing flies.

a bitter, heavy kind of vomit settles inside his chest, his throat. and somewhere deep inside suguru’s mind, in the very bottom of a drawer he vowed never to open, the image of non-sorcerers shifts, distorts, flickers on and off under the light.

protect those monkeys until his very last breath.

(what a fucking joke.)

you couldn’t understand. he doesn’t want you to. he promised himself that he would keep you away from that kind of darkness, no matter what, and —

and you’re the only good thing he has left.

not only that — you’re a non-sorcerer, too. and suguru knows what that means. if what his brain is telling him is true, if that’s really how it is, then you are no exception. then you’re just like the rest, something lesser, nothing but a —

(he thinks he might throw up.)

suguru does not tell you anything. despite everything, despite your pleading expression, despite the heavy bile at the bottom of his gut. he does not tell you what is truly wrong. he does not open up to you.

and that is suguru’s first act of betrayal, to you. before he even betrays the jujutsu world.

(it is perhaps the only betrayal he’ll ever feel any kind of remorse over.)

you try, though. persistent in your affection. he loathes how little you’ve changed, how brightly you still shine when reflected in his eyes. you sit right next to him, under a pleasant, ephemeral starry sky, stars blurred by the light pollution, and tell him what you always have.

i’ll support you, no matter what.

…

suddenly, all he can hear is the whooshing of the sea. as if he's been pulled underwater, a heavy weight tugging at his limbs, lungs gasping for air that doesn't exist. pure static, in his ears, a sharp crack of something. like a rib, or a train of thought. all he can taste is saltwater.

the dam begins to break. it cracks at the edges, like two giddy children poking a stick into a puddle layered with ice, giggling at their scattered reflections. memories resurfacing, images flashing in his subconscious. suguru looks at you like he’s lost. something inside of him breaks, disintegrates into a pile of despair.

because you don’t understand what you’re telling him. you don’t understand what he thinks about doing, sometimes, when the nights are especially long and the school is especially empty and the taste of curses lies especially thick on his tongue.

you don’t understand. you never will.

but you’re smiling at him, so very gentle. so accepting, so all-encompassing of everything that’s good, everything worth cherishing. just like always.

suguru recalls your teary face; when you scraped your knee, when he left that town behind. he recalls all the ways you’ve soothed him, saved him, in all the years you’ve known him.

i’ll definitely come visit. i love you.

i’ll support you, no matter what.

what do they look like?

— suguru falters. these days, that’s all he ever seems to do.

how could he hate non-sorcerers, when you’re among them? how could he hate a world that has you in it?

(he can’t, he can’t, he can’t. he can’t hate you. not you.)

the words that spill so very easily from your lips break him. he can’t tell if you’ve mended the damage, or only worsened it. he can’t tell where the jagged hole inside his chest ends and begins. he can only tell that it’s extending, extending, extending.

suguru wants to fall apart. he wants to fall apart, for only you to see, because you’ve always been the only one who could ever understand. the only one who wouldn’t turn your eyes away from him, even back then. the only, only one. the only other white chrysanthemum.

he wants so desperately to be honest with you, to let every dark thought he’s ever had flow out from his lips. for you to hear, for you to scorn or to accept at your leisure, doom him or bless him, a bleeding dog at your feet. to get rid of the tangled mess of thoughts inside his muddled mind — to just let go of everything, even if it’s only for a minute or two. just a second would be fine.

suguru wants to drag you down with him. drag you down into the depths, into the abyss, to share the weight of his suffering. so that you can be together, just like you always have; through thick and thin. always and forever.

but he doesn’t.

(and what a betrayal that is.)

suguru keeps his pretty little mouth shut, and he gives you a smile. a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, the kind he always wears when he needs to lie convincingly.

he could tell you so many things. could ruin you completely, take you down with him. hand in hand, staining your unsullied skin with the blood on his own. into the gaping maw.

but at the end of the day, he chooses not to.

suguru chooses your peace of mind over his, just like he always has, and feeds you a vague half-truth. not quite a lie, but something that ignores the underlying question of your statement, a silent plea for sincerity. something deep and true, but almost sorrowful.

i know, he says.

i know you will.

the moment does not save him. but suguru does feel just a little more hopeful, a little less like he’s slowly rotting from the inside out. a little less like he’s completely and utterly alone, isolated in his agony.

you are the same as always. and what a relief that is.

(for you, he can wade through the hell for just a little longer.)

when it’s time to say your goodbyes, suguru can tell you aren’t satisfied. that you wish you could do more. but he also knows that you won’t push it, because you’ve always respected him in a way no one else ever cares enough to do.

before you leave, you tell him that you love him. in a quiet voice, a whisper, as if trying to squeeze some sincerity from his chest — a last-ditch attempt at reaching him. he squeezes your hand, instead, and doesn’t say it back.

suguru just smiles, flimsy, a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

you look like you want to say something, but you don’t.

and he watches you go, with forlorn eyes, until the dot that is you gets too small to distinguish from the darkness of the night. until he can almost delude himself into thinking that you’ve turned into a star. he watches you go as if trying to burn the sight into his memory, as if this is the last time he’ll ever see you.

(the curse of i love you rots in his mouth, unspoken, unvoiced.)

two weeks later, suguru stands in front of a cage, covered in blood.

the girls in front of him, skinny, frail, crying — beaten and exhausted — look at him like he’s a god. him, pale, smiling, with blood staining his white uniform, bathed in moonlight —

like some kind of angel of death.

suguru soaks up the metallic scent of the room, basks in that sickeningly sweet feeling of release. he soothes the girls, as best he can. he leads them away, careful not to let them see the bodies.

(there isn’t much left of them, anyhow.)

suguru geto makes his choice. the only choice that matters.

he will twist himself into a curse. he will devour his ideal, until it’s all that’s left of him. he will embody it, become it, through and through. it’s fine if he dies in the process, it’s fine if everyone dies — just as long as it means something.

that is the conviction he will carry with him. the decision to only ever see the line between ends and means, the bright light at the end of a never-ending tunnel.

the blood of an entire village is on his hands.

(a part of him wants to throw up. another grins with ecstasy. every part agrees that it was inevitable.)

their screams weren’t beautiful. they were aggravating, revolting, the wretched buzzing of bugs ringing like static in his ears. but it felt good. it felt just. something in his bones settling into its rightful place, a spark of affirmation.

and suguru doesn’t stop there. as if desperate for the cup to finally run over, to make sure that there truly is no going back, his feet take him to a place he always hoped he’d never have to see again.

when suguru returns to that stiflingly silent town, to kill his parents, you are no longer there.

it’s not a surprise. he knows you escaped, long ago, just like him — just like you always said you would. not quite to tokyo, to your grave disappointment, but you managed to find some other town to live in. bigger, better. the new beginning he always hoped you’d get.

suguru does not want to think of you. he doesn't want to remember your face, the sound of your laughter, the way your eyes shone in the light. he wants to erase every single trace of your existence from his memory, if only to protect you from the person he will soon become. or perhaps only to spare himself the heartache of it all.

but when he passes by that one summer creek, forgetting you becomes an impossibility.

his eyes gaze at the silver-hued fish, sparkling beneath the moonlight, the big cicadas singing sadly under the shadows of the trees. he closes his eyes, and breathes in the solitude, and recalls a child with teary eyes.

suguru knows what school you go to. he knows what your town is called, what your street looks like.

and it is far, far away from the town he’s in. far from tokyo, too.

— and suguru is relieved.

(it gives him an excuse not to hunt you down just yet.)

the sight of his childhood home stirs no fondness in his heart. it is empty, it is silent, it is the same as always. and now it doesn’t even have you in it, anymore.

so it doesn’t matter.

suguru moves on with conviction, with bloodstains scattered across his clothes, seeping into the fabric. the screams of his parents don’t mean anything — they blur together with old echoes of evil, crazy, wrong.

(there is something wrong with that child.)

their blood sticks to the soles of his shoes and he is repulsed by their fragility. their blood stains his shirt and he is elated by the irony of it all. all he sees is a blur of red.

the road before him becomes clear.

finally, there truly is no turning back. that one sliver of good still left in him, crushed beneath the heel of his boot. at last. homicide, patricide — the more he adds, the easier it’ll be. easier to distance himself, easier to convince himself that his choice matters. that the blood of mere animals is a small price to pay for the future he envisions.

that he is right. that he is just.

(self-affirmation. what a holy thing it is.)

there is still much left for him to do. so suguru leaves the town behind.

he leaves that tiny summer creek behind.

it is a premature death; a resignation of identity. he isn’t an adult, not yet, but he has long since stopped being a child. he stopped being a child the moment he saw a bullet go through the skull of an innocent girl, the moment he saw haibara’s ghostly pale skin. no sorcerers stay children for very long.

none of it matters, anymore.

time passes with a speed that’s almost frightening.

suguru disappears, almost entirely faded, leaving only geto in his wake. a new person, an entirely different human being — ten years of living in an echo chamber, ten years of forming his personality in the shape of something twisted.

(something almost divine.)

and geto is right. just. geto has conviction, and that’s all he needs. everything goes according to plan; geto has a goal, and a family to pursue that goal with, to pursue that goal for. everything finally feels just right. breathing feels a lot easier. living feels a lot easier.

but everyone has a weakness.

and there is one thing, only one thing, that still acts as a thorn in his side. something that holds him back, a stain yet to be wiped away, a piece of gum stuck to the sole of his shoe. a tattered memory, clinging to his subconscious as if haunting him.

(i’ll support you, no matter what.)

if only you could see him now.

when geto left his old life behind, he did not contact you. he did not say goodbye. he threw away his phone, deleted every single thing that someone could use to locate him with, and left. he hasn’t heard from you in years, hasn’t spoken to you.

but he has seen you.

geto knows where your town is. what your apartment looks like. he knows what university you go to, where your go-to café is located.

so resisting the temptation eventually becomes impossible.

he tries not to think of you, he really does. he tries to act like you are nothing, to him, because you aren’t. you are proof of weakness and a fragility that geto loathes, proof of his own foolishness, his young naivety. you are everything he hates and everything rotten and everything he’s vowed to cleanse from the earth.

but, despite that undeniable truth, geto cannot help but seek you out.

he tells himself that it means nothing. that he’s only doing it to make sure he knows where he’s got you, like a predator watching over their prey, preparing to lunge out of hiding when the moment is right. because geto knows that your death, at his hands, is inevitable. what you are is a weakness, a connection that lingers on his skin like a mold, one he still has to the creatures that disgust him so.

so it’s inevitable.

in reality, he should have killed you first. before his parents, before the village — he should have killed you, because that would have solidified his devotion in a way nothing else ever could. but he didn’t.

geto likes to think of it as a symbol, of sorts. that he’ll save you for last. the same way children eat every last part of the cake, greedily, before gulping down the strawberry. every single non-sorcerer will be dead by the time he gets to you. you’ll be the one remaining obstacle, the one final stain to rinse away before his dream becomes reality, the one thing still standing between him and the divinity he seeks.

it is an honour, geto thinks, an honour he would not bestow to anyone but you.

but until that time comes, all he can do is watch over you. silently, so you don’t notice. always from afar, sometimes through the eyes of the curses he’s bound to. just to make sure that you’re still alive. that you haven’t tripped over your shoelaces and gotten yourself into a car accident, or gulped down a mouthful of food too fast and choked to death, or anything similarly pathetic. he wouldn’t put it past you. really, he has no idea how you’ve survived this long without him.

weak, fragile, clumsy. soft enough to sink his teeth into. you are everything that geto hates. you are nothing, nothing at all.

(and you are the same as always, despite everything. what an aggravation that’s become.)

he watches you, anyway; like a god finding amusement in his creations, an omniscient overseer watching you stumble day to day. he watches as you live your life, as you talk to other people with that familiar smile on your face. it hasn’t changed in the slightest.

he watches you laugh, watches you grab a crêpe from a street vendor, watches you cry when you think nobody is there to see.

(the sight sends a tremor running through his soul, one he desperately wants to pretend not to feel.)

on melancholic summer days, when the sun paints the sky pink and golden, he watches you clutch onto his old sweater. one you always said you were going to return, but never did — never got the chance to. you used to tell him it was too comfortable not to steal. that it smelled like him, that it made you feel less lonely. geto so tenderly wishes he could have forgotten those words, by now.

but he watches you, in the solitude of your apartment, as you bury your face in the wool and inhale the fading tinge of his old cologne. then you cry and cry, like a child, until the moon rises in the sky; until you’re breathing softly, lulled to sleep by his scent.

(geto thinks to himself that you are a fool, to still miss him after all these years.)

it’s not an everyday occasion. most days, he does not think of you. there are many other monkeys to kill, many things to discuss. there’s money to be made, plans to be forged, wars to be brewed. geto is a busy man. a family man, no less.

but when boredom is all he can feel, he still finds himself seeking you out. just to make sure no one has gotten to you before him. just a god enjoying the struggles of a lesser being.

that’s all it is, geto tells himself. that’s all it’ll ever be, from now on.

no one needs to know if he spends the occasional morning checking up on you, curious if you did well on that exam you were studying for. no one needs to know if he absorbs the curses that sometimes cling to your fragile skin, gulping them down before they cause too much damage. no one needs to know if anyone who gives you a little too much trouble suddenly disappears off the face of the earth.

no one needs to know if he reminisces, every once in a while, when the summer nostalgia is too much to bear. about your childhood, about that question you asked him — a million years ago, back when the center of his universe was a single summer creek.

(no one needs to know if he finds comfort in your presence, even now.)

on days when the moon hangs low in the sky, and geto can’t choke back the longing in his chest, he sits by your bed and watches you sleep. a forlorn expression on his face, lips stuck in a tight line. it’s risky, careless, but he’s helpless to the temptation.

most nights, you lie perfectly still. so still he can almost delude himself into thinking that it’s over, that you’ve passed on, that he won’t have to kill you after all. sometimes you twist and turn, mumble something unintelligible under your breath that he doesn’t catch.

he wonders what you dream about. he wonders if you ever have nightmares, if they’re ever about him. he wonders why he even cares at all.

geto resents you. resents you for existing, for smiling every day, for being a bridge between him and lesser creatures. he resents you, resents you, resents you.

(self-affirmation. what a holy thing, indeed.)

— he could kill you so easily.

he wouldn’t even need a curse to do it. a flick of his pinkie would be more than enough. that’s how fragile you are; asleep, right in front of him, breathing softly while he watches you like how the fox watches the lamb.

(he could end all of this, right now, in the silence of the night. in your most vulnerable state.)

and yet, geto allows the opportunity to pass him by.

he can’t get too greedy. that’s what he tells himself, as he slips out of your window in the dead of night, leaving your sleeping figure behind him. it’s not the right time. he can let you sleep, for just a little while longer. the bags under your eyes have looked especially heavy, recently.

(he tries not to remember the sleepover you had as kids, when he stayed perfectly still as you dozed off on his shoulder. doing his best not to wake you, watching you fondly until the sun began to rise. back when all he wanted was to protect you.)

geto knows that you know he’s not dead. he knows because he’s almost certain that satoru spoke to you, back then, even if he probably didn’t let you in on any details. because he knows that you’re sharp, sharp enough to know that he’s alive.

and even if that were not the case, geto knows because he’s sent you gifts. letters. absentminded, almost taunting, cruel in their joviality — always anonymous, always mysterious and vague and impossible to trace back to him. but he knows that you know who they’re from.

a little dance, if you will. geto haunts you like a ghost. he never lets you see him, but he lets you know that he’s there, sometimes. just out of frame.

he can only hope it’ll eventually haunt you to death.

(if it ends up as a comfort to you, instead, then, well — it is what it is.)

all of it is a safety measure in disguise. a way to satisfy the yearning inside his chest, without coming too close. that doesn’t mean he never falters, though.

every once in a while, he feels strangely compelled to talk to you. to waltz into your home, in a lighthearted fashion, to soak up your shocked expression. to ask how you’ve been, casually, and watch you stammer, stumble over your words — he can imagine the face you’d make, the way the lilt of your voice would tremble. would you cry? he can’t help but wonder, sometimes.

yet he always resists the temptation. careful, cautious, with every move he makes. like a shadow. he deliberately leaves no traces of himself behind, no breadcrumbs for you to follow like the curious creature you are. geto lets you know that he’s there, but he doesn’t let you see him, because if he talks to you he knows that he’ll kill you. and he can’t have that, not just yet.

eventually, he’ll do it. he’ll do it, and he’ll watch as your blood stains the silk of his robes like the inevitability it is. but not yet.

you’ll be the last one, the last one he’ll kill. the final proof of his devotion.

until then, he can have this. this sickeningly sweet scrutiny of your life, your life without him. the sound of your laughter, the reflection of untainted light in your iris.

(you are the same as always, and you are a weakness that geto is learning to live with.)

he can’t rest, won’t rest until it finally ends. until the curtain calls on your bloodied body, until he feels the cold skin of your palm against his lips.

only then will he finally know if it was all worth it. only then will he be free of this yearning. only then will he be able to say that the last remnants of suguru have been well and truly cleansed from his soul, that there is nothing left of the person he was.

only then will geto be able to call himself wholly divine.

but until that time comes, he can do nothing but watch you. when the temptation begins to crawl under his skin again, when he needs to remind himself of what he’s fighting for. that one thing, at least, never once changed; suguru geto has always fought for you. for your protection, for your survival, for your demise.

for your happiness, in life or in death.

(geto hates you, loathes you, resents you for being what you are; but suguru will always, always love you. forever and ever. no matter what.

and that will be their undoing.)

suguru geto dies without saying goodbye to you.

if there are any regrets to speak of, any at all, then maybe that’d be it. he never got to see that shock on your face, never got to hear you stammer in the way you always used to when you were nervous.

in the golden hue of sunset, the last of his resentment finally fades away. the curse known as geto disappears, and what remains is no more than a ghost — the ghost of suguru, the person he was, the person he never quite stopped being.

and when geto disappears, when the last of his resentment fades away, suguru finally allows himself to think of you. fully, without interruption, without unspilled blood festering beneath his tongue. just one single touch of sincerity, one last indulgence before it all ends. he thinks of you, you as a person, not you as a non-sorcerer. he gives your memory the respect it deserves. something worth cherishing.

he wonders what you’re doing, right now. he wonders if you studied enough for that exam next week, if you found a good gift for your friend’s birthday party. he wonders if you still miss him, even though he'll never be deserving of it.

satoru stands in front of him, genuine, sincere. and suguru thinks that he is a fool, just like you; to still have any kind of affection left for someone like him. after he left you both behind, that summer.

satoru doesn’t curse him. suguru wishes he would.

a soft bout of laughter falls from his lips, as the sun sets behind him, and he knows you would have found the sight breathtaking. you always did love sunsets, didn't you? the sun was setting when he found you with that bruise on your leg, he recalls — such a miniscule detail. he wonders why he remembers only now.

suguru chokes back his tears, still smiling. it’s a smile of love. a smile of regret. he thinks of satoru.

at least curse me a little at the very end.

those should be his final words. he should avert his gaze, follow the script, tear his eyes away from the only other person besides you who ever truly knew him —

but he doesn’t. he can’t. suguru looks straight at him, at satoru, into his eyes, so blue they seem to gleam in the orange hue of the melting sun. sparkling like little galaxies, like the crinkling of soda pops, like crystallized summer skies. he looks beautiful, as beautiful as he always was.

(i wish i had told you, suguru thinks. i wish i had told you everything.)

in a voice so small he barely hears it, so tender that geto would’ve felt disgusted to his very core, suguru asks his best friend for one last favour. he’s not sure why, not sure why it matters —

but maybe, just this once, it’s fine if it’s meaningless.

satoru listens, intently. he looks at his best friend with eyes so soft it makes suguru want to laugh and cry and go back to a time when they were all happy. but they can’t, that choice was lost ten years ago — he threw it away. smothered it beneath his boot heel. there was never any going back, from the very beginning.

satoru answers his plea. one final favour, one best friend to another.

of course.

a shaky breath. he can’t tell who it came from.

of course i will.

suguru smiles. a full, genuine smile, that reaches his eyes and blossoms like a flower in the light of the sun. it’s the last time anyone will see it.

satoru clenches his jaw. he crouches down, and presses his fingers against his best friend’s battered body, right over his bleeding heart. he will never, ever forgive himself for what he's about to do.

(suguru already has.)

and the moment before the last flicker of light leaves his eyes, suguru chooses to think of you.

he thinks of your smile, the way your lips curled up at even the smallest things. he thinks of your curiosity, how it always lead him back to you. he thinks of what could have been.

he thinks of that question you asked him, all those years ago — how accepted it made him feel. that sensation of being understood. suguru thinks you saved his life, that day.

(he never got to thank you for it.)

you were his childhood friend. his nearest, dearest, oldest one.

suguru doesn't believe the world he lives in is kind enough to allow him a second chance. and he doesn't think he really deserves one, either way.

but if there is a next life, if he’s lucky enough to be reborn —

then suguru hopes he’ll be born as a dragonfly, so he can find his way back to you.

he’ll meet you, again; in the afterglow of sunset, by that dusty, forgotten, tiny summer creek. framed by silver-hued fish and cicadas, and the silence of a town that glimmered while you were both in it.

he won’t be able to wipe your tears away, won’t be able to clean the bruise on your knee — but he can be with you. and maybe, in your next lives, that’ll be enough.

(what a lovely thought.)

suguru smiles, and lets a final breath of air course through his burning lungs.

— it tastes like summer.

there is a silent understanding, between the two of you.

it’s been ten years since you last spoke to satoru gojo. it wasn’t a very pleasant conversation, and somehow, you doubt this will be an exception. an acute awareness lies heavy in the air — and deep down, some part of you knows what he’s about to tell you.

(as if it was an inevitability.)

gojo doesn’t smile. his voice has no masked amusement to it, no sense of joviality. if you strain your ears, you think it may even be wavering, slightly, so faint it’s hard to tell for sure. just that one low shiver of his lips, saying more than words ever could.

he doesn’t beat around the bush. and you see that for the kindness that it is, despite the ice cold chill that creeps into your veins when his words spill out into the air, a full body shiver traveling down your spine.

he tells you that suguru is dead, and you don’t flinch. you don’t even cry. that comes later.

in the moment, all you can do is nod, a little pitiful, teeth digging into the flesh of your bottom lip to stop it from wobbling. like you’re trying to be brave.

truthfully, you had a feeling that was the case.

sometimes, it was as if you could feel him. just barely out of reach, a certain cologne lingering on your windowsill, a box of cookies you’ve liked since you were little delivered to your doorstep. a sudden feeling of being watched. a note wishing you luck on whatever exam or driver’s test or job interview you had the next day, accompanied by a silly smiley face so distinctly suguru it made you want to cry.

— how cruel of him.

but you couldn’t help but feel comforted by it, all the same. it made you feel like he was still with you, somehow, like he still cared. even though he disappeared from your life without saying anything. even though gojo told you explicitly all those years ago to stay away, if you ever saw him, as if he was suddenly dangerous —

but you could never be afraid of him. you don’t think you have it in you.

to you, suguru will always just be the boy who helped you up when you scraped your knee, all those years ago. a sweet, cool kid, who held your hand firmly and gently wiped the blood off your skin.

(he’ll always be your nearest, dearest, oldest friend. even if you aren’t his.)

but lately, there’s been nothing. you haven't felt any traces of him at all, no lingering gazes boring into your back. so you knew. deep down, maybe you always kind of knew.

gojo looks at you with compassion, understanding. and without him having to say it, you know he loved suguru too. you know because his breathing is shaky, because his eyes look puffy from hours of crying; you know because grief is like a stench, thick and heavy, overwhelming, one that clings to your skin and haunts your very being. just like love.

and you can smell it on the both of you.

(you both loved the boy who died for his ideals, the man who was so moral it killed him.)

the news will sink in, later. you are sure that you will crumble, and you are sure that you will cry. you’re sure that the road ahead will be a long one, full of obstacles and thorns. but that’s fine. you’ll deal with it when the time comes. suguru was always a little mystical, a little too good to be true.

maybe you always sort of assumed things would end like this; that he’d walk ahead without you, with all his whispered secrets and gentle lies.

(asshole.

he could have given you a call, at least. even just once.)

for now, all you can do is try to keep your trembling skin intact. and you assume that gojo will leave, now that you know, that this was all he came here for. just a messenger of death, coated in a grief so strong you doubt he’ll ever be rid of it.

but gojo doesn’t leave.

he hands you something, instead.

a polaroid, you quickly realize. a photograph, of three kids — one with white hair, one with brown hair, and one with black hair. the black haired boy is trying hard not to smile, you can tell. the other two have got their arms around him, squeezing his body tightly with matching grins, throwing up peace signs. he looks at them with exasperation in his eyes, but you can tell that there’s a love there. you can tell, you know, because despite everything, you still know him.

a lump forms in your throat.

it’s not the original copy, is what gojo tells you, apologetic. you’re almost certain that he kept it for himself, and you don’t blame him. i’m sorry. but i wanted to… you know.

(he wanted to give you something to hold onto.)

the gesture is a little bit awkward, just a tad clumsy. but it’s a genuine concern, a sincere kindness. you aren’t really surprised that suguru spent his last moments with this man instead of you.

gojo continues to speak, and you continue to listen, attentive — hungry for anything to mend the hole in your heart. but your eyes never once stray from the photograph.

(suguru looks so, so happy.)

he tells you that suguru talked about you a lot, back then. and without him having to say it, you know what he really means is he loved you a lot. the words of consolation ring like static, in your ears. it hurts. the hole in your heart just keeps extending, extending, extending.

gojo notices. so he gets to the point, the final point, the only one that matters. this is his duty, too — granting suguru’s last request. the only one he ever asked of him in words.

(it’s the least he could do, for the man he loved so dearly, the one who left him behind in the shadow of summer.)

he tells you that there’s one more thing. that suguru asked him to tell you something, that it was the last thing he ever said. words that he wanted you to hear, more than anything.

gojo’s voice does not waver. it is not his place.

you listen. you listen as if it will bring him back. you listen as if it is the last thing you will ever do.

and gojo speaks.

the words mean everything, and also nothing at all. how very like him. they bounce off the walls of your apartment, spilling into the suffocating air, echoing inside your mind. cutting into your bloodstream, rooting themselves in a particularly soft spot deep within your ribcage, chrysanthemums blooming from your flesh. petals filling up your stomach until you can scarcely breathe.

the final words of your childhood friend. your nearest, dearest, oldest one; suguru geto, who you will always love, in the same way the sun loves the moon, as naturally as breathing.

the dam breaks. the sky shatters. the sob you choke on tastes salty, and gojo looks remorseful, his figure blurred by your tears. everything comes crashing down around you — an inevitability you were hoping to put off, in the same way suguru put off talking to you all those years.

and now, finally, he tells you his honest feelings. when it’s already far too late. how very, very like him.

(tell them i’m sorry. and that i hope their exam goes well.)

— honestly. what a fucking asshole.

not once did you ask for an apology. you never wanted one, never thought to even wish for it. you didn’t need one.

all you wanted was for him to come back to you. to find you, again, the way he always did.

tears cascade down your scrunched-up face, big and childlike, but no one’s there to wipe them away anymore. you cradle the photograph in your hands, savouring every single memory you have of him. all the love your heart can muster.

the tears never seem to end. they continue to run down your cheeks, until all you can smell is sea salt, until the sun has set in the horizon, until the moon has hanged itself in the sky. a silent comfort, but it’s not enough. it never will be.

a sniffle pushes past your lips, and you hear yourself laugh — bitter, raspy, gentle all the same. what a moron, you whisper, a soft lull of your tongue. didn’t he know?

(you forgave him long ago.)

bonus 👀

#get u a man who loves you so deeply it causes him cognitive dissonance #im a lil unsure abt this piece pshshs but it has a rly special place in my heart!!#i just like the idea of geto being so desperately in denial about his love for u that he forces himself to hate u. self-affirmation yknow?#subconsciously putting u on a pedastal above the rest… being unable to let go of the connection between u even though he wants to sever it #having this evident fondness for you but its constantly battling with the part of him that hates what your existence means for him #telling himself that he’ll ’save u for last’ but its more of a measure to keep himself from killing u bc he knows his ideal is unattainable #so he’ll never have to kill you. it'll never get to that point. he wants to so badly though. but does he really?#yeahhh. im normal abt fucked up curse user geto <3 soft canon divergent sugu is still my fave to write for tho #geto suguru x reader #geto x reader #geto x you #geto suguru x you #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk #geto angst #jjk angst #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x you #geto x y/n #jjk x y/n

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chococolte · 1 year

Note

What? I think I might be addicted to you writing?? Like, this is hands down the best yandere/sagau blog I’ve come across. I just feel so loved with the way you write the interactions between the reader and characters! And my god complex is very well fed right now! Finally some good fucking food :)

I’d like to entrust you with my comfort character, my baby boi, Venti. Would you please do sagau touching his wings in his archon form, like how you did draconic Zhongli? And if it isn’t too much, could you write something for sagau calling Venti “good boy” as well? Ty!

word count. 975

୨୧ — ꒰ cw. yandere, unhealthy relationships, possessive & obsessive thoughts/behaviors, religious + cult themes, sagau + cult au. i do not condone yanderes irl.

୨୧ — ꒰ a/n. aaa thank you!!!! sorry this one took me so long, but here you go! i mixed your two requests together here, so i hope you don't mind (though he'll still get his own separate good boy post, eventually). i hope you like it!! ♥

Venti's wings spread the moment you touch the soft skin of his spine.

It's an impulse, purely instinctive. His body acts before his mind, and his wings are the most primal part of his form— they react to any outside stimuli within moments, and to you, especially; always you. Before Venti can bite his tongue and control himself, his wings fan out, his feathers ruffling.

Venti's wings are broad and a bold white, stark against the golden light of your throne room. Every individual feather is soft and delicate, sensitive to the lightest touch. From where he sits by your feet, he looks up at you with wet eyes and unshed tears of euphoria, fringed by dark black lashes.

He lets out a small, quick breath, almost a whine, when you run your fingers over his feathers. There's no cruelty in your touch, no callousness to your movements—you move elegantly, every gentle scrape of your nails against his back and rub of your hands leaves him shuddering, filled with the urge to mutter every prayer in your name.

You massage the small area connecting his wings to his back. Venti arches his spine, chest heaving with rhapsodies of pleasure. His fingers curl around your robes, pulling them tight enough his knuckles turn white. He hides his face in the warmth of your lap, taking in every breath with the intent to remember your scent.

"Your Grace," he mumbles into the silk of your fabrics, body jolting when you brush against the tender, velvety skin at the base of one of his feathers. Venti bites the inside of his cheek, holding back a loud, obnoxious whimper. As you take your fingers upward and gently lift one of his feathers, he has to stop himself from making any salacious sounds.

"A-Ah, please… more! Please—" Venti chokes on his words, sputtering as you rub his feathers in-between your fingers. His wings twitch, tensing with rapture. His heart swells and sings in his chest when he catches a glimpse of the smile on your face— he's pleasing you, even if he must make a fool out of himself to do so.

Venti is only mildly embarrassed, though the pure happiness of being so close to you outweighs any shame he may feel. When it comes to you, there's no limit to what he'd do; ask him to throw his life away, and he will do so without question. Ask him to show you the most vulnerable parts of himself, and he'll do it without any hesitation. Ask him to spread his wings and soul, whatever part of him you desire to see, and he will do it without thinking. Repercussions matter little when it comes to his god.

He's thought of this moment before— latching onto your thighs, begging to be toyed with, the warm comfort of your presence so close to him; having you play with his feathers and wings in your hands, showing you every dark, nasty urge he's kept hidden away. A paradisiacal reverie he's imagined so much that every moment is coordinated, practiced and perfect. He says this, you say that-- but nothing could compare to the sweet reality of your touch, the truth of basking in your light by the bottom of your throne, of your lovely benevolence— he could never go back to dreams, now.

You trace the bone of his wings, and Venti follows, tucking his wings inward so you don't have to reach to pet the tips. The mere thought of you having to reach for anything at all is revolting. The world is yours to command; the rest of them simply live within it. Whatever it is you wish of him, he will do it. If you wished to take his wings and pluck every feather, he would let you.

A sharp shiver breaks him out of his thoughts when you move back down, rubbing at the base of his wings. All too quickly, Venti's heart lurches to his throat, his ribcage moving with every breath.

He stifles a moan, chest convulsing with every intake of air as you continue to gently handle his feathers. You tug softly at one of them, and he presses himself further against you before he can think, mind muddied and clouded with mist. All he can think of is you, you, you. You're the only thing worth thinking about; the only thing worth caring about.

You laugh, and Venti mewls. Any composure befitting of one of The Seven is discarded, completely forgotten. His many titles and epithets, prayers that speak his praises and ballads of his history are meaningless, now— in comparison to you, none of it matters. You are everything, and he wishes for nothing more than for this moment to be frozen in time. Any moment spent with you is heaven. Your laughter is light and mellifluous, his ears and mind besotted by the mere sound. He could listen to you for an eternity.

"Good boy," you hum, and Venti's mind breaks. His shoulders shake, and his wings flutter, twitching and tensing all at once. "Just my good boy, right?"

"Just your good boy," Venti says fervently. He looks up at you, barely able to bring himself to meet your heated gaze, but somehow still manages without losing his mind. "Just yours."

He moves to say it again, but his words hitch in his throat when you suddenly move your hands upwards, forgoing his wings. Your fingers attach themselves to his hair, threading through his dark locks with gentleness he knows he has done nothing to deserve.

"Only mine," you say, a smile audible in your voice. A shudder runs through his body at your tone. Despite how loud his heartbeat is, he hears you clearly above all else. No matter what, he will always hear you.

"Only yours," he whispers back.

#[🦇] — my writing #genshin impact #genshin x reader #yandere genshin #yandere genshin x reader #sagau #self aware genshin #self aware genshin au #genshin cult au #venti #yandere venti #sagau venti #genshin self aware #genshin #yandere venti x reader #genshin sagau #sagau x reader #gender neutral reader

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sneakyparsnipslicer · 2 months

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The Cult Of Knives

[Sorry it's been a while folks, hoping you've all been OK. This came to me in a lucid dream. I've captioned all the photos so you can imagine what each character looks like, enjoy!]

It's an age old mistake, you've seen it in movies no doubt. One thing you never, ever find yourself doing is going within five metres of an abandoned cabin in the woods.

It all began late one afternoon, I'd left my apartment to go for my daily jog. It was a standard part of my daily routine by now; finish work, jog around town, go home. Plain and simple. Work kept me on a little longer that day so it pushed my jog a little further ahead. It wasn't so bad when I started, but soon enough the sky began to darken. On the outskirts of town is a field that leads to a bridge, and near the other side of the bridge is a forest. I used to go camping with my friends back in my school years, but now at 27 I don't really hear from them anymore. They all went off to do their own thing.

Anyway, as I got to the forest, I was relieved. I'd forgotten to go for a piss whilst at home and at least in the forest I could piss in a secluded area. I jogged a little way in, found a bush and did my business. When I'd finished I looked around, remembering those good times with my friends. I decided to have a look around for old time's sake. It's funny how places like these can hold so many memories for certain people. Right there by the river, that's where we all sat blaring Panic! At The Disco in the dead of night, that's where Charlie and Jeanette had sneaked off to have a little… fun. We were barely of the legal age back then, so funny looking back at it now, thinking we were giving the middle finger to society. And of course there it stands, The Old Murder Cabin.

The guys used to tell stories about this cabin, full of bullshit of course, used to scare the girls. Stories of there being an axe murderer living there who cut people up to sell as meat on the market. I remember once me and Paul had dared to break in there one night. It was empty, so it's safe to say the stories fell a bit flat after that. Shane never did forgive us for ruining that for us all. Still, it was like time had stood still here, like I was 18 again.

It was beginning to get darker now and I was thinking about heading back home when I stopped in my tracks. For a moment I could've sworn I heard voices. As soon as I started to pay attention they stopped. Had I imagined it? I cautiously crept along the wall towards a window, holding my breath I peeked in. Inside was the long abandoned kitchen, nothing seemed to be inside. I heaved a sigh of relief and chuckled, just my imagination. Though looking back in again I did notice that the table and chairs had been organised. When Paul and I had gone in years ago it was all slumped against walls and the chairs were upturned. Maybe someone had been living in there at some point. I felt like I shouldn't investigate and decided it would be wise to head home, that's when a huge hand with a cloth swooped out of nowhere, covering my mouth and nose. An arm tightened around my chest and though I tried to break free, the chloroform made short work of me.

'Knew I could see someone down by the river, like a moth to the flame!' someone laughed.

'You reckon he'll do?' asked another. I felt a foot sharply kick me in the side of my stomach and that's where I woke up coughing and spluttering, gasping for air.

'Transpierce, Sabre, restrain him' ordered another voice. Next thing I knew two blurry figures were hoisting me onto a hard surface and were busy on either side of me, fastening belts around my wrists. As my vision began to return to me, I could see that I was tied to the kitchen table inside the cabin. On either side of me stood two burly, hairy and muscular men. The room was lit by candles so this whole premise felt very unsettling and dreary.

'What's going on?' I asked, looking around for answers.

'Looks like you picked a bad night to stumble into the woods kiddo!' said a voice ahead of me. There stood another man built quite similarly to the two either side of me. I couldn't help noticing they were all shirtless, showing off their pecs and abs.

'Sorry, I thought this place was abandoned, I didn't mean to interrupt you all' I said, looking between them. The one ahead of me shook his head and folded his arms.

'Well to be fair it was until about a month ago, that's where I stumbled upon this place' he explained.

'Ah, love what you've done with the place!' I said, laughing nervously. At which they all chuckled in unison.

'He seems rather sweet doesn't he lads?' he asked the other two, to which they both nodded.

'Oh definitely!' said the man on my right.

'A perfect match!' said the man on my left.

'Good, I think so too. Transpierce, go and get Mateusz would you?' the man at the front asked as he moved over to take over his post. The man to my left, Transpierce nodded and walked off to the other room.

'Transpierce, that's an unusual name' I said, looking nervously into the man's eyes, I could only assume he was their leader.

'He chose it himself, we all do. I'm Bayonet, and our friend over there is Sabre' said Bayonet, moving his hands to examine my shoulders.

'Bayonet, that's a kind of knife, right?' I asked him. Bayonet smiled and nodded.

'Intelligent too! I appreciate a man that knows his knives!' he grinned, looking deeply into my eyes. I was feeling really uncomfortable by this point. We seemed to be getting along, but why was I still restrained? He looked up and down my body and sighed.

'It's a pity, you'd have been welcome to join my little Cult as you are, but there are certain… requirements I must enforce' Bayonet said. He left my side and walked over to the doorway that Transpierce had left through.

'Transpierce? Mateuz? What's taking you two so long?' Bayonet demanded.

'Just a moment Boss, he's almost ready!' called Transpierce from the other room.

'Good!' announced Bayonet, satisfied. He turned back to look at me.

'It's always a special occasion when we acquire a new Suit'.

What did he mean, suit? I was in my t-shirt and shorts, and they sure weren't wearing any suits. Bayonet turned his attention to a wooden chest in the corner of the room and pulled out a satchel containing various tools. As he searched the satchel, Transpierce returned to the room accompanied by a skinny-looking guy, either he was drenched in water or covered in some sort of gel that glistened in the candle light. I had to assume this was Mateusz.

'Alright then Matty, this is your moment. Your induction. In your own time' said Bayonet, turning around, holding a syringe and a bottle of glowing green liquid. Mateusz nodded hesitantly and made his way over to me. Our eyes locked and we regarded eachother for a moment. Not gonna lie, he was pretty cute, though he wasn't built and muscular like the other guys. He placed a greasy palm on my left leg and I shuddered. It was cold and strangely felt like a cut to the skin. He moved his hand slowly up my leg to my groin and the others stood back and watched.

Mateusz licked his lips and placed one hand on the table, hoisting himself on top of it, standing above me looking down, he gently lowered himself to sit on my crotch. I'm not usually into twinks but this guy was doing it for me somehow. He moved both of his hands along my arms to my restrained hands and filled them with his own, locking fingers with me. He moved to lay down on top of me and began to kiss me. This guy was good, tonguing my mouth and exploring, I could feel his hardening shaft grinding into me. He pulled away and I moaned. Whatever this guy wanted to do to me, I was his. He sat back up and began to pull his boxers off, letting his erect dick spring free. It had to be 7 inches long. I licked my lips, was I about to get to taste it? He moved to sit on my chest and he cupped my jaw in his hands, staring silently again. Then he moved to position his dick into my mouth and began to face fuck me. I so wished I could hold his body but my hands were restrained. As if they could read my mind, Sabre and Transpierce approached and undid the belt buckles, allowing me to put my hands on his bubble butt. I wanted all of that inside me. Mateusz continued to fuck, panting and groaning, eventually he came in my mouth and I swallowed his thick, creamy load. He pulled himself off me. I gasped for air as I laid down on the table, unable to take my eyes off Mateusz. Him unable to take his eyes off me, he caught his breath and began to smile, chuckling.

Assuming it was my turn to repay him the favour, I moved to pull my t-shirt off, but he stopped me, shaking his head.

'I'm not done yet, that was foreplay!' he said winking. I looked at him bewildered, face fucking was foreplay to him?!

It was at this point Bayonet approached with his syringe and injected the green, glowing substance into Mateusz's arm. It took a moment, but his skin began to glow green and the gel he seemed to have been coated in made him appear to turn rubbery. It was like he was now a hot, humanoid version of Flubber.

'Oh we're going to enjoy this!' Mateusz said, glowing before me. He squeaked and squelched as he moved and returned to sit atop me. He kissed me again, but this time his lips got sucked in, then his head began to get sucked into my mouth, squeaking as it went. I placed my hands on his shoulders and they ran down his slick body as it gradually began to suction into my own. As his torso, ass, dick, arms, legs and feet began to slide into me, my stomach began to balloon out and glow green under my clothes. The other men whooped and cheered. Underneath my skin, I could feel Mateusz repositioning himself, arms into the correct places, legs where they should be. My own skin was beginning to balloon out too, as muscle began to build, my clothes began to rip to shreds. I began to grow pecs and abs just like the other guys, my hands belonged to Mateusz now and he moved them below what remained of my boxers and began to pump our expanded dick. Both of us moaning in unison. I could feel my load getting ready to shoot and that's the last thing I can remember.

Mateusz groaned in pleasure as cum shot out from his new dick, two thick strings and then excess green liquid spewed out. He looked to the ceiling, sweat glistening on his new chiseled body. His friends surrounded him and smiled proudly at him, they'd been masturbating as they watched his merging with the captive jogger and moaned as they emptied their loads over him, christening him a new man, rubbing it all into his skin. Panting, Bayonet helped him to his feet and kissed him.

'Speak your new name, Brother!' he cried. Mateusz thought for a moment.

'Call me Machete!' he decided. Transpierce, Sabre and Bayonet looked between eachother and nodded approvingly.

'Very well! From this night forth you are complete, you are our beautiful Brother Machete!' said Bayonet proudly, hugging him tightly. Now they had four complete members to their ranks, in time their ranks would grow and the Cult of Knives would amass many more followers, but for now it was time they all got some action from Machete!

#merging #male tf #male transformation #gay #bodysuit

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starrierknight · 5 months

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𝟎𝟐𝟐. 𝐥𝐢𝐭 𝐟𝐮𝐬𝐞

“Each of us is born with a box of matches inside us, but we can't strike them all by ourselves.” ― Laura Esquivel, Like Water for Chocolate

KINKTOBER 23' | 𝟏𝐬𝐭 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓* | AO3

*this fic is in media res

wc— 6.3k

pairing— yandere!dom!gn!reader x defected!sub!getou

cws/tags— dead dove: do not eat, yandere/darling dynamic, erotomania, dubcon, mind break, restraints (ropes — shibari), death threats, bodily harm threats, gaslighting/manipulation, heavy sadism/masochism, knife play, manhandling, pain play (scratching + hair pulling), humiliation, dacryphilia + drool, spit as lube, handjob, edging, suguru fantasises about fucking you, frottage, cumming untouched, praise, pet names: “(my) darling” + “good boy”, dialogue-heavy

You stalked over to Suguru, taking the knife out of the back of your shoe, the embodiment of jealous fervour. Your fingers tightened around the knot of ropes at the centre of his shoulder blades, tugging him upright. He heaved and gasped, his face contorting in a mix of fear and confusion when he spotted the gleaming blade in your hand.

"What?! W-What are you doing?!" Panic laced his voice, evident in the wide-eyed terror that flickered across his expression.

Who would protect his loved ones? His body tensed, arms and legs twitching, desperate to escape the impending threat. What would happen to them if he couldn't endure whatever ordeal awaited him? Imminent danger materialised with the knife in your hand. Some type of torture? Did that mean you were going to kill him? The room closed in. He had people to save, damn it!

"Where the fuck is it, Suguru?"

“I don’t understand,” he muttered, shaking his head.

Your initial chuckle morphed into a peal of chilling laughter, your head swaying on your shoulders. Your lip trembled as you screeched, "Where the hell is it, my one and only?!"

Your chest heaved and your blood coursed hotly through your veins like lit gasoline, fueling your temper. The air, hot and suffocating, rushed in and out of your lungs, each exhale a smouldering release.

Where could it be? The words, the tattoo, the declaration? Was the man before you truly your one and only? Was he the illustrious figure you had adored from the shadows all these years? The questions echoed in the caverns of your mind, each reverberation stoking the flames of your incendiary anger.

Inhale. The air, thick and acrid, seared your throat as it surged through you. Your chest expanded with the intensity of a furnace.

No, there had to be a reasonable explanation. Suguru would never willingly choose this. He loved you; he had always loved you. Conviction burned in your thoughts, a desperate attempt to anchor yourself in the belief. The man bound before you was your cherished one. He had to be.

Exhale. A low growl escaped your lips, flames licking at the edges of your composure. Beads formed on your brow and palms, glistening like molten droplets.

It was probably that damned cult of his, wasn’t it? They were jealous, coveting him for themselves. They had stolen him from you, tearing him away from the love and devotion he owed you.

Yet, like fire, jealousy can both illuminate and destroy.

Your fingers trembled uncontrollably as they clutched the knife, the cold steel vibrating. The hilt felt slick in your grasp. The cool reality of the blade danced with the reflected light of the candles in the room, an undulating promise of searing pain.

Kneeling directly in front of Suguru, your armed hand reached around him, the knife a menacing punctuation madness. Your gaze bore into his eyes with a ferocious intensity, a frenzied stare.

His face contorted. Wide eyes were saucers of panic, pupils dilated to the brink as if attempting to swallow the horror of it all. Sweat adorned his furrowed forehead, shining like dew. His complexion drained of colour, leaving behind a pallor that starkly contrasted with the usual warmth of his skin. The lines of his face, once familiar and composed, now distorted into a twisted mask.

His mouth hung agape, a silent scream frozen on his lips. Tremors shook his body, his jaw clenched, muscles poised to flee—though you both knew he couldn’t. Every nerve was on edge, a single touch could shatter the fragile equilibrium that barely held him together.

As you held the knife, its cold blade a chilling presence, you gently dragged the back of it along his left forearm, tracing a path of distress up to his elbow. The metallic edge left a faint trail against his skin.

"I can't let anyone else have you, Suguru," you murmured.

It sent a chill down Suguru's spine, the sensation racing through his veins, setting his pulse ablaze. The soft touch, though hauntingly gentle, was enough to provoke his Adam’s apple to bob nervously. A cold sweat broke out down his back, beads of anxiety clinging to his skin, as your blade traced a perilous path, a few inches away from the delicate network of his veins.

"Don't..." he managed to whisper, his voice trembling, a plea that hung in the air like a fragile thread. Tears brimmed at the edges, and an involuntary stillness overcame his legs.

His mind raced, an anxious torrent of thoughts attempting to strategise, to find a way to escape the impending threat. The ropes, however, proved an insurmountable obstacle, binding him in cruel proximity.

“I love you.”

"Please..." he begged softly, his voice a desperate entreaty. His eyes remained fixed on the glinting blade.

The flat of the blade dragged along Suguru's bicep, a chilling sensation that sent shivers through his entire being. As you continued, the cool metal skimmed his collarbones, leaving a trail of cold dread in its wake.

"Ah, ah, hah..." he bit down on his lip at the acute discomfort of the blade.

Goosebumps erupted across his flesh. With each touch, his body reacted as if the very air around him had turned icy. His trembling and shivering became more pronounced under the merciless blade. Suguru's instincts begged him to scream, to resist, but his body, held captive by the ropes and paralysed by fear, fought against the primal urge. His eyes met yours with an expression of utter helplessness. He felt a desperate yearning for release, a desire to break free from the nightmarish reality that enveloped him.

"You're mine, okay? Maybe I'll make you match with me right... here," you murmured—a haunting promise.

The blade traced a perilous path, inching towards the area where his heart rested beneath his left pec. His heaving chest forced itself to still, a desperate attempt to avoid any accidental harm as the blade hovered over the epicentre of his being—his heart.

A helpless horror painted his features as he stared at your hand, left frozen in shock, a captive audience to the cruel drama. His body remained unnaturally still. He couldn't move. He couldn't say a word. He couldn't do a damn thing. Any motion, even the slightest twitch, threatened to turn this nightmarish ordeal into a self-inflicted tragedy.

"Or maybe..."

As you moved the blade with deliberate intent, dragging it inches from his skin and his pounding heart, Suguru's body betrayed him. The tip traced a sinister path along Suguru's abdomen, the cold steel scratching his skin but not breaking it. Shiny with sweat, his abdominal muscles twitched involuntarily in response to the metal.

A gasp of distress escaped his lips as the blade brushed against his skin, tickling every nerve ending and sending a sharp pang shooting up to his stomach. The heat emanating from the spot where the blade had touched created an acute awareness of the vulnerability of his soft, pale skin. A thin red line marked the path of the shallow scratch, not even enough to bleed. If he bled, would you be satisfied?

Down his hip bone you pressed the entirety of the flat, cold steel against the plushness of his thigh.

"Maybe here."

His body, already fraught with tension, tensed further at the sensation. The flat against his thigh felt like an icy brand. Suguru's hands shook uncontrollably, his entire being trembling in response to the cruel caress. Eyes, fearful and pleading, darted between your face and the blade. He waited for the anticipated moment of pain that never came.

"You... Please..." he whispered, on the precipice of breaking.

You, however, continued to stroke the inside of his thigh with the blade, a cruel tease. "It would look good carved right here.”

A sharp gasp escaped him as he felt the tingle of the blade running across the sensitive skin of his inner thigh. The sensation, a mix of fear and an unexpected wave of arousal, caught him off guard. He pressed his lips together, attempting to stifle any involuntary sounds that might betray the tumult within; but a soft moan escaped Suguru.

"Please…” he begged again, a fragile thread holding on to the remnants of composure, of pride.

You licked your lips, your gaze fixed on the spot where the blade of the knife pressed against his inner thigh, a visual of the precarious balance between torment and perverse desire.

"You want me to be yours... permanently, right? You want me to be your soulmate, your forever—right?" he began, his voice a delicate balance of persuasion and vulnerability. His mind raced with the urgency of finding a way out of this hell.

He glanced at you out of the corner of his eyes, his gaze anxious as it fixated on the weapon pressed against his thigh.

"What if you can have me in a—in a different way? What if we can have something no other sorcere—no other couple can have?" he whispered, the desperation palpable in his voice. The air seemed charged with the weight of his plea as he attempted to navigate a fragile path between surrender and a desperate attempt at negotiation.

"And that is?" you inquired, a sudden brightness in your eyes catching Suguru off guard. He gave you a wobbly smile, his heart racing in his chest.

"I'll let you have me. In every way possible.”

"Have you?" a shiver ran down his spine, his eyes on yours, searching for any sign of mercy or understanding. "I wanted to take my time with you, Suguru..." you sighed, your gaze dropping to the knife.

"Please... I-I want you to have me," Suguru said, an unsettling desire that clouded his thoughts. "Please."

His body, restrained by ropes and paralyzed by fear, yearned to move, to escape the impending danger, but it remained frozen in place. A darker desire rendered him powerless.

"Please! I'll be good for you. I'll be good for you, I swear..." Suguru's desperate entreaty hung in the air.

You hummed contemplatively, your gaze appraising Suguru as he desperately sought a way out of the impending torment. "How?"

A flicker of realisation brightened Suguru's eyes, a glimmer of hope amidst the encroaching darkness. "There's a way you can keep me without having to—that," he began, his voice shaking but now laced with a newfound confidence. "You can mark me as your own. You can mark me as yours and keep me by your side..." he whispered, his eyes locked onto yours, the intensity of his plea echoing in the room.

“How?”

He remained silent for a moment, pride warring with desperation. Suguru bit down on his lip, his mind a chaotic whirlwind of words he yearned to say but hesitated to voice. The weight of the unspoken hung in the air, an unrelenting pressure pushing him toward disclosure.

"Touch me.”

For a moment, Suguru was left breathless, his admission hanging in the air like a cloud of uncertainty. He had said anything to make you drop the knife, to replace the impending pain with a different kind of surrender.

"Isn't it too soon? You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for the moment to make you… I wanted it to be perfect.”

In response, Suguru laughed—a genuine sound that echoed in the room, a laughter he hadn't experienced in a long time. A laughter that betrayed the nervous undercurrent beneath the surface, a way to mask uncertainty. The thought of it being a nervous laughter didn't cross your mind, the genuine tone seemingly validating the moment.

That laughter quickly transformed into a smile, the genuine expression playing on his features. Your eyebrows raised inquisitively, observing the way he spoke convincingly about being ready for you.

"Not at all," he whispered, his voice carrying a confidence that contradicted the vulnerability in his eyes. A millionaire smile adorned his face, a façade—the world was, indeed, perfect in that moment.

The handle of the knife in your grip felt unyielding, your knuckles pale from the force with which you held it. Slowly, you leaned your face toward Suguru, your gaze fixated on his lips. A slight tremor ran through you.

Suguru's eyes widened as he observed your approach, the blade pressed against him momentarily slipping from his consciousness. You were so close now, the minimal space between you diminishing further. His eyes fluttered shut, lips parting as his breath caught in his throat.

"Kiss me," he whispered.

The kiss was hesitant and nervous on your end, the palpable tension between you vibrating with adrenaline and a barely suppressed need. As you went to pull away, Suguru deepened the kiss. A quiet moan escaped you into his mouth, and in that moment, the knife slipped from your grip, clattering with relief to the floor. Pleasure swept through him, and any fear he had of the blade was momentarily forgotten. Seizing the opportunity, he took advantage of your distraction, deepening the kiss again with an eager moan.

Your lips met his, tongues finding their place together as the two of you kissed with abandon. Pleasure surged through Suguru as your arms went around his neck, holding him close in a passionate embrace. You cradled his cheeks in your hands instead, even as he stayed tied up. You pushed your tongue greedily into his mouth, and one of your hands laced into his hair, tugging it by the roots gently.

When your tongue entered his mouth, his eyes rolled to the back of his head in pleasure. His body tensed and flexed against the ropes, instinctively rebelling to try and reach you. He moaned softly into your mouth, his hands shaking against the ropes that keep him restrained.

The kiss left both of you panting and trembling, desire and anticipation thick in the air. You broke the kiss, pressing your forehead against Suguru's, locking eyes with him. His gaze, hungry with longing, met yours.

"You..." you started, and Suguru swallowed thickly.

"You look so... Beautiful..." he murmured, his voice breathless and sincere, even if the sincerity was part of the act.

You chuckled airily. Open-mouthed kisses peppered his skin, and he responded with a breathy groan. Starting near his chin and making your way to the base where his ear met his neck, you bit down lightly, running your tongue over the sensitive skin. Suguru gasped, his head angled by the tug of his hair, your other hand gripping the ropes on his chest.

Straining against the ropes, his back arched like a taut bowstring, the bindings leaving indents that promised to bloom into bruises with the back-and-forth torment. With his hair pulled at a different angle, his gaze turned upward to meet yours, the height difference accentuated in this vulnerable state. Hungry eyes watched your every move, his mouth half-open, each inhale catching in his throat.

Your kisses and marks trailed along his neck, the tugs on his hair and the scratches of your nails against his scalp sending shivers down his spine. The hand on his chest ventured down his abdomen, tracing circles against one of his Adonis lines, a teasing touch that further heightened his arousal.

The familiar ache between his thighs pulsed with intensity, a relentless reminder of the desire that simmered. A yearning plea lingered in the air as he pressed himself closer to you, the heat of his breath mingling with the anticipation of your every exhale. He took a deep breath, his racing thoughts hidden behind closed eyes. A silent prayer echoed in the quiet recesses of his mind, a fervent hope that you would attend to the ever-hardening cock that strained to feel you.

Shivers ran through his body as your nails scratched against his skin, a hint of pain mingling with the pleasure to keep him hooked. The ropes dug deeper into his skin, leaving red, painful marks across his back, chest, and shoulder blades. He squirmed, his skin begging for more.

"Ah…!" Suguru let out a half-moan, half-gasp. "T-That... That feels good..."

"You're mine," you mumbled against Suguru's throat before lightly biting it.

A whimper escaped him, his body writhing against the bindings that held him captive. His arms were securely tied, leaving him unable to touch himself or you, but the sensation of your teeth against his skin, against his neck, was enough to elicit a response.

"Fuck... I'm yours..." Suguru mumbled, his eyes closed. There was no room for any other response; he was yours, willingly or not.

"You're safe with me," you reassured, kissing along his collarbones.

His eyes flickered open briefly, only to close again as he noticed the tight grip of your hand in his hair. The pain, a sharp contrast to the pleasure, mingled in a way that seemed to deepen his surrender. The hand massaging his thighs made him squirm, his back arching to intensify the sensation of the ropes against his skin.

"W-Woah, easy on the hair," he muttered out of breath, a plea laced with both discomfort and a desperate need for your touch.

You pulled back, narrowing your eyes and arching a brow. "What was that?"

Suguru whimpered softly, the fear rushing back as your fingers remained entwined in his hair, the tightness starting to border on pain. Swallowing thickly, his eyes opened slowly, his heart pounding with the resurgence of apprehension.

"N-Nothing... Nothing at all," he stammered, nervously avoiding your gaze. "I like it when you pull my hair... I like it really—really hard," he added.

A smirk played on your lips as you tugged his hair, bringing his face closer. "Good boy. I know you can take it, because you're strong, aren't you?" you cooed.

"Y-Yes... I'm strong..." Suguru whispered, gritting his teeth, attempting to hide the pain behind those words. He tried to muster a confident smile. Swallowing thickly, he nodded, lying. "I can take it," he whispered, his expression a mosaic of hurt, arousal, fear. "Yeah... I'm a good boy..." he continued, the words laced with a plea for reassurance. "I can take it... I-I can..."

You smiled approvingly and leaned in, kissing Suguru so softly that a moan escaped him, his eyes closing in bliss. The kisses were sweet and tender, carrying an addictive quality that seemed to erase the pain in his hair, replacing it with pure, unbridled pleasure.

In contrast to the softness of your kisses, your hand in his hair maintained its tight grip, a silent assertion of control. The other hand on his thigh sank its nails into the plush flesh, a sensation that brought a sharp intake of breath. The pain, though evident, seemed to intertwine seamlessly with the pleasure of your kisses. Suguru hesitated to voice any discomfort, reluctant to ask you to stop when the pleasure seemed to outweigh the pain.

Suguru was acutely aware of the pre-cum, a testament to the relentless ache that pulsed through his throbbing dick. The warm, wet stickiness coated him, and his fingers twitched to wrap around it just for some relief. His mind painted vivid fantasies where it wasn't his own skin but yours, where the pre-cum painted your skin with the rawness of his desire. The yearning for a deeper physicality clawed at him—your skin flushed against his.

A need that pulsed through him, a need that he found challenging to express: he needed you—needed you desperately, damn it.

A whimper escaped him as your touch lingered on his thigh, the pressure from your fingernails digging deeper. "Oh, God..." he whispered softly, his lips trembling slightly but still yearning for more of your touch.

You pulled back, allowing your hand to fall from Suguru's hair, and instead, you tucked some of his long, silky black strands behind his ears, your hand lingering around the rope on his shoulder. Both of you were breathing heavily, and as you sat back a little, you admired the sight before you.

"You're gorgeous like this, darling,” you remarked, your voice laced with a mix of satisfaction and admiration.

A shiver rolled down Suguru's spine when you pulled away, his eyes slowly opening. He stared back at you with admiration, his gaze flickering down to your hand around the rope as you tucked your hair behind his ears. His breathing stilled, chest slowly rising and falling as he absorbed the sight of you appreciating him. The moment, however, took a sharp turn when your hand pulled away, and his expression shifted from admiration to fear as you drew close to the rope.

"P-Please!"

"Please?" you teased, a smile playing on your lips. Your nails dug into his thigh again, and you pulled, leaving deep, raw scratches.

He yelped and whimpered at the sharp sting, his whole body shivering at the feeling of your fingernails digging into his thigh and pulling. He whined and squirmed in his constraints, the ropes biting into his wrists, torso, and legs. Despite the discomfort, he had no choice but to endure.

"Please, I'll do anything!" he begged, his eyes wide and breath catching in his throat.

You raised your eyebrows, a playful smile on your lips. "Oh, I'm sure you will. Because you love me, don't you?"

Your hand on his thigh gently stroked the fresh scratches, a soothing touch that blurred the lines between pain and pleasure. Suguru's breath hitched, and his mind, clouded by desire, struggled to discern whether he wanted to run away.

"Yeah..." he whispered, closing his eyes once more. "I do... I do."

A part of him still yearned to break free, but the fear and anxiety of losing your touch overrode that desire. It was less about escaping and more about staying by your side, ensnared.

You lifted your hand off his thigh, wetting your lips before spitting into your palm. The sudden shock of your spit-slicked hand wrapping around his needy dick made Suguru's body stiffen. Despite the initial shock, the sensation felt undeniably good, and the movement of your fingers made him squirm in both fear and pleasure. His eyes darted between your face and your hand, his breath catching in his throat. Each stroke and pull like a drug, addictive and consuming. Biting his lips furiously, Suguru's face flushed crimson. His face twitched with anxiety, yet his entire body trembled with pleasure.

As the pace of your hand quickened, he keened and whimpered, unable to articulate a coherent response. "Is that how you like it, darling?"

Suguru attempted to form words, but all that escaped were high-pitched whines. His teeth seemed practically glued together as another whimper slipped from his throat, his bound hands pulling on the ropes in a desperate attempt to get closer to you.

"Does that feel good? Yeah?" you teased, chuckling and watching his expressions in awe. “Aw, cute… I can feel it twitching.”

"It's so... M’so… Hah, fuck…"

His words failed him. He couldn't even form a sentence. The touch of your hand between his thigh was pure pleasure, and he was unable to keep himself composed. His hands were still pulling on the ropes against his arms, wanting more—so much more. His hips, driven by his muscles flexing and tensing in fervent and rhythmic thirst, pressed against you insistently. Suguru's breath, once controlled, now grew increasingly irregular, as he whined between gasps.

"Please... S-so good," he groaned in frustration. "Oh, please, fuck, I need to… Need to–"

“Yeah? What is it, darling?”

He nodded frantically, his ability to articulate lost in the whirlwind of moans and whines escaping his lips. The sensations between his thighs, guided expertly by your hand, were undeniably addictive. His hips rocked in response, a desperate rhythm that mirrored the instinctive urgency of his body, pushing into your touch with fervent desire.

As your lips met his, Suguru melted into the kiss, every nerve in his body ablaze by the sensation. The rhythmic movements of his hips intensified, a testament to the depth of his longing. Each kiss drew out desperate whimpers, his body writhing in pleasure. Yet, beneath the surface, a palpable tension hinted at the intense need he harboured.

He could envision it—the way he would fill every inch of you, the intoxicating stretch that would make your body slick with sweat. The sounds—the hitch in your breath, the loud moans escaping your lips as pleasure surged through both of you. Your legs would wrap around his waist, craving him closer, more deeply. He would moan, his cock twitching inside you, a testament to the exquisite torture of the denial. Yet even in fantasy, you would smile at him wickedly, using him all for yourself.

You felt the rhythm of his movements, the desperation evident in how roughly he fucked your hand, and you knew the depth of his arousal. Breaking the kiss, you murmured, "You close?" into his mouth.

A wave of pleasure swept through Suguru's body as your whispered words hung in the air. His attempts to speak were stifled by the overwhelming sensations, reduced to a series of groans and gasps. His eyes remained tightly shut, lips trembling, and his chest heaved with each shallow breath.

His hips, driven by instinctive urgency, pushed into the air, need pulsing through him. His cock stood flushed, dripping, and achingly hard, the anticipation etched into every twitch.

Your actions, guided by a blend of desire and control, only deepened his yearning. The precum drooled from his slit, messy and exactly how you liked it. Your saliva-slicked hand teased and pumped him, each movement accompanied by an embarrassingly loud wet sound that resonated with his whimpers.

Just before he could cum, you withdrew your hand, and his body quivered in response, slipping through his fingers like grains of sand. The abrupt absence of your touch left him gasping for breath, words caught in the throes of long-gone ecstasy. His eyes fluttered open as you pulled away, panic contorting his face.

"No, no, please…! Please don't..." he whispered, his plea hanging in the air as he longed for the return of the sensation that had brought him so close to release.

As you pressed your lips against his, a surge of warmth radiated through the touch, your fingers coiled around the taut rope of his shoulder, the lit fuses of lust. The conflict made him beautiful—a part of him, a mere whisper amid the cacophony, yearned to resist, to reclaim control. Yet, that struggle was seared away by the overwhelming touch, by the overwhelming you, making resistance a distant and feeble notion. The texture of the rough fibres kept him tethered to the intensity of the kiss, a dance of lips and tongues that became him.

Your teeth sank into his bottom lip; his response was visceral—a loud, involuntary moan—the sound of surrender. His lower lip quivered beneath the sharp pressure, a tangible sign of the white-hot desire surging through his veins. His surrender, the white flag, was taken into your heated hands and scorched to black, to lust. With closed eyes, his world narrowed to the victor, to you.

Breaking the kiss, a glistening strand of saliva lingered, connecting your parted mouths. With a mischievous smile, your hand rose, and your thumb found its place in his parted lips. The wet heat enveloped your digit, his tongue swirling sensuously around it. His eyes, heavy-lidded with arousal, met yours. A groan hung in the air, caught in the rawness of his throat as he eagerly sucked on your offered digit, his tongue curling around it.

"I wanna… Mmmf…! I wanna..." His voice, laced with restrained desire, faltered as he bit down on your thumb, the words teetering on the edge of a plea. "More, more..."

You leaned in, your face tantalisingly close to his, a playful smile dancing on your lips. "More, huh?"

Withdrawing your thumb from his heated mouth, you directed your attention lower, teasingly inching it between his legs once again. The soft pad of your thumb, a gentle torment, caressed the sensitive contours of his length, drawing circles on the leaking head, smearing pre from the slit along the prominent vein of his shaft. He let out a strangled moan, his hips involuntarily frotting into your hand as he gasped for air, unable to respond beyond the primal sounds escaping him. His body shook and his hips bucked desperately.

The hand wrapped around the ropes tugged him nearer, and you rested your forehead against his, the candlelight flickering in the inky black depths of his eyes like a torch in the night.

"You're beautiful," you whispered, “You’re mine.”

Blushing under the weight of your words, his eyes widened. Your breath, a sweet and intoxicating scent, mingled with his. He shuddered, a soft whimper escaping him. Desperate to contain the rising chorus of pleasure, he bit down on his lower lip, the delicate dance of pleasure and restraint evident in the way his hips instinctively rocked. His body trembled under the tender torment of your touch.

"Please," he begged, soft and needy.

"Tell me that I'm the only one for you, the only one to make you feel this way," you murmured, a sly smile playing on your lips.

His brow furrowed with the exertion of pleasure. Your words, a catalyst of praise and affection, wielded a power that rendered resistance incapable. His attempt to deny, to resist your influence, was a futile battle:

"You're... You're the only one," he whispered, surrendering to the truth.

His eyes fluttered shut, teeth gritted, and his hips moved with an urgency that betrayed the depth of his craving. Each thrust forward sought the contact that momentarily eluded him, and a plaintive whine escaped when your touch lingered just out of reach.

“Tell me you want me."

"I... Oh, God, I want you. I want you so much right now. Need you so fucking badly right now."

His admission trembled through the charged air, a declaration of desire that hung heavy between you. His body quivered, and he clamped down on his lips, a valiant effort to withhold further vulnerability. Yet, the pull of your tease and touch unfurled the neediest corners of his soul, a rekindled lust that had nearly withered in the grip of isolation.

"Please…! Please touch me... Please, please touch me again..."

Your question hung in the air, a subtle challenge:

"You feel this?"

The room echoed with a ravenous moan as your hand reached down, cupping Suguru's balls. If the intensity wasn't overwhelming enough, you chose that precise moment to massage his ballsack between your fingers—swollen and heavy with cum, aching to be released. The sudden, deliberate contact jolted him into a realm of heightened sensations, his eyes snapping open to reveal the surrender etched across his face under the spell of your grip.

No words found refuge on his tongue, eclipsed by a primal symphony of moans and the hungry, needy whispers that escaped his parted lips in response to your touch.

"Please..." A quiet whimper, a plea, an admission of craving.

"This is mine now, alright?" you declared, asserting yourself with a subtle squeeze.

Wide-eyed, breath caught in his throat, he found himself ensnared in a web of possession. Your grip, both firm and tight, elicited a soft whimper, his hips instinctively pushing into the touch, yearning for more. The declaration wrapped around him,the reply spilt from him, a desperate cascade of surrender and longing—a willing captive to the depths of your lust:

"Y-Yeah... Y-Yours, fuck…! Oh, God, yours. Your touch is mine, yours... Just yours... Only yours, I want you, need you..."

Your words, a melodic coo, dripped with a seductive assurance. "So obedient, you're learning.”

As your touch found a firm rhythm, a seismic shift surged through him. His body, a canvas for the symphony of pleasure, responded with unrestrained fervour. Fingers curled tightly around the ropes, a desperate attempt to anchor himself amidst the rising tide of need. A guttural moan escaped him, his tongue lolling out involuntarily as breath hitched in his throat.

Rocking forward, every movement strained against the constricting bonds, ropes carving into his skin, a painful reminder of desire, control, captivity. Pleasure, a white-hot current, coiled in the pit of his stomach, setting his nerves ablaze with an intensity that bordered on exquisite agony. But your words, a cascade of praise and affection, were the one craving of his you satiated. He needed you now. He needed you.

You.

A cry, raw and hoarse, reverberated through the room. Tears, involuntary witnesses to the overwhelming ecstasy, streamed from his eyes. His legs tensed, a quiver coursing through them, and his whimpers escalated into squeals. But as you withdrew your touch, a pang of longing seized him, a hurt he hadn't anticipated. Fervent pleas spilt from him, his body squirming in your grip.

"Please…! Oh, fuck… No, no, please…! Please touch me again..." His words, infused with desperation, hung in the air, a plea for the return of the exquisite torment you provided.

"You wanna feel more? Do it yourself," you drawled, a burst of mocking laughter accompanying your words.

Suguru's sob, a raw expression of frustration, mirrored the internal turmoil. Tears blurred his vision, but the silhouette of your smug grin etched itself in his mind. A blend of desire and frustration mingled in his plea, "Please-please-please-please... Please touch me..." The imploring gaze sought your hands for solace.

"Please, darling. For me,” you taunted.

Eyes pleaded, and his body trembled once more as he reluctantly began to move, the tight grip of the ropes emphasising the solitary nature of the act. Sweet, pearlescent tears gathered on his lashes, welling up in those gorgeous eyes, and rolled down his flushed cheeks. They shimmered, streaking his face, as baby hairs stuck to his sweaty forehead. Brows knitted together, frustration etched across his features—what a sight he was for you.

Each thrust into the air was met with a loud whine, but despite the physical effort, it could never replicate you. You were incomparable. Another cascade of tears leaked from his eyes, tracing damp trails down his cheeks. A hot ache coursed through him—that familiar aching bliss.

"It doesn't, ah, feel like you... Like you..." The room hung heavy with the echoes of Suguru's whines.

"Oh, my darling. C'mon, keep going. You're so close now, aren't you?"

His eyes opened, a flush of embarrassment painting his face as he met your gaze. Head shaking in protest, he struggled with the solitary act, his voice trembling, and breaths shallow. The effort, while valiant, felt insufficient, a stark reminder of the absence of your touch.

"I'm... I'm fucking trying…!" he whispered. More whimpers escaped him, the absence of your touch haunting the moment of indulgence.

A groan emerged, lips parting in surrender to pleasure. Your encouragement became his guiding force, pushing him closer. Moans echoed, his eyes rolled back, and his back arched in response to the steady grip of the ropes on his shoulders. Pleasure consumed him, his body wracked with its intoxicating embrace, yet the struggle to contain the sounds persisted.

You seized his jaw, holding his mouth open, a witness to his contorted face—shame, pleasure, fear—those uninvited guests. His body writhed, torn between the desire to escape the situation and the undeniable arousal that tethered him to your command. Feeble protests echoed in the room, his resolve crumbling beneath the weight of your influence..

As his hips accelerated in their erratic movement, a violent shudder seized his entire body. Streams of thanks spilt from his bitten lips, a testament to the overwhelming release that surged through him. Suguru's orgasm, a crescendo of heat and pleasure, shook him violently, the length of his cock now coated in warm, sticky evidence of his climax, thrusting into the air with feverish need.

"There you go, my darling. Good boy, you've done so well," you said affectionately, creating a momentary reprieve, a gentle acknowledgement of his surrender.

The room held the lingering echoes of Suguru's release, his body still trembling as he kneeled there, caught in the aftermath of the fireworks that had set every nerve ablaze. A pyre to pleasure, his chest heaving with each laboured breath—a testament to intensity.

Blissful heat.

As his eyes stayed closed, fingers wrapping around the ropes that bound him, he grappled with the profound impact of the experience. A spectrum of feelings—humiliation, frustration, repulsion—warred within him. Yet, an undeniable satisfaction lingered, a product of the attention you had lavished upon him.

“How many people will do anything for the one they love?”

The weariness clung to Suguru's teary eyes as he fought against the heaviness, attempting to blink away the exhaustion. The world blurred with each slow blink, his eyelids closing reluctantly, weighed down by the fatigue that permeated his entire being. Your hands released the ropes, the final tethers of his consciousness, and he teetered.

"Honestly, Suguru, you’re lucky to have me," you chirped.

The metallic scrape of the knife being lifted off the floor, a sound that would have sparked alertness in any other circumstance, barely registered in his fading awareness.

"If it were anyone else, I wouldn’t have been so lenient."

Eyelashes, once vibrant, seemed burdened by the weight of exhaustion. Each blink, a futile attempt to stave off sleep, betrayed the struggle.

"Then again, you’re my one and only, and I’ll do anything for you, ‘cause I love you. Anything."

Lines deepened on his forehead as the battle against fatigue intensified. Finally, his eyes fluttered open, meeting your smiling face.

"Even when you don't know what's best for yourself. Don't scream, okay?" you murmured gently.

He felt the cold press of the knife.

a/n: well. there we are, then. lol. this was a really fun thing to write icl... i should do more yandere stuff in the future :3

this work belongs to STARRIERKNIGHT . please refrain from plagiarising any of my works and do not repost/translate/modify/copy onto any platforms.

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doumadono · 1 year

Text

Savoring the moment - Douma x fem!reader

Warnings: smut w/o plot, oral (m receiving), minors DNI

MASTERLIST

Your supple lips grazed against his, playfully taunting him as you tightened your grip on his hips. Douma let out a throaty moan, and you responded by deepening the kiss, savoring the taste of his lips and the sound of his moans. He hesitantly explored your face with his hands, gingerly tracing your cheekbones.

It was almost surreal, too good to be true. You found it hard to believe that you were actually kissing him.

With a whine, Douma protested as you pulled away from him. Your foreheads rested together, your flushed lips curving into a small smile as his nose brushed against yours. He couldn't help but want more, almost begging for your mouth to return to his, but when you lowered to your knees, the air left his lungs. Your gaze was so intense, it felt like you were trying to devour him with your eyes as you pressed small pecks onto his hip bones and then onto his outline. It was something Douma had thought about countless times since you came to his cult, but now that it was happening, he couldn't believe it was real.

You stared at him through the rim of your lashes, desperate to taste him, and he knew he wasn't going to last very long. The moment you pulled the waistband of his pants down, the cold air hit him and his cock emerged from his clothes, twitching achingly. As you wrapped your hand around the base of him, Douma's hips jerked at the sudden contact.

The heat of your hand was different than his own, entirely different yet exceedingly better. Then, your tongue licked the tip, and Douma moaned, his knuckles whitening as he tugged on your hair a little. The gleam in your eyes was hypnotic, and he knew he was done for.

You skillfully traced your tongue from the base of his length to the tip, taking in the taste of the pre-cum that had begun to ooze from him. You parted your lips and took in as much of him as you could manage, hollowing out your cheeks to create a pleasurable suction. The moans that escaped him were a mixture of pleasure and frustration as he tried to keep his eyes open to witness the pleasure that you were giving him. The way you moved your mouth around him was unlike anything he had ever experienced before, even though he lived for centuries.

As Douma gazed down at you, he could see tears welling up in your eyes as you gagged on him. The majority of him relished the view of you on your knees, struggling to take in all of him. With his hands, he brushed away the tears that cascaded down your cheekbones. "My beautiful lotus, you're looking so fucking beautiful down there. Keep on doing that and I'll cum," Douma started to warn you, but your tongue swirled around his tip, and your hand caressed his balls while the other gripped whatever portion of him couldn't fit inside your mouth.

"My beautiful petal, that's so fucking hot," he managed to say between moans of ecstasy.

The sound of Douma's moans echoed through the room as he climaxed, his essence spilling into your mouth. Despite the pathetic nature of his sounds, Douma found no shame in the pleasure coursing through his body. His muscles trembled as he lost control and instinctively pulled on your hair. His eyes never left your flushed face as he thrust his hips towards your mouth with fervor, savoring the sounds of your gags. Douma felt no remorse for the way he used you to satiate his desires. Breathless whispers escaped his lips, a mantra of profanity and your name woven together.

As his movements gradually decelerated, you separated from him and wiped the corners of your mouth, extracting whatever oozed from it. His chest was heaving, beads of sweat forming on his hairline as you stood up from the floor. Your lips were swollen, flushed, and glistening with his cum, and the way you were gazing at him, Douma could've reached orgasm again, right on the spot. This couldn't be real - he couldn't have just witnessed you swallowing his semen and seeming eager to repeat the act. Oh, it was going to be a long night.

#douma #doma #kny doma #kny douma #douma smut #doma smut #douma x reader #douma x you #douma x y/n #kny smut #kny #demon slayer smut #demon Slayer

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hijinxinprogress · 5 months

Text

I need the jl to discover that Captain Marvel is a menace

Billy gets arrested as Captain Marvel and he’s just a smug menace the whole time despite being on comms with the league “Of course, I understand the seriousness of this situation! I will absolutely comply, I completely understand that you need the code…the code is 1-3-1-2. Also, I want my lawyer 😇” which gets leaked to the press both audio and visual which leads to the jl claiming that CM had been impersonated and their only evidence is the stupid ass grin on his face

The jl was investigating the misuse of a magical artifact and discovered that a group of police officers had joined a cult. Before they had the chance to gather the evidence proving those officers guilty but they’d already sealed away the artifact so Marvel suggested getting himself arrested to incriminate them and he was a little too happy about it

Let’s be honest, Billy only gets caught by the police bc he can commit to a bit and he’s pretending to be an ancient magic immortal so why would he run from a regular civilian human?? But on the inside Billy is dry heaving and sobbing bc he knows that the police could never catch him on his worst day even if he was personally broadcasting his location

Speaking of broadcasting isn’t Billy a fucking radio host?? I know he’s a fucking asshole during commercial breaks “This next commercial reminds me of a recent encounter with officer smith who got lost three blocks from his station” and it cuts to a fucking toilet paper commercial (people swear they heard him mutter ‘bc you’re absolute shit at your job’)

Sometimes people will call in to debate his views on the police and he’ll have a three hour philosophical debate but actual cops will call in to argue with him and Billy’s making your mom jokes and playing air horn noises or 2016 vines like a fucking child

Billy probably gets caught when he graduates high school bc his yearbook quote is like marvels most well known quote “Captain Marvel coast city precinct, interrogation room 5 (Oct 14 XXXX) 3:37-4:31” billy added too much information and it gets flagged by the watchtowers security system so the jl has a meeting about the breach in security and Marvel’s like ‘yeaaahh, that was me mb’ and batman is making disapproving noises bc ‘this is serious, Marvel! high school graduate, William-’ he can’t finish bc Marvel’s gagging dramatically ‘Billy. It’s Billy ohmygod’

batman, on the verge of a breakdown: who is this kid?? Why does he know the time, date, and location of an undercover league operation??

Marvel, avoiding eye contact with Cyborg who helped picked out his outfit for the yearbook photo currently being projected: ahaha about that…

Cyborg, who distinctly remembers telling Billy not to do anything fucking stupid: 😐

(Vic has framed the picture of the ‘oh shit’ look on Billy’s face when superman lunges across the table damn near in hysterics)

#billy batson #dc captain marvel #justice league #dc comics #billy batson says acab #street kid billy batson #ACAB!billy batson #feral billy batson #batman #superman #cyborg dc #Hal is also an asshole so the next time batman lectures him he’s like ‘dude you punched a four year old 🤨 I can’t fuck up worse than that #Billy offended: ‘I was eight actually’#Barry 🤏🏾 close to sobbing: ‘that’s not better…you know that right?’

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ultrone · 11 months

Note

rewatching s1 rn and im just imagining lottie as a gf >_< watching her go from so sweetie pie to cult leader would be such a ride but it’d be kinda hot. like as she got more into it, she would be taking you to the alter and eating you out because it’s what the wilderness needs

🫀 ♰ ┈ 𝗹𝗼𝘁𝘁𝗶𝗲 𝗲𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝗯𝗲𝗰𝗮𝘂𝘀𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗱𝗲𝗿𝗻𝗲𝘀𝘀 𝗮𝘀𝗸𝗲𝗱 𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝘁𝗼.

Your thighs were trembling, but the brown-haired girl between them held them firmly in place.

It was midnight when Lottie woke you up with urgency. She claimed to have received a vision from the wilderness, and she insisted that you needed to fulfill it that very night, under the light of the full moon.

You never expected the wilderness to ask for something like this—but… did it really?

You didn't mind, though, because the way Lottie's warm tongue flickered against your beating clit was enough to make all your thoughts disappear in almost an instant.

You were lying in the middle of an altar, resting on a soft blanket. A pretty crown made of flowers adorned your head, and a small symbol drawn with Lottie's blood rested on your forehead. Your hands were searching for something to hold onto, but all they could find was the dirt and rose petals scattered around you.

Your legs were outstretched and being held by Lottie's hands, as she slowly and insatiably licked your wet pussy from the bottom to the top, finishing the motion with an excruciatingly slow circle around your clit, then sucking on it repeatedly.

She looked lost in a daze, almost hypnotized. Her hair was messy, and her mouth was dripping wet, sucking on your centre as if her life depended on it. She was so eager—and hungry—that it felt like she was devouring you, giving out low groans as she tasted your sweet flavour.

"S-so fuckin’ good,” you babbled, unable to speak clearly as you felt her groans vibrate against your swollen clit.

"You have to give in, Y/n," she mumbled against your centre, "It's so hungry... It won't stop until you give in," she added, tightening her grip on your now bruised thighs.

Your hands instinctively flew to her head as you felt her tongue begin to penetrate your needy hole, gliding in and out of your walls as her nose rubbed against your abused nub. "I-I’m close,” you moaned out as you pulled her impossibly closer, feeling yourself near the edge.

She tightened her grip on your thighs and started sucking more forcefully. "—fuck Lottie,” you whimpered, squeezing your eyes tightly. Her tongue slid faster and faster around your clitoris, flicking it back and forth and softly biting at it with her teeth, making your back arc in pleasure and your vision turn hazy.

You released a few more loud moans before you came all over her mouth, drenching it and her chin with your cum.

As you caught your breath, your chest heaved rapidly, trying to recover, while your fingers in her hair gradually loosened their grip. She gently licked you a few more times as you came down from your high, allowing your muscles to relax completely. Once she finished cleaning you with her tongue, she slowly crawled up your body and positioned herself close to your face. Leaning in, she whispered in your ear, "You did really well."

Then, she shifted slightly and tenderly kissed your forehead, gently tucking a strand of her hair behind your ear. Resting her hand against your cheek, she gazed deeply into your eyes, her pupils dilated with desire. "The wilderness is now pleased with you," she began softly, "You'll see," she added with a gentle smile.

i know this was just a thought but it was so hot i had to write a blurb 😭 i’ve also been busy writing long fics and i wanna feed y’all more,, mwah <33

#minors dni #lottie matthews #lottie matthews x reader #lottie matthews x you #lottie matthews x y/n #lottie matthews blurb #yellowjackets blurb #yellowjackets x reader

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romana-after-dark · 2 months

Text

Room's on Fire: Black Wedding

Dark!Santiago Garcia x Fem!Reader Dark!Francisco Morales x Fem!Reader Dark!William Miller x Fem!Reader Dark!Benjamin Miller x Fem!Reader

Also: FishBen, and an assortment of other M/M relationships (no Millercest). Everyone is Bisexual

Series Masterlist: Main Masterlist : MainTaglist

Spotify playlist

Summery: Everyone is together, everything is complete.

Warnings and Content:

DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT

DUB CON MOSTLY but there WILL BE NON CON. Major character deaths, forced breeding, physical abuse, brainwashing, manipulation, violence, gore, alcoholism/addiction, BIG OLE BLASPHEMY WARNING like this cult appropriates a lot of religious themes and they call reader their Madonna, Santi is called the Pope, like all that stuff. However, this is a cult so I mean. It happens. None of it are my thoughts on religion or meant to make fun of religion or demonize religious people. Disgusting views on virginity. Attempted rape outside the boys. T*m warning. Age gap. Creepy terrible men. Non-reader rape, dub con, violence. Covert incest, massive mommy issues, sexual abuse all around, past grooming by parental figure. no CSA but the victim isn't much older. some Bates Motel type shit. I cannot properly warn you for everything, without just telling the story but consider this a major warning that there are dark dark themes. No one involved here is morally clean, and who you perceive as the good guy cannot be relied on. Don't come to my story and say im romanticizing these things until at least the story ends.

WARNINGS HAVE BEEN UPDATED!!!

Extra warnings for chapter: FEET (sorry Fen!), complete worship, mind control, the incubus. Tummy bluge since apparently this is contensious now???

3.2k words

A/N: Some pov shifts.

Support writers! Reblog and leave comments!

"Priest are you there? Can you hear my voice? Do you hear my prayers? Are you out there? Forgive me priest For I have sinned (I know not what I do)" ~Black Wedding, In this Moment.

Sweating, tossing, turning.

The demon, the manifestation of your inadequacy tormented you so often you’d come to be complacent in it, the ravaging of your body nearly a nightly part of your bedtime routine. You just wanted to feel safe in your own bed again. You wanted your husbands to stay the night, to protect you from the terrors, but how could you confess what was happening?

When you wake up in a cold sweat, fear shivers down your spine as you dry heave and gasp for air, red daylight seeping in your curtains and bathing your clothed body in the image of blood, you are determined to change something. You can’t go on like this. You had Francisco now, you just needed to win back Pope. You were ovulating, now was your chance, all you needed was to have all their hearts.

Ben was a lot of fun. You and him did the most activities.

Before he became angry with you, Pope and you mostly spent time outside of sex in your studio. He liked to watch you paint, sipping wine with his eyes over the glass observing the strokes. It was quiet, peaceful, and calming.

Francisco, since your trip to the field was taking you more and more. He liked to take you out to the meadow, fucking on the blankets and putting flowers in each others hair. He let you put a flower crown on him, looking so pretty you had to reward him.

Will treated you like a princess. Will promised that first day that he’d help work out those pains in your back, and he was. He liked to massage you with his healing oils, making your body feel good and comfortable before he filled you up, stating that your comfort and health was important for conceiving.

But Ben, Ben was fun. Ben’s time was filled with laughter, adventure, and lots of sex. Today he took you out on a horse ride, much like Frankie, but there wasn’t a picnic. That wasn’t Ben’s style. What was Ben’s style was making the horse go ‘really fuck’n fast’.

You felt like a princess, your handsome prince whisking you away to some far off land. Benny made you giddy, he made you feel wanted. When Pope and Francisco both wanted nothing to do with you, it was Ben and Will who made you feel seen, feel beautiful, feel desired for.

You watched Ben climb a tree, begging him to be careful but he swore up and down he was going to find you the best peach there was. Ben loved food.

“Please just watch your step!!” You shout after him, but then turn your attention to the open field. From the top of the hill, you could see the fields of gold you used to labour at. Watching the others work, all but tiny dots on the horizon, sometimes you felt bad, like you weren’t contributing to Delta… Will had reminded you that you were called to a higher purpose, for something more. The DNA of gods was constantly inside you, and you wondered if it was changing you in more ways than just the hopeful pregnancy. Maybe you were more than a saint. Maybe their seed was creating a goddess, a new mother- nonononononono that was heresy! You shove the idea out of your head like an intrusive thought, determined to keep your thoughts clear.

THIS was why the incubus was tormenting you! Your thoughts were impure, vile, evil, and so were you. Tears began to burn behind your eyes.

“Here!” Ben drops upside down, hanging by his knees on the tree branch, making you gasp. He’s holding a peach, which you happily take.

“Thank you.” You smile. He always knew how to make you smile. Ben himself was shining as bright as the sun today, a reflection of his good mood. He said he’d make sure there’d be perfect weather for your outing, and he delivered, not a cloud in the deep blue sky. Will made you put on a straw sunhat to protect your skin from its reys. He treated you so well.

Ben makes a kissy face, and you oblige, rewarding him for finding you your snack. His mouth tasted sweet, only then do you realize he took a bite already and you can’t help but laugh adoringly. You take a bite of the peach as Ben still hung from the tree, swinging as he gripped the branch, and come to him again, sliding the bite into his mouth for him to eat. You can feel him smile, chewing the peach and you pepper his face with kisses.

It wasn’t long before he was pulling you up onto the tree, helping you climb up and up. Everything was so beautiful where you sat. Ben kisses you deeper here.

“Fish ain’t the only one that can be romantic as shit.” He mutters against your mouth and you get the feeling he was jealous. Francisco must have told him what you did the last couple days with him, making love in the meadow and yes, it was romantic, but you didn’t expect Ben to be Francisco. All of them loved you in their own ways, with their own expressions.

“He certainly isn’t, my handsome husband.” You kiss back, sighing as he touches your thigh. There was no way to fuck up here, but Ben still brought you to orgasm with his fingers. He had told you not to wear panties.

He picks another peach, pulling his hard cock out as you kick your legs, smiling, your dress rustling in a breeze. You’d noticed the breeze picked up as Ben got turned on. You watch in aw as he fingers the peach open, eyes intently on you. He’s obscene, groaning as if he’s pleasuring himself until he creates a hole, and then…

“Eyes on my cock, peach.”

And god, are your eyes on his cock. Benny has the prettiest dick in your humble opinion. It was long and thick like they all were. Ben was cut, his manhood always throbbing and the prettiest golden color and a vein on the underside. You loved looking at it. Ben fucked himself with the peach, up and down on the shaft with the most levacious squelches coming out only to the harmonized by Ben’s moans and whimpers. His eyes closed, lost in pleasure and he jerked off.

“F-fuck…” Ben mumble, chest heaving as he rests against the trunk. “Fuck man, feels so fucking good.” His hip bucked, makin the branch you were on shake and you had to grab one above for stability but fuck, you couldn’t stop watching him. He was incredible, sculped body creating a divine figure in your midst and you were so blessed to be filled by him. His blue eyes flashed open only to roll back into his head, spurting cum all over his hand and the peach. You nearly came again from the sight and sound alone. You loved how he looked in orgasmic bliss, it didn’t matter who caused it, you, Francisco or Pope, you just wanted to see him when it happened.

You ate the cum stained peach directly from his hand.

You got the idea from Iris, really. Sitting on the counter of the kitchen, you were busy with some cross stitching you wanted to give to Francisco. It was a simple scene, nothing complex as your dormitory focused of useful skills like fieldwork, cooking, animal care. Still, you knew how to sew and although you’d asked, sometimes even begged Iris to let you help with housework, she didn’t trust you with much outside of cooking, which you were good at. You wished she didn’t treat you like a child. Still, you happily worked on the nature scenary for you husband, god of nature. How lucky you were. You noticed how much he liked smoking marijuana.

Reyansh was inside for a refreshment while working outside. He was creating a flower bed for you at Francisco’s request, and his neck was hurting so Iris rubbed his neck. Reynash sighed contently, his soft face smiling at the touch of who very clearly, you see now, was his lover.

Iris was gentle for no one. She brushed off every attempt Jonah made to talk about anything none work related, and it hadn’t endeared her to you much. You didn’t think that bothered her, it didn’t seem she was too fond of you either. It wasn’t a rivalry and you didn’t have a problem with her. In fact, you liked her. She was beautiful, she made good food and she had been there when it was necessary, like having a panic attack. Even in the small things, she fed you well and had your safety in mind. Today, for example, she told you to put on sunscreen before you went outside to sunbathe while Rey built the flowerbed and doubled with babysitting you. That’s what you called it. Still, she didn’t talk to you, and didn’t seem like she wanted to be your friend.

You liked Reyansh a lot, he was kind, gentle, and thoughtful. Iris took care of Reyansh, and that made you happy. You liked seeing Reyansh smile, he had a nice smile. Iris never smiled unless it was at Reyansh and even then it seemed subdued. Jonah smirked at best, and that was usually mixed with an eye roll.

Pope had bad knees. He called it his stigmata, the physical manifestation of the sufering he bared for the people of Delta. He took the brunt of your sins and wasn’t that so good of him? You wondered if you could alleviate some of that pain, seeing as much of it was probably caused by the sins of your father.

“Rey?” You ask from your chair, watching him plant seeds for marigolds. You loved marigolds; they reminded you of Ben, all sunshine and gold.

He turns around over his should, a bright smile on his face. He seemed happier with plant or animals. “What’s up?”

“Do you know where Will keeps his healing oils?”

Reyansh laughs and its brighter than the midday sun. He turns around, sitting his ass on the dirt and props himself up on his hands. “What are you planning?”

“SHHHHHHH” Reyansh shushes you, but he’s giggling himself.

You and him were breaking into Will’s room while he was out. Well, not so much breaking as Rey got the master key but still, naughty. You loved Will’s room, you wanted to stay here all the time. It was simple, but not uncomfortable. You both had to be careful, not digging too much into his things as to not get in trouble… but then you found them.

You took lavender, rose, peppermint and oregano. You knew a little about healing oils, but Will’s were special having been blessed by his hands. This had to help Pope’s aches… now, you must get an audience with Pope, and he was not pleased with you.

“I’m busy.” Pope called from his office, ignoring your plea’s to spend time with you. You missed him so, so much. You missed his intensity, the warmth in the gaze, the fire and passion in his eyes. You feel his love for you, his husbands, his community. Who else was to bare the pain he did for his people? He was good, so good.

“Pope, please?” Your voice cracks, leaning against the wood of his door. “Please just ten minutes?”

“I’ll be with you tonight with Francisco.” To breed you, but you didn’t just want to be fucked by him, you wanted to be loved.

“I want to spend time with you, please? I have a surprise. I just… I miss you.”

Silence… then the door unlocking. He stood in front of you, brown eyes ablaze with irritation but also curiosity.

Once securing his attention, you were able to get Pope to follow you to the room you had set up. In it, a chair and a bucket of steaming, sudsy water.

“Sit! Sit!” You beckon him to the chair, and although hesitant he sits down. You take your place where you belong, at the feet of your God.

Knelt before him and gazing up into his eyes, you untie his shoes and slide off his socks, pleasantly surprised by the lack of smell. He’d been inside all day. After rolling up his pants, you take his feet, one by one and lower them into the steaming water and watch in delight ashe closes his eyes, moaning and hanging his head back. He looked relaxed, actually, something you only see in post orgasmic bliss.

You don’t take your eyes off him, massaging into the arch of his foot and enjoying the look of pleasure on his face. You’d doused the water preemptively with lavender and rose oils and you were happy to see it working in calming him.

“Mmmmm” Pope moans, a hardening bulge between his spread legs and you smile at the effect you have on him, the evidence of the love he still held for you. You hoped this act of washing his feet and massaging the joints would prove your subservience to him, your devotion.

Leaning in, you kiss the ball of his foot first as he opens his eyes, firey and alight with lust and love for you, his Madonna, his wife, his goddess. Pope’s mouth pops open, slightly agape as his chest begins to heave, eroticism clouding his face. Pope angls his foot, pressing his toes to your lips and you don’t hesitate to open, completely and fully in his control. You would debase yourself however he asked, just for him. He was your first kiss, your first love, your first everything. You’d adored him your whole life, worshiping him in prayer halls for as long as you could remember. He’d been the light of your life, your God, and although you were 11 when Divine Mother announced Pope was not the savior, it didn’t matter to you. He was your savior, he was your everything, and oh, how blessed you were to be here.

You make your jaw slack, allowing him access of as much of your mouth as possible, laving your tongue out against the calloused skin. Reaching to the side, you grab the peppermint-oregano mix of healing oils and poured some on his leg. As you gagged on him, sucking on his toes, you rubbed down his legs. Pope groans in pleasure, taking out his erection to stroke himself to the wet sounds of your mouth. Swirling your tongue around him, so desperate try to please him, to regain his favor so you can be impregnated by his seed, the seeds of his brothers. You wanted so desperately to be his Madonna again, his holy mother, his little flower, it didn’t matter what it took.

He could cut open your chest and carve your heart out if it meant he held the dying pulse in his hands.

“Get over here” He grunts, pulling his feet out of you mouth with a pop. You chase after him, worried you’d done something wrong, but Pope grabs your dress, yanking you forward harshly and into a crash of a kiss. The action knocks over the warm bucket of water, but he didn’t care. Pushing you down and into the spilt water, Pope turns you over and climbs on top of you, rucking your wet skirt over your ass. He didn’t bother taking off your underwear simply pulling it aside in order to thrust directly into you.

You were wet, you were always so, so wet with him. Being in his presence had always left you soaked and needy when he didn’t give you what you wanted. Sometimes you found yourself going to Will for his mouth to give you what Pope wouldn’t.

“My beautiful, sweet Madonna” He mutters, his bearded cheek scratching against yours. “Always so ready for me, such a good fucking girl.” His thrusts are harsh, your face sliding against the floor with the spilt water, your dripping hair splattered all about the tile. The smell was overwhelming and you realize Will’s oils were spilled, mixing into the water and stirred with the movement of your connected bodies.

Everything was so, so much from the smells of the oils to the stretch of his cock, the pounding, pounding, pounding in your womb.

It was the same pounding you felt that night when, for the first time in a long time, you were fucked and pleasured and devoured and worshipped by all four of your husbands.

You were raw, aching, sweating and throbbing; 3 men’s cum had flooded your womb and Will’s was soon to follow. It was good, so, so good. Your body, despite the exhaustion was floating on your soft bed. The group sex had happened in your room, which was a rarity but something that in this moment made you feel like home. This was special, this was different. Will’s grunts were loud, powerful, his strong and naked body forbaring before you where he knelt. Muscles flexing and shifting and moving, his sweaty form and dripping hair complimenting his presence, the size reflected in the bulge of your stomach in every inward thrust. He had to be this stunning if he were to distract you from the scene beside you.

Ben, Francisco and Santiago and spent and drained, were entangled next to you in a sweat and lust-fill affair of their own. Francisco was the center focus, his body worshiped and adored by Pope and Ben. It seemed like a tug of war, like Francisco was the rope in a tug of war. It was clear that Francisco was precious to both of them, but there was another air about it all. The fight for Francisco’s sweet kisses was just the battle ground. Francisco himself had gotten hard all over again, Ben’s hands jerking him of from where he lay, their two body’s and coloring a contrast of dark and light, hard and soft, and electric energy so, so close to Pope’s explosives.

Pope would not be out done by the younger man. This was his community, he was the leader, he was son of the Divine Mother and he would not relinquish his most favored lover to a boy 8 years his junior. Ben had ambition, he had wants and visions of a future that Santiago would not acquiesce to and although Benjamin’s loyalty was strong, so was his jealousy.

Two could play at jealousy, and Francisco was his. Playing with Frankie’s balls, heavy but starting to tighten as his perfect body writhed to the sounds of the Madonna’s pleasure, Santiago gripped Ben’s locks and yanked him down. He took control of Frankie’s mouth, lips still swollen from their previous encounter evidence of who his lips belonged too. He sucked on him until the healing lip cracked open again. If Francisco bled, his blood was Pope’s.

He hears you cry out in the way you only do when you’re coming, and Ben latches onto Francisco’s nipple, determined to make him cum again. Pope loved his brothers, loved them all, they were the center of his world, his everything, his rocks. He’d had all of them in every way imaginable, fucked into every hole at every angle but god, nothing compared to Frankie. Ben must’ve felt that too, the way he took care of him. Together, as a team, they gave Francisco his second orgasm.

Something was different today. Something changed.

They all slept in her bed that night.

WHAT DO WE THINK For The Wrong Way readers, did you catch the reference? it was small.

also last chapter i asked whose the worst and someone said jonah i just wanna talk LMFAOOOO but i laughed bc its OVERWHELMINGLY santi. like 80%

Poll of the day

who knocks up madonna? not who you WANT that'll be a new poll, but who you think does it. listing all potential options.

WHAT ARE YOUR THOUGHTS and whyyyyy

If you are into c.ai, check out the Jonah ai on the masterlist

Also, hope you check out the playlist! if you like old music like me especially. lots of 60's-80's

apoligies to everyone whose been tagging me in tag games. i appiciate the tags a lot, im just like....... ahhhhhhh you know? life. i love yall for including me though! If you have discourd and wantto join a server for my works, dm me! as long as you are an active particpant in the fics you're welcome!

IF YOU LIKE CULT FICS READ THIS ONE BY @noxturnalpascal with cult leader joel!!!!! I havnt had the chance to read a full chapter by i read most of the first chapter and its soooo good.

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LOVE YOU ALL!

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