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samkerrworshipper · 20 days

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leah williamson x reader, jordan nobbs x reader, arsenal x reader

part 1 of beautiful girl series-> pt.2 -> pt.3

warnings: drug abuse, drug addiction, mentions of sexual assault, sexual assault, jordan and leah r broken up, basically a trauma dump, unedited, if you are not in an okay headspace this fic is not for u, based on beautiful boy

You find it hard to remember the last time you felt loved.

Not the kind of love that people tell you everyday, no, real unconditional, meaningful, purposeful love. The kind of love where a person looks at you like you single handedly hung the stars and the moon, the kind of love where it feels like nobody could love you in the same way, the same love that shakespeare wrote poems about, the same love that you know that you could never be capable of receiving.

You don’t really blame anybody but yourself, how could people love you, how could people want to love you? You weren’t a loveable person, in your opinion you were quite frankly the exact opposite.

Maybe when you were eight, when you were cute and loveable, when you had cute little piggy tails and wore pink overalls and only wanted to dance and talk about unicorns.

Maybe when you were ten and you spent every afternoon practising football in the backyard with your moms.

Maybe when you were twelve and your only aspirations for life were to win your school spelling bee and captain england just like your mom.

From then on, it all seemed like one big blur.

From 12 onwards you don’t think a lot of you was lovable, hell you hardly thought eight year old you was lovable, a tiny little orphan who had seen so much of the world and yet none of it, yet your moms had spent every single day trying to make you feel like you were and it had worked. For possibly the first time in your life, you’d felt that love, like a whole galaxy revolved around you, like no matter what happened in your life, you could face it.

It was funny how fast that feeling could fade.

It wasn’t really that surprising that you’d seeked out something to fill the hole inside of you, or at least that’s how you saw it.

It started at 14, when you were so consumed with all of the pain around you, the shit storm of broken relationships and the broken home that now replicated the same one you’d come from. Babies learnt to self soothe by being left to cry, teenagers learnt to self soothe through pain.

First it was spending as much time as possible out on the pitch with your moms, every single one of your afternoons spent practising, and any minute you weren’t on the pitch it was non stop studying.

You formed a anger for it, a pure hatred for the sport that your moms were so fond of, a sport that had brought them together and inevitably forced them apart.

At 15 you left football behind, you focused on your school, spending every spare minute on your studies, they headaches and migraines, the stress, the anxiety, it was all good, it proved that you were trying, it filled the hole inside of you.

When you were 15, you stopped caring. Your mama stopped caring, she moved 3 hours away for her own career, she didn’t have time to care about your school work, as for your mom, it wasn’t an easy job captaining the lionesses to a european championship, she had bigger problems then you.

When you turned 16, everything changed. Your mom tore her acl, Lia moved in, there wasn’t any room for you, let alone room for you to be loved. Your mama stopped visiting as often, only when it was necessary, for the first time in a while, you felt alone, truly alone.

When you turned 17, you found other ways to self soothe. Babies cried for attention, out of hope that they’d find some of that love that they were missing when they were alone. Babies cried because they had no other way of conveying the loneliness and desperate need they had for whatever they were seeking. Teenagers do stupid things in search of the same thing, love, attention and in search of something. Teenagers are stupid by default, you weren’t unbeknownst to that, the eight year old version of you though would have swore six ways to sunday that you’d never behave in the way you were, out of fear that you’d end up back where you’d come from, that you’d lose the only family that had ever showed you a glimpse of love, teenage you figured there wasn’t any more love for you, it had all been swallowed up by younger you, taken before you could really understand the magnitude of that love, before you needed it the very most.

Maybe it was the pot speaking, or the nicotine from your vape, or it was just the overwhelming cloud that always seemed to hit when you were high. It would fade eventually, it always did, all the deep emotional shit that made you want to cry would go, and you’d be left mellowed out, all of your feeling sucked out like a deep exhale, sometimes it just happened to be that you had to feel it all before you felt nothing, before the overwhelming numbness hit you and the hole in your heart was filled once again.

You flinched at the knock on your bedroom door, you were grateful enough for the warning, it had taken a lot of convincing to your mom and her best friend before they’d finally agreed to it.

You didn’t bother trying to hide your vape, the joint you had been smoking had been put out a couple of minutes ago.

“Come in.”

You stayed sat on the ledge of your window, your head hanging halfway out, the cool london winter breeze making your lips numb and your face pink.

The door opened slowly and you kept your eyes on the outside street, watching the cars drive past underneath you.

“Hey, dinners ready if you want to come down.”

You nodded absentmindedly, avoiding Lia’s eyeline.

“It’s freezing, close your window.”

You looked over at the swiss woman, a woman who was now so familiar in your home that you saw her more than the woman you called your mama.

“I’m good.”

You took a deep breath, one last inhale of the chilly air before turning to face Lia and uncurling your body, standing up and walking towards the door where she was standing.

“If you want to live in Antarctica then that’s your call.”

You try your best to suppress the eye roll, instead opting to pull your vape from your pocket and take a deep inhale, it’s not as good as the cold air but it’s something. It also helps to cover the weed scent that you’re trying to cover up.

Lia walks behind you, shaking her head at the puff of vapour that hits her right in the face as you make your way down the stairs and into the living room and then into the dining room.

Your mom is sitting at the table, fiddling with the cutlery and looking down at the meal that you know she most definitely did not cook.

It was one of the only bonuses of having Lia around, when jordan left the healthy and yummy food had turned into mostly take away and food that wasn’t cooked on a stove top because Leah had learnt her lesson after the multiple calls to the fire department.

You sat down in your normal chair, taking another hit of the vape in your hand before setting it down on the table and replacing it with a fork.

“I thought we’d talked about no vapes at the dinner table, bubba.”

You focused down at the bowl of spaghetti that was in front of you, it was the night before a game, which meant carb loading, you’d never been fond of pasta, although you supposed that had slipped Leah’s mind in the last couple of months.

“I’m not using it at the table, am I?”

You could feel the look of disapproval from your mother from the other side of the table.

You pushed your fork into the pasta, searching for a meatball instead of the pasta that you were desperate to avoid.

“Bubba I think you can put it away for half an hour every night, please.”

You pull your spare hand out of your hoodie, grabbing at the vape and slipping it into the pocket.

You focus on stabbing the meatball that your focus has locked onto, keeping your eyes downcast and focused on locating all of the saucy balls and shoving them into your mouth as quickly as possible.

Just as you’ve located and eaten all of the orbs that you can guarantee Lia made all by herself, your mom directs conversation at you once again, pivoting from whatever she was talking to Lia about,

“We’re playing in Manchester tomorrow night, you’re welcome to come with us on the bus if you want, or you could go with mumma, I think she’s planning to drive up to watch the girls. The girls haven’t seen you in a while though, Lotte has been missing you, she’s been asking me about you.”

You’d distanced yourself from your moms club teammates for a multitude of reasons, but it all stemmed down to the hatred that you had for arsenal, the love that your mom had for the club, the club that took all of her time, her teammates that saw more love then you felt you did.

“I think I'll just stay home for the weekend, mama is going to be in town anyways. Plus Maya and I were planning to do something tomorrow night.”

She was going to be in town, it didn’t mean you had plans to see her.

“Maya? Do I know a Maya?”

You tried your best not to be annoyed at your moms sudden concern about your social life.

“She’s just a friend.”

You could practically feel the eyebrow raise from the other side of the table.

“What were you and Maya planning on doing tomorrow night?”

You looked up for the first time, gritting your teeth.

“I don’t know, hang out, have some fun, nothing special. I want to see mama and I want to hang out with friends, is that not enough for me to stay home for the weekend,? It'll only be a night.”

You watched your mom collapse in, her eyes straying to the side to look at Lia.

“So it’s friends now, plural? I talked to Jord yesterday, she didn’t say that you had anything planned with her for this weekend.”

You wanted to bolt upstairs back to your room, light a joint and stick your head back out of your window and enjoy the serenity that came from it, but you held strong.

“Yes, friends, I have more than one, we’ll probably just hangout at someones house, no biggie. I haven’t talked to mama yet because I didn’t know what I was doing this weekend.”

Your moms eyebrow only raised further up her forehead, the line of hair practically melting into her hairline.

“I was a teenager once, you think I don’t know what a hangout turns into?”

You were about to rebut, answer with some snappy answer that probably would have gotten you in more trouble than you would have wanted, but you were silenced by the swiss woman sitting to your left.

“She’ll be fine Le, she’s smart, she’ll leave her location on, she won’t do anything you wouldn’t. Right?”

You nodded cautiously, a little bit shocked by the swiss woman’s attempt to help you out.

“Yes, I’ll leave my location on and I’ll meet up with mama the next morning, I’ll be responsible, I always am.”

You were grasping for anything, any reason to make your mother agree.

“Fine, but you do anything stupid, and I mean anything, then you’ll be in big trouble missy, and I want you to eat some more of that dinner, Lia puts a lot of work into feeding us.”

You swallowed the argument about your hatred for pasta, in favour of nodding your head meekly and twirling some of the noddles with your fork, forcing them into your mouth even if it made you cringe internally, it was a hard meal to swallow, but you did it for the sake of making your mother happy, something that you seemed to constantly be doing.

Once you’d eaten half of the pasta you called it quits, walking up towards the kitchen sink and cleaning out your bowl before placing it into the dishwasher and sacking it properly before closing it up.

You grasped for the vape hidden in your pocket, depserate for something to take the edge off from the conversation you’d had, the flavoured air providing a temporary comfort.

You dragged your feet back up the stairs to your bedroom, locking the door behind you and turning off the lights in your room.

Your room was cold, but you didn’t find yourself minding it.

You checked your lock for a second time, making sure it was definitely clicked shut before sliding underneath your bed frame and reaching around aimlessly for the container that was wedged into a corner of your mattress.

It didn’t take long for you to find it, your hand connecting with the rough plastic and pulled at it almost immediately.

You opened the container, forcing the lid open and picking out the bag that you were searching for.

Walking across the room in search of a card and flat surface was a mission that didn’t take long, both necessary factors found at your desk.

You opened up the bag, the answer to all of your feeling and struggles.

You shook a bit of the powder out of the bag, it was a routine that you’d adapted.

You’d always had routines, at eight it had been your nighttime routine. Bath, pyjamas, toilet, bed time story, cuddles, trying to get to sleep in your own bed, inevitably sneaking into your moms bed. At 12 it had been your pre match routine, wearing your moms first arsenal jersey to bed the night beforehand, a banana and bottle of water before the game, socks, shinpads, boots and a bottle of lucozade. At 14 it was your pre test routine, cue cards with one of your parents the night beforehand, a 12 hour sleep, a good luck hug from one of your moms and using your lucky pen. At 17 it was the little kit you kept underneath your bed, open it, find the baggy, spill enough of it onto your desk, push it into a line, take a deep breath through your nose.

It was a routine that kept you going, one that you clung to like the oxygen you breathed in.

When your mom tore her acl, your life changed permanently, no longer was any focus on you, it shouldn’t have really been a surprise that you’d fallen into a rougher crowd, that you’d turned to something else to help soothe the pain that had been coursing through your blood stream as everything changed around you.

It had started with pocketing a couple of your moms post surgery meds, oxy’s, they felt good, they felt so much better than anything else you’d tried to help fix you. But they were in limited amounts and it was hard to steal pills when Lia was monitoring everything that your mom did and took. You’d made friends with the girls in the form above you, and then their friends who were older, and eventually you’d found yourself out at parties on nights when you told your mom that you were spending the night with your mama in Birmingham, it had been eays enough, she was too focused on her knee to pay much mind to what you were doing and who you were doing it with.

There was enough money lying around the house, it wasn’t hard to find and subsequently it wasn’t hard to find somebody who was willing to give you more than you could find at the parties you where going to.

It had felt good, like for the first time in a while you had people who you could relate to, who were dealing with the same problems as you, you felt like you’d found a somewhere that felt more like a home than anywhere you’d been before.

The vapes had been a way to disguise it, to make your mom feel like she could control the bad things that you were getting up to, if she monitored your vape usage then why would you search for anything else?

Self-soothing.

You finished your routine by pushing the baggy back into its box and securing the box back into the spot it had come from, making sure that it was hidden from sight, before climbing into your bed and waiting for the proper high to hit you.

Weed and nicotine were good, it had been where you started out, but nothing hit better than a real high, a real proper feeling that made you feel inundated with complete numbness in the best way possible. It made everything quiet, every doubt and pain in your soul quietened down and it made you feel at peace.

You supposed it was what made drugs so addictive, specifically meth. They made a person in pain feel normal, it made an angry person feel calm, it made a sad person happier than ever, it made a person searching for everything yearn for nothing. It fixed every problem known to man and every problem man knew.

When the high hit you felt it across your whole body, your thoughts, pain and the loudness inside of you faded, everything faded, all you felt like was a body, devoid of everything besides the body you were inside of. To you, it was the best feeling in the world, it was a feeling you’d been searching for since you were a kid, when you’d felt so alone and unloved that you would have sold all of your internal organs if it meant that you could have felt the same amount of nothingness that you were in this very moment.

You would lie awake for hours riding it out, staring up at the ceiling of your room, studying the different ridges and bumps across the white plaster. Once upon a time it had been blue, with white clouds all over it, little stars and rainbows across it, when Jordan had moved out you’d forced your mom to cover it up, it was just another reminder of the love that you’d once found in your house miraculously fading away.

It normally took a few hours for the initial high to fade, for the endorphins and adrenaline pinging around in your bloodstream to calm down for you to be able to drift off to sleep, you didn’t really mind, you were used to it. Once upon a time it was the same feeling you’d gotten when your moms would smile at you, or when you would step off a football pitch after 90 minutes, or when you’d get a good score from one of your exams. Once upon a time it had all been organic, it had been natural, now it was all forced, a chemical reaction that your brain craved.

Somewhere around 4am you drifted off, it was convenient because it meant you’d be dead asleep when your mom and Lia left for the training ground, saving you from the interaction with the two of them.

You awoke around 12 o’clock, you dragged yourself downstairs and into the kitchen, enjoying the emptiness that surrounded you. At your mama's house there was Blu, and for some reason it always felt more crammed. At your mom’s house everything was open, quiet, tucked away. It was the way you liked it, plus she was gone more often with media commitments and Arsenal playing in the Champions League, so it meant you were home alone most of the time.

You chugged your coffee like it was your first drink in days, groaning when your mom’s contact started buzzing up in front of you.

“Mom?”

You tried your best to sound awake, you don’t think your efforts were very successful.

“Hey bubba, how’d you sleep?”

You didn’t really think your mom actually cared about how you’d slept, more like it was a conversation buffer.

“Fine.”

You could hear the sound of your mom’s teammates in the background, a couple of months ago you probably would have been there with her, nowadays there was nothing you wanted less.

“Good. Look, I talked to Jord this morning, she’s going to come and hang out with you tomorrow until we get back, she should be around in the morning.”

The same anxiety that always seeped through your mom’s voice when she talked about her ex was easy to detect, like she was nervous to utter her name or mention her.

“Cool.”

You wondered why she hadn’t just left it up to you to organise something with your mama, but you supposed you hadn’t been great at that recently. Jordan’s number was something you had a aversion to.

“Which means I want you home before 1am, and I want you to be sensible tonight, your mama is very excited to see you tomorrow and I don’t want you being a dickhead or being dead to the world, You’ll be polite and spend time with her, understood?”

She made it sound like an assignment, like you had to be on your very best behaviour, like you had to put on a show for Jordan.

“Whatever.”

You heard a huff of annoyance from the other side of the phone, it was a sound you’d gotten used to, Leah used it frequently.

“Don’t whatever me, bubba please, Jords is really looking forward to it, she’s been feeling a bit left out by you recently so please for me, just try your hardest to be good for her. Be safe tonight, I know you and your friends like to have some fun but just stay safe, if you need anything don’t hesitate to send me a text or a call, I love you bubba.”

It felt empty, like your heart, like everything around you, like something she had to say.

“I love you too mom.”

The call fizzled out and you let a deep breath that you’d been holding in go, you did love your mom, it just didn’t feel like she loved you anymore.

You went about your day in a haze, your friends were due to come to yours before the party around 5 o’clock, so you had some time to yourself before then, time you were undoubtedly planning to do not a lot with. You tried watching tv, tried organising and cleaning your room, none of it took off the edge, none of it made the world silent like you needed.

It had all started with parties, a way for you to get out of your comfort zone, a way to make parties a little bit more enjoyable. Now you craved them to make your life more enjoyable, to make it all a little bit more bearable.

It was all one big routine.

For a while you throught it was getting better, everything was solving itself. You’d lie awake in your bed at 3am, riding out the last bits of your high and you’d realise that it wasn’t, that there was no solution to solve what had gone wrong with you and made you so fucking unlovebale.

You knew your existence wasn’t eays, hell Jordan and Leah had adopted you when you were at rock bottom, and they’d still found a way to love you, to make you loveable, but you figured somewhere along the way they’d run out of things about you that were loveable.

You weren’t normally someone who got high during the day, but you were home alone and figured why not, you’d been taking them at night for months now, what would a day time fix change? Everything felt better when you were riding on a high.

You spent the rest of your afternoon sat on your window sill, counting the cars as they drove past. When your friends came around at 5 o’clock you were ecstatic, hurrying down the stairs as fast as your woozy body would allow you.

You had friends that your moms met and friends your moms didn’t, these were the ones you were yet to introduce to Leah.

You didn’t think that she would approve of the friends that you hung out with when she wasn’t around, especially considering they were quite a bit older than you.

There were benefits to it, they bought you alcohol they could drive you around, they were smarter then the kids your age.

Maya, Olivia and Scarlett were nice enough, a little bit stupid but it didn’t bother you too much, you were all like minded, you liked to have fun and party, with the assistance of some recreational substances.

None of them batted an eye at your clear intoxication, pushing a bottle of something or another into your hands before walking with you up to your room to start getting ready.

The drink burned as it made it’s way down your throat, it was therapeutic, a reminder that while you felt disconnected from your body because of the drugs, you were still present.

You let one of the girls do your makeup, packing your face until you looked well over the age of 17, then allowing one of them to sort through your monstrosity of a closet until they found a cute corset top and skirt. Leah Williamson was a lot of things, a fashionista being one of them and that had always carried through to your wardrobe. You were more than equipped with clothing for every occasion known to man.

By the time you’d downed your first drink of the night the euphoria was starting to hit and you were starting to feel good.

By the time your second drink had been downed you were being thrown into a car and were on your way to the party, sharing a joint with Liv who was sat in the back seat with you, the two of you occasionally shotgunning the smoke or blowing a puff at eachother.

It was good, it was relaxing, it was what made you feel at peace.

Pulling up to the party was a whole different kind of feeling.

You didn’t know who’s party you were at, who’s house, where it was, it didn’t matter to you, not really, all you cared about was having a good time by your standards.

You flicked your phone onto silent, desperate to avoid any contact from anyone, instead focused on the spectacle around you as you stepped into the threshold.

Maya introduced you to someone she went to school with, a man that looked like he was nearly as far gone as you felt. You smiled at him, giving him a hug and nod, trying to rush the introduction so you could get a drink in your hand and take a seat.

“You’re quite cute aren’t ya, how old are you sweetheart?”

You looked across at your friend, curious as to whether you should lie or not, she nodded her head and you took it as approval.

“17.”

His smile only grew, his head cocking to the side.

“A youngin? I’m sure we’ll have some fun tonight, the young ones always know how to go harder, whaddya like, sweetheart?”

You tried your best not to appear uncomfortable, even if his attention was putting you off a little bit.

“She’ll take whatever, although she has been having some fun with ice recently, she likes her vape and some molly sprinkled in with it.”

Matt slapped you on the back, his smile only growing.

“Definitely a fun time then, I’ll catch up with you later sweetheart, I reckon I have something you might like, head on in guys, I’ll catch you later.”

It wasn’t a big house, it wasn’t small either though, it was full enough that it probably seemed smaller than it truly was.

There were people everywhere, which surprised you considering it was only early, not that you minded, it was more convenient anyways.

You were dragged to a couch with your friends, they were less far gone than you and almost immediately were sniffing up lines of whatever was on the coffee table in front of you.

There was so much happening around you that you struggled to understand it all fully, there were puffs of smoke coming from every direction, needles being handed around, different pills being popped, lines being sniffed. It was the kind of environment you liked to think you’d come to flourish in, it made you feel more relaxed then anywhere else on the planet.

You relaxed into the couch, enjoying the spectacle around you and subconsciously taking hits of your vape as you watched the splendour occur around you.

There wasn’t a single legal thing about it, but you didn’t care, there was a cold drink in your hand and the scent of pot and vapour surrounding you, it was the best place to be on the planet.

The night slowly started to fade into a blip as you made your way through more drinks, your body surrendering to the feeling of the alcohol coursing through you and the high slowly starting to fade. You were cautious of the fact that you needed to be home at a certain time, you didn’t want to push your mom’s wishes, you were also aware that you could manage another shoot up before getting yourself home.

“Oi, where can I find some meth.”

Maya had headed somewhere with some boy she knew from highschool and Olivia had left in search of a spot to smoke, leaving you and Scarlett.

“Go find Matt, he’ll hook you up.”

With legs like jelly and a swaying head you stood up from the couch, your vape clutched in one hand and empty bottle in the other. It didn’t take a lot of searching to find the man you’d been introduced to earlier, he was sat on a couch, a girl on either side of him, who both looked about as far gone as they could get without being passed out.

“Pretty girl, what can I do for you.”

You didn’t like the way the term of endearment slid off of his tongue so easily, in almost a condescending way.

“Do you have meth?”

You didn’t care if you were being too straight forward, you were itching for something to get you back 0onto the high that you’d been riding out for the past couple of hours.

“I do, but it’ll cost ya.”

You rolled your eyes, money was hardly a problem for you.

“I’ve got money.”

His head cocked the same way it had earlier.

“I don’t want your money sweetheart, c’mon, I’ll get you some meth.”

The same slippery term of endearment that made your throat hurt. He shook the two girls off of him, standing up with a lot more composure than you and beginning to walk out of the lounge room you were in and towards the staircase. You followed him up, holding onto the banister with everything you had and trying to keep up with him as the both of you arrived at the top and he began walking down a corridor, until he made it to the end and opened up a door.

You assumed it was his bedroom by the looks of it, which made you uncomfortable slightly but you accepted the fact you were craving a fix and he was potentially the only person who could supply it in this moment.

He rummaged through a bedside draw, until he pulled out a syringe and a bottle of what you assumed to be dissolved crystal meth. You’d always kept your distance from needles, it gave you a better high but it was harder to hide and harder to deal with, the powdered form was the least complicated.

You could feel your heartbeat pick up as he beckoned you over, patting for you to sit down on the edge of the bed. You walked over, taking a seat on the bed and watching with curiosity as he prepared the needle, and took your arm in his, securing a rubber tourniquet around your bicep and feeling your skin for a vein. Once he found it he picked the needle up, filling it with a couple of mls of the liquid before bringing it up to your arm, gently inserting it into the vein, sucking in a bit of your blod and watching the red swirl with the drug mix before pushing down on the syringe and inserting it into your blood stream.

It was immediate validation, your head dropping back with ecstasy as the drugs infiltrated your body.

“Feels good doesn’t it, sweetheart.”

You nodded your head, enjoying the sensation of the lingering sting as the needle was pulled from your arm and the tourniquet was untied.

His hands were on your chin, tilting your head up so you were looking at him.

“Now, I think it’s time I get my payment, hmm?”

You took one last breath, enjoying the validation of your high.

“I told you I have money.”

He shook his head and with the smirk on the corner of his lips you couldn’t help but feel slightly worried.

“No, I prefer my payment other ways.”

Even with the alcohol and drugs running through your veins, you couldn’t help but feel sick to your stomach immediately.

You were suddenly frighteningly aware of your position, and undeniably feeling a little bit scared.

“What way?”

You didn’t like how your voice wavered, your age becoming more obvious as you struggled to stomach the different thoughts going through your head.

“I’ll show you.”

His hands moved to your hair, dragging you off the corner of the mattress and onto your knees below him.

You tried to dissasociate it, tried to dissasociate as his hands fell to his belt buckle and fly, tried to disassociate so you didn’t have to think about the million no’s that were banging against your skull and leaving your lips as his fly came undone and he let his pants drop to his feet.

You’d never really expressed your sexuality, you hadn’;t felt the need t, both of your moms were gay, so were most of their friends, you knew no matter who you were dating they’d be happy for you, you knew that whatever this was though you didn’t want it.

With your weary head and drugged up body there wasn’t much fight you could put up as he opened your jaw for you and forced his way inside of you

You tried your hardest to dissasociate like you’d taught yourself, thinking about the high, thinking about the drugs, thinking about your moms, thinking about everything in your life that had once loved you and you’d once loved the same. Normally it worked, normally you trustd yourself to get you to that safe space that made you feel like no matter what was happening you could deal with it, you just couldn’t get it to work though, there were tears streaming down your face as his hands stayed planted in the roots of your hair, the hair a couple of hours ago that your friends had been curling and working on whilst you’d all be laughing.

He didn’t last long, that was something you were grateful for.

As soon as his hands left your hair you were bolting up from the floor, walking as past as your weary legs would let you before anything else happened that you couldn’t stop.

You catapulted your way down the same stairs you’d marched up happily, not paying any attention to the people in the background as you pushed your way out of the front door, breathing in the freezing london air and clinging to the freshness of it and how it cooled the pain in your throat.

You didn’t hesitate calling the uber, the tears on your face spraying down onto your phone screen as you tried your hardest to focus on the task at hand which was getting home and getting as far away from this as possible.

You didn’t care that your mom could track your uber account, you didn’t care that there were thirty unread texts from both of your moms and a couple of phone calls, all you cared about was getting home to your bed and doing whatever it took to forget about what just happened.

The uber was quick enough, you practically threw yourself into the back seat, trying to calm yourself down, but failing miserably.

If your uber driver noticed then he didn’t comment on the fact that you were practically hyperventilating in his backseat.

The car ride home was quicker then you thought it would be, you were so grateful it was an away game night, that you didn’t have to deal with anyone, but you were also secretly crumbling about the fact that you were all alone, that you had been all alone in that room with him, that you had no one to stop him and couldn’t do anything about it.

You were hardly steady on your legs as you unlocked the door with your keys and swayed your way into the living room and then towards the stairs, finding the incline slightly jarring but desperate to get to your room and bed so you could sleep of the horrendous feeling in your gut. High be damned, alcohol be damned, all you wanted was to be asleep, so you partially forget about all of this and hopefully it would fall victim to all of the endorphins in your head and be permanently removed from your brain.

Your room was cold, your window still open, you didn’t care.

All you cared was getting out of the too tight clothes you were in and getting into your bed.

You pulled at the corset, unbothered when you heard the seam ripping as you tugged at it, your skirt was easier. You flung a hoodie and pair of pyjama pants onto your body before climbing straight under your covers, your body shaking. You weren’t sure whether it was because of the high or because of the incessant hatred that had grown in your chest at the memory replaying over and over in your mind.

You clutched onto your vape, holding it in your hand and sucking up hit after hit as you tried to find solace in the flavoured air, hoping it would send you off to sleep.

You woke up with a headache like no other, your whole body hurt, and to the sound of repetitive banging at the front door downstairs.

You groaned out, annoyed at every single part of you for what had happened last night.

Your legs were still wobbly as you clawed your way out of your bed, your legs protesting with every single step you took, out of your room, down the stairs, to the peephole at your door.

Jordan, fuck.

You supposed in your haze it hadn’t been hard to forget about your mother’s appearance for today, you’d been trying desperately to forget so many other things that it must have slipped your mind.

You didn’t want to open the door, but you also knew you had to, so with every last piece of strength that you had in your body, you pulled the door open.

#woso #woso community #sammykworshipper thoughts #leah williamson #arsenal wfc #leah williamson x reader #jordan nobbs #jordan nobbs x reader #trauma #pain #sammykworshipperfics #wobbs breakup #drug addiction #im sad so are u #im not the only one crying #sue me for hurting ur feelings #sick and twisted

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twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat · 4 months

Text

come rest your bones next to me ; satoru gojo, suguru geto

synopsis; satoru shares the first snowfall of the year with the two people he loves most.

word count; 4.6k

contents; satoru gojo/reader/suguru geto (poly relationship!!), gn!reader, you're all whipped, reader referred to as spouse, fluff fluff fluff!!, sickeningly domestic, just comfy vibes all around, mostly from satoru’s pov, suguru has a favorite (its you) (but also not really he just likes bullying toru <3), satoru gojo may or may not have unresolved mommy issues

a/n; happy satosugu holidays to those who celebrate <33 geto died today isnt that crazy. dont u think its fucked up how love figuratively and literally killed him. anyway! help urself to two very whipped husbands <33

”holy shit!”

the raspy tilt of satoru’s voice echoes throughout the bedroom, stirring you from your comfortable slumber. a soft groan spills from suguru’s lips, deep and husky, as he pulls you closer into his embrace — smoothing a warm palm down the back of your head. trying to soothe you back to sleep, muttering under his breath.

”satoru, it’s too early for this...”

”it’s snowing!” said man continues, unperturbed. unmistakably giddy. he’s standing by the window, hands pressed flush against the cold glass; entirely entranced by the sight in front of his cerulean eyes.

your eyelids begin to flutter. a tiny tug of your subconscious, a pang of something excited flowing through your veins, an alert to your sleepy brain.

(snowing.)

with groggy movements, you wriggle out of suguru’s grasp — a displeased grumble leaves his throat, almost a whine — allowing you to scramble out of bed. ”really?” you chirp, rubbing the sleep from beneath your eyes. a raspy, meek little voice spilling into the air.

satoru grins, watching you move closer, watching as a tiny gasp pushes past your lips. watching as your droopy eyes widen — brightening, glittering, starlight and snowflakes painted on the interior of your iris. a breathtaking sight, he thinks.

maybe even more breathtaking than the winter wonderland reflected in it; beyond the pure opaque frosting of the window’s glass, out into your backyard, buried beneath a thick layer of snow. soft and fluffy, covering the city, suguru’s long-frozen tulip garden, the bare branches of your apricot tree. every roof in sight. all of it dyed a pure white, glittering in the light of a morning sun yet to fully rise, tiny snowflakes descending down to earth.

it’s beautiful.

satoru loves winter. he always has, he thinks. it comes to him as a memory — blurred at the edges, gleaming even still, the first time he saw those snowflakes up close. someone held him in their arms, he recalls. a warmth long faded.

all he can properly remember is that sight. one that knocked the breath from out his tiny lungs, all glitter and something almost other-worldly, something frightening in its majesty. like it broke through a rift in the stratosphere.

the first snow of the year.

and he’s loved it ever since; the soft crunch of snow beneath his feet, an air heavy with the scent of cinnamon and candied apples, bouts of laughter to be heard from faraway apartments. red and green glimmers of artificial light, sweet frosting on the christmas cake he would always gobble up alone in his room. the cold wind, nipping at his bare fingers — a reminder of his capacity for ache.

there are lots of things to love. lots of memories to cherish. and every single year, he gets the chance to make more.

like this; the light in your eyes, the smile on your face, the excitement in how hurriedly you turn to meet his giddy gaze. a nostalgic kind of joy simmering in the space between you.

and before either of you know it, satoru’s pulling you towards the hallway, intent on dragging you outside to see it all up close. almost tripping over his agumon plush, lying unassumingly on the floor, kicked off the bed once again.

(probably by satoru himself, though he’ll always insist it was suguru’s doing. overcome by his jealousy, unable to stand the sight of his cute husband cuddling up to a plushie instead of him. satoru understands, he does — he feels the same when he sees you hug that 3’0 cat plushie of yours.

and, sure, maybe once or twice he’s been lucid enough to register the subconscious kick of his leg and agumon’s subsequent fall to the floor — but he’ll still blame suguru in the morning. if only to see the way said man rolls his eyes, clicks his tongue, maybe flicks his forehead if he’s lucky.)

high on the spirit of christmas, spurred on by childlike elation and sleep-deprivation, you stumble towards the door. satoru pulls one of his jackets over your shoulders, delighting in the way your hands don’t fully reach through the sleeves. wrapping you up in a cozy scarf when suguru shouts at you both to dress warmly, barely awake and already tired of your antics.

and the moment you step through the door, satoru is engulfed by it. that mystical, mystical feeling.

a little lonely, a little too satisfying to pass up. a cold breeze that nips at his fingertips, snowflakes that brush against his cheeks and stick to his white lashes. a warm hand in his, as you cling to his side, shuddering — but smiling, as you look up at the sky, putting a hand out just to feel the snowflakes melt against the skin of your palm.

he feels you let go of him, but doesn’t mention it. a little too mesmerized to tug you back. dipping his toes into the bittersweet nostalgia of it all, staring at the flurry of white all around you, the skeletal branches of your apricot tree. suguru’s poor tulips. humming a jolly tune, subconsciously. a little delighted.

— until something cold and wet hits the exposed skin of his neck.

satoru twitches, a chilling shudder trickling down his spine. the snowball just thrown at him begins to melt, droplets sticking to his nape, and he turns to you with a raise of his brow. a devilish grin on his lips, when he hears your muffled laughter, sees the crinkle of your eyes.

(you’re cute, he thinks. but you need to be humbled.)

”oh, so that’s how you wanna play?” he drawls, eyes gleaming with amusement. taking a step forward, reaching down to gather some snow in his palm. a wide grin on his glossy lips. ”fine by me.”

he's fast, but you act quickly, running towards the apricot tree with laughter in your throat. feeling the pitter patter of your heartbeat resound in your ears, as the snowball misses its mark by just a hair — and you waste no time in making your own.

it’s a hard-fought duel. snowfall blocking your vision, nerves beginning to numb, red cheeks and runny noses as you chase each other with giddy breaths. unfortunately for you, satoru’s arms are unfairly long, fingers unfairly nimble, and his stamina never even seems to falter.

so before long, your energy begins to dwindle. chest heaving, hands too cold to form a proper snowball, while your husband seems like he hasn’t even broken a sweat. they just keep on coming, snowball after snowball colliding with the fabric of your jacket, and when one of them hits your collarbone you squeal — falling backwards, right into a fresh pile of snow.

satoru moves forward, a triumphant smirk on his handsome face. you’re out of breath, and your hands are red, and he’s fairly certain you’re gonna catch a cold. suguru’s going to scold him, but right now all he can think of is you. the frown you’re wearing, the little huff that slips from your lips.

”ready to admit defeat, sweetheart?” he practically purrs, standing above you with his hands on his hips. smug. and you grin right back.

”never.”

a hum. something glimmers in his eyes, a devious little glint, and you come to regret your decision when satoru gathers a heap of snow with his overgrown arms; only to drop it all on top of you. too tired to fight back, all you can do is shield your face, silently accepting your fate.

a shiver wracks through your body, and satoru almost feels bad. just a tiny bit. but then you finally relent, murmuring bitterly under your breath. ”fine, fine…” a soft pout forms on your lips. ”you win.”

and satoru smiles. crouching down to meet you at eye level, on his knees in front of you. there’s a teasing mirth in his eyes, when he reaches out to cup the fat of your cheek. ”that’s all i wanted to hear, sweet pea,” he drawls, trying not to giggle when you exaggeratedly roll your eyes.

his voice curls down an octave when he continues, leaning forward to brush his nose against yours. hot breath against your chilled skin. ”now, for my prize…”

his lips meet yours, sweet and chaste — a little cheeky. you scoff into the kiss, but satoru’s smile only grows. honeyed, a little bit adoring. his tongue flits out to lick at your cold bottom lip.

he lingers, for a bit. like he’s trying to savour the way you taste, faded strawberry chapstick sticking to his lips, smudged against your own. and you sigh, softly, melting a little, comforted by the fleeting warmth that blossoms on your face.

when he's finally satisfied, having dragged his prize out to its completion, satoru helps you up. brushing snowflakes off your jacket, cradling your ice-cold hands in his. they’re not faring much better, but a worried tug of his heartstrings compels him to warm you up. bringing them to his lips, hot breath fanning over your skin, tender little kisses against the knots of your knuckles.

you can’t help but blush, and a raspy chuckle flows from out his lips.

hazy morning sunshine licks at the branches of the apricot tree behind you, illuminating the contours of your face, the shine of his eyes. a blue smudge on a canvas painted white and gray. the air smells of pine cones and something smokey, crisp. it courses through his burning lungs when he inhales, exhales, a breath of vapour that scatters up into the sky.

satoru loves winter. always has. but now, he’s certain he loves it even more.

because now, he has two people to share it with. two people to drag out into the snow, two people whose hands he can tenderly warm up, two people who’ll laugh and sigh at his antics and still indulge him. two people to pelt with snowballs.

what more could a man want?

”hey, idiots!”

the voice that echoes throughout the air is exasperated, a little teasing. yet fond. suguru’s got his hair tied into a messy half done bun, black turtleneck sweater enunciating his broad chest and the curve of his waist. there’s a fatigue in his eyes, the creases of his face, but a lazy smile is playing at his lips.

”i’m making breakfast,” he shouts, voice deep and smokey and soft even still. ”come in and warm up before you catch a cold.”

”is that any way to speak to your husband and spouse?” satoru chimes back, a melodic lilt to his sugarsweet voice. something satisfied. pleased.

suguru shoots him an unimpressed look, but his eyes soften. melting a little, at the words that spill from satoru’s lips, as if they were always meant to be there.

(husband. spouse. suguru wills himself not to smile.)

with matching grins on your faces, the two of you stumble back towards the door. snow crunching beneath your feet, a happy noise pushing past your lips when you collide with the warmth of your husband’s chest.

”look, suguru. isn’t it pretty?” you chirp, smiling brightly. an expression he mirrors — brushing some snow from the top of your head, warm palms caressing your cold skin, setting a mental reminder to scold satoru later. sparing a brief glance at the snowy veil over reality.

then he exhales. a fond hum. ”it is.”

satoru joins you both by the door, stretching out his lanky limbs. tousled hair, wet strands sticking to his skin, reddened cheeks and a signature pout. ”suguru, my hands are cold,” he whines. ”warm ’em up for me?”

a click of his tongue. ”should’ve put some gloves on, satoru.”

a hum buzzes in your throat, and you put your hands out. itchy, a little dry. a sad frown tugs at your lips when you speak. ”my hands are also cold.”

and, like clockwork, suguru’s eyes soften. a coo tiptoeing on his tongue, engulfing your hands in his larger ones. ”aw, c’mere, my love…” his breath fans over your frozen fingertips. ”let’s get you warmed up, hm?”

satoru gasps, a hand on his chest, and you stifle a giggle. he’s acting, you both know, being a little drama queen. he knows you’re just exaggerating suguru’s double standard as a bit, that your husband would probably set himself on fire to warm either of you up.

despite that, his voice comes out thoroughly offended. ”oh, i see how it is,” he huffs, walking past the both of you. pouting deeply. ”you hate me. you hate me, and you want me to die. i understand.”

”satoru,” you coo. he hmphs, but stills, waiting for you to wrap your arms around him. and you do — a little too eager to appease your giant baby of a husband.

”we’re just joking around,” you assure him, holding back a humorous chuckle. squeezing his waist with palpable fondness. ”love you sooo much. you know that.”

satoru stays silent. but he cranes his neck, to meet suguru’s gaze, standing just behind him. narrowing his cobalt eyes — a meaningful look.

suguru sighs.

”yes, yes. we love you oh so much.” he takes a step forward, ruffling the white head of hair by the door. a lazy smile on his lips. ”now behave and go change out of your pyjamas. they’re soaked.”

his voice is teasing. exasperated, more than a little condescending. but it’s suguru, so satoru accepts it — following you both into the warmth of your home. the scent of cinnamon and vanilla hangs heavy in the air, a hint of espresso and firewood, lulling him into a sweet state of tranquility. rich with comfort, safety.

he changes out of his wet clothes, pulling a black hoodie over his head before waltzing into the kitchen. and you do the same, emerging from your bedroom in one of suguru’s cozy sweaters, knitted and smelling of bergamot.

when suguru notices, his gaze shifts into something fond. palpable. a look satoru always finds in the scope of those warm eyes, amber and cedar bleeding into something sweet, only ever directed at the two of you. a look said man assumes goes unnoticed. he’s not as slick as he thinks.

the kitchen simmers with hazy sunlight and gentle movements, something sleepy and kind. satoru is a little bit enamored with it; from bowls of cat food by the corner, to camellias by the windowsill, cookie jars and dried lemon slices, the fading scent of baked goods and wishlists stuck to the fridge.

(yours and satoru’s are filled with scribbles, new ideas popping up daily, while suguru’s is almost entirely blank; mostly necessities, one or two things he’d like for himself.

and then, of course, the same thing he writes at the top of his wishlist every year; some peace and quiet.)

suguru shuffles around the kitchen, long strands of black hair cascading down his back, swaying with his movements. he sends you both an affectionate glance when you step in, already in the process of making satoru his cup of hot chocolate — topped with marshmallows and whipped cream, colorful sprinkles in the shape of tiny stars, a touch of cinnamon. satoru licks his lips.

when it's finished, the cup is promptly handed to him, paired with a tender kiss to his forehead. and suguru starts the meticulous brewing of your coffee, steady hands, finely chosen coffee beans, the low purring of the espresso machine. soothing.

that’s when you attach yourself to his back. wrapping your arms around his waist, a sleepy yawn muffled into the fabric of his turtleneck. he places a big palm on your hand, thumb smoothing over your knuckle, and you nuzzle into him silently. suguru smiles.

”still sleepy, baby?” he questions, a coo on the tip of his tongue. his voice is soft, palpably so, buzzing with warmth and safety and something that makes you want to stay cuddled up to him forever.

satoru senses an opportunity to insert himself into the conversation, and forces out a yawn of his own. stretching his limbs like a big cat, blinking drowsily, eyelashes fluttering. hoping it’ll come off as endearing. ”mhm.”

but suguru shoots him an unimpressed look. ”not you,” he tuts, patting your arm, ”this baby. i wasn’t asking you.”

a pout. ”why are you so mean to me?” he whines, shooting you a doe-eyed look. bottom lip jutting out slightly, a feigned glassiness to his eyes. ”sweetie, tell your husband to stop being so mean to me.”

you smile. indulgent, as always. ”don't be so mean to him, suguru. you know he’s sensitive.”

a sigh. deep, tinged with exhaustion. satoru shares an amused look with you — stifling a shared chuckle at suguru’s exasperation.

and suddenly, he feels something warm flutter in his ribcage. a sunkissed butterfly, wings brushing against his ribs, coaxing his lips into curling up. unmistakable fondness, almost too much to bear. the need to reach out and touch you creeps up on him, a hunger he can’t deny, but he holds back; you look comfy like that, curled up against suguru’s spine. so he only inches closer, without a word.

his husband casts him a glance, but satoru stays silent. lips pursed, waiting for something. patient.

and suguru relents. he reaches a hand out, to tuck a stray strand of white hair behind his ear — an excuse to touch him. a silent apology.

(i'm sorry, you big baby.)

satoru grins.

you shift from foot to foot, leaning over to see what suguru is doing, pressing buttons and taking two ceramic cups out from a wall cabinet. your eyes zero in on a particular shelf, narrowing in suspicion, before flitting over to meet your husband’s gaze.

”satoru, did you use up all my peppermint sweeteners again?”

he stiffens. just a tad, before swallowing a gulp — followed by a silly chuckle, sheepish and performative, eager to wiggle his way out of your cold gaze. ”… which sweeteners do you mean, honey?”

”don’t pull the ’honey’ card.”

”and don’t play dumb, either.”

a pout crosses his lips. betrayed. ”suguru, who’s side are you even on?”

said man gives him a look. that one look, characteristically suguru, the same one he always sends satoru’s way. one so thoroughly unimpressed it makes him feel like the world’s biggest clown.

and satoru plays along. your dutiful, beloved clown, his posture wilting like a sad flower. suguru exhales through his nose.

”don’t steal their sweeteners.” he smooths a thumb over your knuckle, absentminded, meeting the cold metal of the ring on your finger. smiling a little at the sensation. ”buy your own.”

satoru huffs, drawn out and childish. crossing his arms, leaning against the kitchen counter. ”ah, i see how it is. leaving your sweet husband to buy his own sweeteners?” he clicks his tongue. ”chivalry is dead.”

you bite back a little chuckle — satoru recognizes the cute noise you make when you do — and suguru rolls his eyes. fondly, always. ”remind me next time i go to the store and i’ll consider it.”

”hmph.”

suguru is smiling. it’s small, but genuine, worth a thousand words. and you are, too, the vague crinkle of your eyes giving you away. even as you bury your face in the curve of suguru’s back.

and ah, satoru thinks. there it is again.

that sickeningly sweet sense of deja vu; the sensation of a certain something flourishing deep inside his chest. warming him up, trickling through his frost-bitten veins. that one little itch he never manages to satisfy, that never goes away, something that took root inside his heart years ago — watered by the sweet looks on your faces.

this everyday slice of heaven, right in front of him, that he’s been greedily partaking in ever since he moved in with you. since he married you.

(married.)

sometimes he still can’t believe it.

”it’ll be done in a minute,” suguru hums, and satoru blinks. broken out of his syrupy stupor. ”you two go wait by the kotatsu, okay? must be cold, poor babies.”

and, as always, his voice is a little teasing. a tiny bit condescending, if you really strain your ears, in typical suguru fashion. but it’s laced with a touch of sweetness; one that would be too much for either of you to stomach, if it were to drip out of his lips with nothing to water it down. so satoru accepts it. welcomes it, even.

and you follow his suggestion. making your way towards the living room, satoru trailing behind you, continuously enamored by every little thing he sees. every little piece of the home you’ve built for yourselves.

your living room is cozy. several potted plants seated here and there, a thick quilt to cover the kotatsu, a bowl of satsumas on top of it. a sleepy cat on your couch, golden sunshine ruffling her fur. a santa hat lies beside her, and satoru snags it without much thought. pulling it over his head.

his gaze shifts to the christmas tree over in the corner, eyes filling with a childlike kind of wonder. it’s decorated to completion, weighed down by colourful ornaments and lights, a star at the very top. suguru cut it himself, bringing the biggest and prettiest one he could find back home.

(satoru had gone with him. partially to help carry it back, mostly to get a glimpse of suguru's biceps flexing with the swing of the axe. he’s a simple man.)

and beneath it, presents are already beginning to pile up. carefully wrapped, in bows and silken paper, growing more each day. shattering suguru’s hopes of maybe having a more lowkey christmas this year — but satoru couldn’t be more relieved. this is the only time of year you let him get away with pampering you both to his heart’s content.

a smile blooms on his lips. he plops down on the floor, crossing his legs, right as suguru walks in with a coffee pot in hand. their gazes overlapping.

and something mischievous begins to brew within the blue of his eyes, something that makes suguru narrow his own. satoru pats his thigh, twice, a coo on the tip of his tongue. santa hat sitting pointedly on top of his head, fluffing up his hair.

”c’mere, suguru! sit on santa’s lap.”

”— you’re disgusting.”

the words are playful, but a pout still slips into the curve of satoru’s lips, and he huffs out a displeased little breath. his husband pretends not to hear it, so satoru turns to you — sitting so prettily to his right, already anticipating his next move. puppy dog eyes on full display, he gives you a soft tilt of his head, snowy tufts of hair falling over his eyes.

and you sigh, in what he knows is resignation. his faux pout turning into a satisfied grin.

you curl up in satoru’s lap without much of a fuss, letting him circle his arms around you. an indulgent smile rests on your lips, but he knows you love this; his broad chest against your back, the heat of the kotatsu warming your feet. breathing in the fading scent of your shampoo, he leaves a peck on the sensitive spot right behind your ear, and you try not to shudder.

then satoru smiles. squeezing you, lightly, sweetly, eyes rich with honeyed affection. voice dripping with playful endearment. ”there we go,” he coos. ”what does my angel want for christmas, hm?”

”i want you to stop stealing my peppermint sweeteners,” comes your answer. instantaneous.

silence fills the room. a moment passes. outside your frosted windows, a bird takes flight from the branches of your apricot tree. and satoru clicks his tongue.

”… santa can only do so much, baby.”

two deep scoffs fill the air, heavy and bemused. one from you, one from suguru. satoru only giggles.

”just kidding!” he chirps, planting a kiss on the top of your head. ”don’t you worry. santa’ll give you all the peppermint sweeteners you could ever want.”

you raise a brow, exhaling amusedly. craning your head to meet his gaze. ”and he won’t end up using them all himself?”

”of course not! blasphemy.”

a moment passes.

”… maybe one or two. as a treat.”

a string of protests slips from your lips, and satoru tries not to burst into a fit of giggles. suguru just watches, silently, smiling lightly as he pours hot coffee into two ceramic cups. steam wafting up to the ceiling, a cat jumping down from the couch to curl up in his lap. he places one in front of you, not taking a single sip of his own until he hears you hum blissfully at the taste — pink lips against white ceramic. a bitter taste on his tongue, sweetened by your approval.

then he starts peeling three satsumas, absentmindedly, and satoru swallows down the love-ridden honey choking up the back of his throat. pretending the domesticity of such a simple action doesn’t melt his heart down to the marrow.

he turns his attention towards the window. frost sticking to the glass like spider-woven webs, soon to be melted by the glow of the mellow winter sunrays. flitting in through the curtains, cascading over the room, splattering across the floorboards. framing the hue of your hair, the smile on suguru’s lips.

and a memory comes to him. sudden, hazy, faded at the edges. ghosting his subconscious.

he remembers the frost, the biting wind, the frightening majesty of the snow that fell that day. breaking into his world through a rift in the stratosphere. he remembers the contrasting warmth of the person who held him, who cradled him close; the soft lull of a woman’s voice.

for a moment, satoru thinks he can almost, almost see it before him. hear those gentle words, see her tired smile. why was she always so tired?

(look, satoru. isn’t it pretty?)

— he can’t recall how it sounded. if it was melodic and soft, or raspy and broken, happy or sad. but he does recall that it made him feel safe. safe enough to find comfort in a sight so other-worldly, so very foreign.

it should’ve been frightening, but it wasn’t. the first snowfall satoru ever saw knocked the breath from out his lungs, stole his heart with cold hands, left him with a suffocating nostalgia. but the memory is precious.

and now, he feels that sense of other-worldliness in this; a kotatsu for three, a warm house, peeled satsumas and promises of a christmas cake soon to be baked. one lovely spouse in his lap, the other gazing at him with that fond look he always assumes goes unnoticed. a cocoon of safety — a ghost he doesn’t need to chase anymore.

warmth. enough warmth to make up for the snow and frost outside your home, all the experiences he missed out on as a child. warmth, warmth, warmth. funny, how that happens to be satoru’s favorite thing about winter.

he looks at the two of you, hoping you won’t pay any mind to his silence. for once, he hopes you’ll stay wrapped up in your awful, awful coffee, so bitter that just looking at it makes his throat feel dry. just so he can get away with admiring you for a little longer. from the contours of suguru’s face, to the skin of your collarbone, to the rings on your fingers. ones he put there himself.

and ah, satoru thinks, there it is again. again and again, as always, forever. that warm, warm feeling flourishing in the depths of his chest.

he hopes it never goes away.