#Black Water: ch 20

[distortedclouds]

Do you think BW Armin is a traditional man? When Annie told him that she thought she was pregnant he said he thought they’d atleast be married first it was probably frowned down to have a baby out of wedlock back then is that why? Or it something about doing it the right way?

"traditional" sure, but not in the sense of the buzzword of tradition is used today online we dont fuck with that kind of shit around here

I'd say it's the culmination of multiple factors that make him think this way. Most notably is the period they live in, late 1800s early 1900s (with Paradis still adjusting culturally for years to come) it makes sense why he'd think having a kid while unmarried would have direct or indirect consequences mainly for Annie and the kid

Armin would want the best of Annie and the family they wish to one day have together, and in their circumstances, that necessitates a marriage certificate. So while there's a bit of the sentiment of Armin wanting to do things "the right way" an unplanned pregnancy would also force them to make a quick decision about getting married, not something he'd want to push Annie into simply because it's the only way

The thing in particular about BW Armin is that this is set fresh post-rumbling and he's still trying to become a kind of person he would be proud of; he wants to be reliable, useful, helpful, and, most importantly, doesn't want to cause harm to the people he cares about the most. Armin often gets caught up in "ideals" that he should live up to, compared to Annie who appreciates the little things in life because she never had them growing up, such as a loving partner and the potential of a family, with the laws and social norms being an afterthought

[d33pwithinmys0ul]

•°. *࿐Public Display of Affection •°. *࿐

(first chapter only, rest on ao3!)

I haven't posted any of the rest of the fic here on Tumblr, so here's chapter 1 to tempt you :)

(no violence against women or reader in this fic, but i know the subject matter is sensitive so please read tags and censor accordingly) 18+

જ⁀➴ Stalker Eren Yeager x Anxious Fem Reader, college au, barista x bartender, slowish burn, paranoia, masturbation, stalking, inspired by YOU on netflix

Ch 1.

It was 90 degrees in the middle of summer, and you wanted more than anything to rot in bed at home on your day off. 

Your “grocery” list was short enough, and you’d taken a hit from your cart as soon as you parked. You were planning to take your time inside so you could sober up enough to drive safely back home when the trip was done. Almond milk, green tea, face wash, pasta and pasta sauce. Simple. 

You didn’t look very nice today, it wasn’t the kind of store where you’d get stared at for not trying. Hideous but comfortable shoes, a baggy shirt to hide that you didn’t want to wear a bra—no makeup, shorts, a tote bag over your shoulder, and hair that needed to be washed. You wondered if the tote bag was a bad choice, in case they’d think you were stealing. 

You would probably notice if someone started following you. It’s not like you were going to steal anyway, but isn’t it about seeming like a normal person, not acting suspicious?

God, you needed to rein these thoughts in. You can’t let yourself think like this, like a paranoid freak.

You almost didn’t come, nearly willing to pay an extra $20 in fees for your tiny grocery order to be delivered to the apartment, but you couldn’t afford it. You’d get good tips tomorrow at work, but you needed things today. It was probably better to make yourself do the things you didn’t want to do. If you rotted too long you’d be stuck in the depths of your misery for a long time.

You’d taken a shaky breath and grabbed a basket. You didn’t know there were baskets for this store, you only ever saw people pushing carts. It was a dumb thought, but you really never noticed before. You weren’t sure where to go first, and just headed for the first thing you could think of—green tea.

You hated doing errands alone, it always filled you with dread. Your roommate Sasha was out of state for a summer job and you’ve been technically living by yourself for almost three weeks now. It was lonely, even though you’d call sometimes. You missed being able to relax around her, allowing for her earnest jokes about your silly anxieties to quell you. 

You tried to look normal as you circled the beverage section multiple times, lost in thought, struggling to find the teas before finally stopping in an aisle full of coffee. Surely they would be in the same place. 

You walk through, reading labels, and hoping you’re not in someone’s way. You find the tea boxes—chamomile, black tea, jasmine, organic matcha, jasmine matcha… All so expensive, and what if they weren’t good?

Your craving was so bad today you’d gotten an iced matcha from the cafe you worked at, just to make the walk through the grocery store a little more fun. You were glad you did, the weed and the heat combined made you so thirsty. 

You really should buy a pack of water bottles or a five gallon refill for the dispenser in your apartment, but you knew you didn’t have the strength to carry either up the stairs and inside—or a Sasha to do it for you. 

You winced as you saw someone in your peripheral. Breathe. Just another shopper. 

Why’d they put paper towels and paper plates in the same aisle as the tea and coffee? 

You couldn’t remember if you applied deodorant before you left the house. You let yourself glance at him briefly. A man, wearing a bright neon shirt and work boots. Could he smell you? Oh my god, did you stink? You were sweating so bad, it was so hot.

You took a deep breath and held it, counting to four in your head before exhaling softly. You repeated the technique and redirected yourself to the tea. 

You didn’t have much money today after paying off the bills, and buying a $6 matcha (after employee discount) didn’t help either. 

You swallowed when another man entered the aisle and walked right behind you. You tensed up at the blur of gray and tried to focus again.

Organic green tea, green tea with lemon, decaf green tea… Green tea. Simply packaged and $2. Perfect. 

You toss the box into your basket and turn the other way, further from the two other men in the aisle, frowning when you see a mother and two kids pushing a cart slowly towards you. Fine. You turn again and stalk down the aisle and towards the milk. 

You nearly ran into someone and mumbled an “excuse me” when you spotted the fridges. Your heart pounded in your ears. God, so high. 

Were you holding your basket weird? 

The rest of the grocery trip was like this, slow and torturous, occasional missteps as you navigated the aisles and awkwardly apologized for taking up other peoples’ space. The back of your neck prickled and your anxiety wouldn’t let up the whole time.

You made your way to the skincare and grabbed the brand of face cleanser you like. You found a trash can to toss your empty matcha cup—so so worth it—and lingered by the makeup and nail polish, wishing you could make an unplanned purchase. You wanted something glittery.

You managed to calm down a little more by the time you’d rounded up everything you wanted. You dared to try a new kind of pasta sauce. You were glad you went out today. It wasn’t all bad, you supposed. 

It was the first time Eren ever spotted you. 

Long before you’d made the hike back to your car, one bag of groceries in your hand while the other fumbled for your keys, and even before he blocked your way by “accident” near the milk fridge, Eren was in his car in the parking lot, AC blasting, when you’d caught his eye. He hadn’t gone inside yet, and he had planned to people watch today. 

You parked next to him, the thudding bass of your music catching his attention, at first with annoyance. 

He watched you try to fix your hair in the mirror, and you frowned at your reflection. You had a beaded bracelet and a little charm keychain hanging from your rearview mirror. There was a small plushy on your dashboard, and Eren almost smiled– cute. You took a long hit from a pen, and a deep breath before you opened your car door and stepped out. 

His eyes grazed your body and it was like everything clicked. The flush of your cheeks in the heat, the way those shorts hugged your thighs and hips. Your eyebrows were pinched and you bit your lip anxiously as you rummaged for something in your purse. Your eyes were glassy and low, and he was captivated. 

How lucky he was to see you, and linger a few feet behind you as you went inside. He was curious.

He had to walk past you when you lingered by the baskets, looking at them intently, and he wished he knew what you were thinking when you stared at them. He paused to look at some display a few feet away when you finally picked one up and started moving, sipping at a green drink in your hand.

Eren would never shop here. It was cheap and low quality, and he wondered about the kind of situation you were in. Poor thing. He had picked the store at random after driving around for so long, stuck in a rut, stuck in his head, for these past few months. He hadn’t been in love in so long. 

You lingered so long in the green tea aisle, lost in thought. He couldn’t stop staring at your lips, the way they puckered around the straw of your drink, the curve of your neck, how you swallowed. 

He let himself stride behind you, walking towards some paper towels that another man in the aisle was looking over as well. Eren almost groaned at the smell of you as he passed, faint hints of perfume intermingling with your subtle musk from the summer heat.

He pushed ahead into the meat section, watching you from another angle a bit further away. There was an abandoned cart in the aisle and he grabbed it, picking a few random things to fill it, when he saw you make your way to the milk fridge. 

You had turned around at the last minute after nearly running into some poor elderly couple because you were staring at the ground as you walked. Who does that? 

Why did you do that? You were so beautiful, what was there to be ashamed about when you were just walking? 

You flushed with embarrassment and stopped on the side of the walkway, blinking in a daze before you had kept going. 

He almost darted for the milk fridge, getting there before you did, and parked himself right in front of it. He tried to look like he was deciding between all the options of milk as he gazed at you through the reflection of the glass. You were sizing him up nervously, occasionally glancing at the phone in your hand. 

Were you texting someone? No, you were just looking at it, your thumb didn’t move. Like you were trying to pretend to be busy while you waited for him. Really cute. His lips curled into a smile and he started to walk away, at the last minute going the other direction just to catch you off guard. 

You’d look up at him in surprise, chewing your lip again before you looked away, and Eren knew he wanted you. 

He’d never seen someone so nervous at nothing before, and be so ridiculously tempting. How dare you exist so skittishly when you practically flaunted yourself for everyone to see? How could he be expected to control himself with the way sweat ran down your neck, the way your tits jiggled under your shirt? You didn’t wear a bra. It’s like you were asking it for it, all the while being so coquettishly wrapped up in your own little world. 

He burned to know what you were thinking, why you had such a short shopping list, how your mouth would feel around him. It was in his nature, and your best interest.

You spent twenty minutes sitting in your car in the grocery store parking lot trying to sober up. You scrolled through your phone, chewing your nails nervously and occasionally taking note of the cars around you. 

Would anyone say something to the store employees if you were lingering around here for too long? The car next to you, in front of you, and a few cars away all had people inside them. It was hot, everyone was probably cooling off or waiting for someone else who had gone inside. Nobody was going to crucify you for lingering just a little bit. 

You took another deep breath. You missed your matcha and swore to yourself you’d make one as soon as you walked into work tomorrow. 

Eren followed you when you drove home, just a few cars behind so you wouldn’t notice. Your car, which he’d already memorized the model of, approached a residential neighborhood, a collection of houses and apartments. He prepared to make a different turn in case your pretty little head started giving you any paranoid thoughts. 

Eren figured you’d be the type of girl that would notice if a car was following her. He was also sure that you were the type of girl that wouldn’t remember the vehicle a few hours later. 

After making a mental note of the street, he decided to come back at dark and search for your parked car so he could figure out exactly where you lived. It would only take a few days to take full surveillance of you, nothing he couldn’t handle.

He drove off and went home.

Eren put away his randomly picked groceries, along with your brand of face wash, and the cup you had thrown away. He smiled at his little find. 

You had liked your drink enough to finish it in ten minutes–maybe you were a regular there. He turned the plastic cup to see writing in black sharpie with your order and your name. 

Lav matcha almond light ice, y/n!

There were hearts and stars drawn around your name, with a smiley face. Eren frowned. The handwriting looked feminine, so unless he was very unlucky, he hoped a friend made your drink today.

Eren sank into his couch and pulled out his laptop. The dim light in his apartment flickered. He hadn’t been taking care of himself lately, since his last break up. Now, he had good reason to clean up and look nice again. 

He looked up the cafe online, clicking on their social media page. He looked for your name, and saw that you followed their Instagram. He opened your profile and was pleased—and a little surprised—to see that it was all public. You posted a lot. And your most recent picture made his cock twitch. 

Your face was pouty and bored, the flash of the picture causing a subtle blur. You wore a mini skirt and a skimpy top that your tits strained against—the comments were filled with girls complimenting you, calling you hot and beautiful, and you’d reply back, swearing they were even more gorgeous. 

Incredible. 

Eren couldn’t believe his eyes as he went through your feed. Latte art, concerts, books you were reading, meals you had. You were so open online in comparison to your meek disposition at the store. This had to be a facade.

He went through your tagged photos as well. You didn’t seem to have too many friends, and no boyfriend in sight. You were perfect. He would get to know you in no time. 

He went through your following, looking at stores, brands, artists, and actors. You were dumb enough to use the same username for everything, and within an hour Eren found you on more apps and websites. He went through your public music playlists, the movies you’d review online, where you graduated high school, what kind of family you had. It was too easy. Like he was meant to find you, to love you. He wanted to teach you how to hold your chin up, or hold it for you.

Eren saved all his favorite pictures of you, still pleasantly surprised at the kind of outfits you’d wear to the bar or the club. Glittery makeup, low cut tops, fishnets, short dresses. He pulls out his cock as he goes through the new photo folder he created, titled “My Y/n.”

—

next chapters here on ao3

[armpirate]

Until You're Mine || Choi San | Ch. 20

MASTERLIST Previous || Next

Pairings: Mafia!San x fem!reader

Genre: smut, angst, fluff, obsession, mafia love

Warnings: dom!San, sub!reader, explicit language, mention of drug and guns, violence, rough sex.

Summary: San, a notorious and feared mafia boss, has always lived in the shadows of power and violence. When an ambush leaves him wounded and on the run, he finds refuge in an empty event hall. Inside, Y/n, a rising star in the world of event planning, is nursing her own wounds -a career on the line after a confrontation with a powerful client. The last thing she expects is for her night to take a dark turn when San stumbles into her life, bloodied and dangerous.

Despite the fear and uncertainty, Y/n can't turn away. She helps him clean up, binding more than just his wounds in the process. What begins as an intense, chance encounter spirals into a dangerous obsession. San, used to being the hunter, becomes fixated on the one woman who dared to help him, even in his darkest moment. Meanwhile, Y/n, caught in the mystery of that powerful man, finds herself tracking his every move, unable to shake the dangerous allure of his world.

Neither knows that their fascination with each other is mutual. In a city teeming with danger, power, and deceit, their secret obsessions will pull them deeper into a deadly game -one where love, power, and obsession intertwine, and nothing is as it seems.

Chapter duration: 14 minutes

Chapter warnings: Smut, explicit language

The sun broke through the blackout curtains like a blade, thin and sharp and golden, slicing through the calm that lingered from the night before. Y/n stirred slowly, her body still warm from sleep, and from him. The sheets were tangled around her legs, the silk brushing her skin in a whisper. But what woke her wasn't light.

It was silence.

The kind that came right after something cracked.

San was gone.

His scent clung to the pillows: spice and smoke and something darker, something hers now. But the space beside her was cold, abandoned hours ago.

She sat up slowly, her hand brushing over the sheets where his body had been. A flicker of something unfamiliar twisted in her chest. Not doubt, not regret, but curiosity. The game had changed. The pieces were still moving.

Muffled voices echoed faintly down the hall, too low to make out, but urgent in rhythm. She reached for the first thing within arm's reach: his shirt. Oversized, black, soft from wear. She pulled it over her bare skin without thinking and stepped out into the corridor barefoot.

The marble under her feet was cold, the hallway dim.

She followed the voices like a thread, deeper into the belly of his world, until she found them.

The office door was cracked open, just enough for her to see him.

San stood shirtless, a towel slung low around his waist, droplets of water sliding down his wide back. He was leaning over a table littered with files, grainy photos, and a lit cigarette burning low between his fingers. His body was rigid, but his voice was calm, too calm.

Another man stood across from him, tall, suited, sunglasses still on despite the hour. His jaw was tight.

—Nothing's clean anymore —the man said—. He left a trail. On purpose.

San's fingers twitched.

—And you followed it?

The man hesitated. San didn't look up, but the air thickened like a warning. Y/n didn't mean to step forward, but the floor creaked, just enough. San's eyes snapped to the door.

Their gazes locked.

No surprise in his expression. Just heat. Tension. And a flash of something rawer than either of them had shown last night.

—You're up —he said, voice rough from disuse.

Y/n tilted her head slightly, one brow lifting.

—You didn't say goodbye —she said.

When the man turned, Y/n could recognize him from the other times she had been driven back to her place. He dedicated a knowing smile at San, before moving away to walk towards the door, walking past her.

Once they were back alone, San's smirk was lazy, but it didn't reach his eyes.

—Didn't think you'd want soft.

She didn't answer. She didn't have to. She stepped into the room without hesitation, barefoot and composed in his shirt, as if she owned the place. And just like that, the shift between them started again.

No longer about if she belonged in his world, but how deep she'd go.

The air in the office was thick with tension and steam, like the heat hadn't quite left his skin after the cold shower. San stood hunched over the cluttered table, one hand braced against the wood, the other trailing over a map littered with markings and red circles. His bare back flexed with every slow inhale, a rivulet of water still sliding down the line of his spine, disappearing into the waistband of his towel.

His oversized shirt hung off one shoulder, the hem brushed her thighs as she stepped deeper inside his office, her eyes never leaving him, studying all of his movements and mannerisms, all the little details that made her so obsessed in the first place.

San looked up the moment he felt her eyes.

His gaze raked over her slowly, as if the night before hadn't been enough.

—You're not supposed to be in here —he said, voice low and unreadable.

Y/n stepped inside without hesitation, her arms crossed loosely, her bare legs whispering against each other with every step.

—Neither are you —she said.

—And where am I supposed to be?

—In bed —she simply answered.

Her tone was soft, teasing, an echo of the line he'd once thrown at her when he revealed how long he'd been watching her. That earned her the slightest twitch at the corner of his mouth.

She stopped at the edge of the table, her fingers grazing the surface. Her eyes flitted over the photos, the maps, the chaos he somehow made sense of. She tilted her head toward a familiar face.

—So it is him.

San's expression darkened slightly, but his eyes never left her.

—You recognize him from the file.

—I recognize him from my office —she said, voice calm—. He was one of our most generous clients.

San didn't flinch.

That generosity came with blood money.

—Not like you, obviously—she sarcastically added, making San twist his jaw slightly.

Y/n's gaze drifted back to the surveillance image.

—And now?

—Now —San muttered, dragging a finger across the map toward a circled address—, he's funding the people who want you gone.

She didn't respond right away. Instead, she stepped closer, until her hip brushed the side of the table and she was directly in his space. San didn't back away. His eyes dipped to her exposed shoulder, then to the collar where his shirt hung loose against her skin. His hand moved -slowly, deliberately- and trailed one knuckle up her arm.

—You should go back to bed —he murmured.

Y/n smiled.

—You should come back to bed, too.

San's lips parted like he might respond, but she leaned in before he could, letting her breath fan across his jaw.

—You're still trying to protect me —she whispered.

He looked at her, eyes dark.

—That's not a crime.

—It's boring —she whispered, nose brushing his.

A soft chuckle left him, but it was laced with something feral. He gripped her hip with one hand, pulling her flush against him, the table at her back.

—So what would you prefer?

She ran her hand across his chest, dragging droplets of water with her fingertips.

—Let me in.

San's gaze didn't waver.

—You're already in, angel.

She leaned closer, lips brushing the corner of his mouth.

—Deeper —her hands moved lower across his abdomen.

His jaw flexed. His grip on her hip tightened.

—Of course you do. My angel isn't as fragile as I want to keep believing, right? —he murmured.

—No, I'm not —she purred, fingers playing with the loose knot of his towel.

But before she could expose him completely, San stopped her. With a growl, he scooped her up, lifting her body effortlessly to put her over his desk. He pushed everything off with a sweep of his arm, the sound of papers scattering filling the air. He laid her down, his body hovering over hers, his eyes filled with a possessive hunger, and he leaned down, his lips finding hers in a kiss that was both tender and fierce. He broke away, his hands moving to her -his- shirt, pushing it open, ripping off some of the buttons, getting the small beads to fly off the desk, baring her to his hungry gaze.

He groaned, a sound of pure, unadulterated pleasure, as he took in the sight of her, her body flushed and ready, her eyes filled with a desire that matched his own. He leaned down, his lips finding her nipple, his tongue darting out to taste her, to tease her, to worship her. He could feel her body responding, her hips arching into his touch, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. He smiled, a slow, satisfied curve of his lips, satisfied with the way she was always compliant for him. He moved down, his lips trailing down her body, his hands following the curve of her hips, her thighs, her calves. He reached her feet, his lips finding the arch, his tongue darting out to lick the curve so slow that it made her whole body shiver. He could feel her body trembling, the gasps that escaped her mouth quickly flooded the room.

He broke away, his eyes never leaving hers as he moved his hands down her inner thighs. The touch was so terribly slow that she found herself clenching around nothing, desperate to feel his touch on her. And when he finally did touch her, it was a feather like rub, his thumb making vague circles around her clit.

But if there was something even more sensual than his touch, it was the look on his eyes, the silent authority that didn't need to be spoken to be known and present.

San did what she teased him for, dropping the towel around his feet, making the fabric pool around them, before he positioned himself at her entrance, his body ready, his heart pounding in his chest. Although he didn't move forward, instead, he slid higher, until his tip reached her clit once again. Once her hips arched up, he smirked, moving himself down back into her entrance, just sliding the tip inside, pushing down and out to drive her to the edge.

—Are you ready, Y/n? —he murmured, his voice a low, husky rumble.

She could only nod, her voice stolen by the intensity of his gaze, her lower lip trapped under her teeth. He leaned down, his lips finding hers in a searing kiss as he slowly, gently, pushed into her, groaning during the kiss as he felt how tightly she wrapped around him.

He began to move, his strokes steady and deep, yet following a small pace to make sure she adapted to him, his body trembling with the effort to maintain control.

—Fuck, Y/n —he hissed, his voice laced with pleasure—. I could stay here forever.

Y/n moaned, her body arching into his, her fingers digging into his wrists as he held her by the hip.

—San, please —she gasped, her body trembling with need—. I need more.

San groaned, his hips picking up a faster rhythm, his body slamming into hers.

—Like this, baby? —he growled, his voice a low, husky rumble— You want me to fuck you harder?

Y/n could only nod, her body convulsing with each thrust, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. He reached down, his fingers finding her clit, rubbing in slow, steady circles. Her voice cracked, her back arched and, for a second, it felt like none of the movements of her body made any sense.

San picked up the rosary, pulling from the beads and causing the tighter turn of the piece to wrap even tighter around her throat as he forced her body up. She didn't complain. Her body liked it, she didn't even recognize the guttural moan that came from her at the mix of sensations. And San groaned louder when he felt the way she tightly clenched around him.

She was such a twisted thing.

—Are you close, angel? —he groaned, fingers and hips still moving�� I can tell you're close.

Y/n could only moan again as she tried to hold his gaze, her brain was unable to form a coherent thought. It was like his name was the only thing that made sense in her brain cells.

—Let go for me, my angel —he urged, his voice a low growl—. Cum as hard as you want around me.

Y/n screamed, her body convulsing as she reached her high, her nails digging into his shoulders in an attempt to get some stability, her body trembling with the force of her orgasm. San followed soon after, his body tensing as he emptied himself into her, his lips capturing hers in a devoted kiss. They stayed like that, their bodies entwined, their breaths mingling, as they came down from their high.

San pulled back, his eyes showing care and concern despite the darkness that came up from their intercourse.

—Are you okay, baby? —he asked, his voice a soft caress.

Y/n smiled at his question and the shift of his tone, moving to brush her lips against his.

—Hmm, I'm okay.

—You sure?

He asked as his thumbs moved over the barely seen marks of the beads on her skin.

—I'm sure.

After smiling, San picked her up again, carrying her body to the bathroom and leaving her on the sink. He treated her with such care as he cleaned her up, that she couldn't believe it was the same man having freaky and rough sex with her.

Their lips linked again. Softly, slowly. Their mouths were inches apart, breath tangled, the air charged like a storm waiting to break. But instead of kissing her again, San pulled back just enough to smirk.

—I have work to do —he said.

Y/n didn't miss a beat. She slid in front of him to hop off the sink and sauntered toward the door, glancing at him over her shoulder.

—We have work to do.

San watched her go, that smirk fading into something darker, deeper. What was he going to do about her?

The room was silent save for the distant hum of electronics -monitors flickering low, cables coiled like serpents across the floor. San had returned to his table, shoulders tense, eyes scanning the mess of intel like he could get it to make more sense. But Y/n hadn't left. Not yet.

She moved quietly across the space, barefoot and unbothered, San's shirt slipping lower with every step. Her gaze was sharp as it drifted over the open files. Her fingers stopped on one -her company's logo at the top, familiar printouts underneath.

She picked it up.

Her eyes narrowed.

It wasn't just any name. It was a client she had signed off on personally. Months ago. Back then, it had looked like an investment in logistics -something clean, corporate. But now, paired with the recent explosion marked beside it and the red circle around a coded location... it clicked.

Her breath caught. Not with fear. With clarity.

She looked up, voice even.

—This wasn't random.

San didn't answer.

She stepped forward.

—They used my signature. My company.

His jaw tensed.

—You were never meant to see that.

—Well, I did.

She dropped the file back on the table, the slap of paper punctuating the stillness. Her eyes met his -calm, but burning underneath.

—I want in.

San straightened slowly.

—Y/n, I told you, you already are. The moment you came into my life…

She shook her head, stalking closer, the hem of his shirt brushing her thighs, her voice low and deliberate.

—No, San. I mean deep. Give me something real. A target. A name. A job.

He stared at her. Silent. Reading her.

—You think this is a game, don’t you? —he said finally— This isn't chess. There are no clean moves. Once you're in, there's no getting out.

—Maybe I don't want a way out.

—You think I'd put your blood on my hands?

—You think it's not already there? —she tilted her head— I'm already in, whether you like it or not. The difference is the way I participate. I can be inside and be a worry, or I can be inside and be of help.

San didn't answer. He just looked at her, really looked at her. Barefoot, hair wild, standing in the middle of a war room like she'd been born there. He knew he should say no, but she wasn't backing down. And deep down, he didn't want her to.

—You want a name? —he asked.

She nodded once.

He turned to the table, reached for a separate folder, sealed with a red clip. Unfastened it slowly. Pulled a single page from the middle, and handed it to her. Y/n took it without flinching.

The name was printed in bold.

Park Seonghwa. Senior advisor to one of her company’s oldest clients. Charming. Polished. And apparently, a ghost in San's files.

—Start with him —San said, voice cold—. He's cleaner than the others. Harder to trace. He launders the money, ties the corporations to the blood.

Y/n stared at the name, then looked up at him.

—Do I talk to him?

San's eyes glinted.

—You watch him. You're an expert on that —he smirked.

She smiled, folding the page in half.

—I'll need something to wear.

That earned a dry chuckle from him. low and dangerous.

—I'll burn the shirt off you myself if you keep looking at me like that.

Y/n stepped back, still smiling, paper tucked under her arm like a weapon.

—Promise?

And just like that, the deal was sealed. Not with blood, but with fire.

It was night when they found him.

The warehouse was silent, drowned in the thick scent of oil and dust, the occasional drip of water echoing like a clock counting down. The only light came from a swinging bulb above, casting harsh shadows across the floor.

The door had been forced open. One of San's men had called it in with a clipped voice.

—You need to see this for yourself.

So they came.

San walked ahead, gun holstered but fingers twitching. Y/n followed, not far behind, dressed sharp now -dark pants, fitted blazer, and no trace of hesitation in her steps. Her heels echoed with quiet command, each one a drumbeat leading toward something inevitable.

And then they saw him.

Or... what was left.

The man, Isham, one of San's informants, the one who'd gone dark two nights ago, was tied to a rusted chair in the center of the warehouse. Head slumped forward. Chest carved with symbols Y/n didn't recognize, but San did.

Blood dried black along his collar. His hands were missing. Y/n didn't flinch. San didn't speak.

But both of them felt it, the shift.

It wasn't random. It was personal.

San stepped closer, gaze sharp. He didn't reach for the body. Just stared. And then, his brow furrowed.

Something was shoved into the man's mouth.

He crouched and, with gloved fingers, pulled it free. A single, gleaming bullet casing. Engraved with delicate, looping letters: Y/n's initials.

The air thickened.

Y/n stepped forward, calm as glass. She looked at the casing, then at the body. Then at San. His jaw was locked tight, something savage burning behind his eyes. It wasn't rage. Not yet.

It was calculation.

Y/n, voice low and razor-sharp, broke the silence.

—Looks like they want to play.

San's stare didn't leave the bullet. He straightened slowly, voice like steel wrapped in velvet.

—Then we'll give them war.

And in that moment, with blood at their feet and names carved into metal, the lines between protection and vengeance disappeared.

The game had changed, and they were done playing.

He was already dangerous, but he was about to become psychotic after Y/n came into play. He'd make whoever attempted against her safety regret ever messing with her. 

Taglist: @a-tiny-thing , @brown88

[satorruubaby]

—𝙱𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚑 𝚍𝚊𝚢 ࣪ 🥥⊹ ࣪ ˖ ☼

Synopsis. You and Gojo decided to spend the day at the beach, savoring each moment. As the sky transformed into a canvas of warm colors, the two of you remind the deep love you shared for each other. Feeling the bond between you grow even stronger with each passing wave.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. All fluffy! Just slightly angsty in the end. Kinda suggestive? fem!reader, not spoiler free! JJK AU, established relationship, He’s love-strucked! Satoru being a cute boyfriend he is, he calls u baby tons, Satoru’s 20 and you’re 18!

W.C 1.6k

A/N. I’ve been gone for 2 months and this draft has been sitting here for like weeks by now, I was just lazy about decorating it….plus this is for ch.261:( I love u Satoru😞 IM SO SORRY IDK WHAT CAME OVER TO ME

On a cloudy, breezy day, you and Satoru arrive at a secluded beach, well he teleported you both there.

The soft pale cream sand warm under your feet. Satoru lays out a blanket, setting up a picnic under a parasol, with a bunch snacks that were mostly his sweets, but he also packed some cute bento lunches for you.

After arranging the mini picnic, Satoru leans back, pressing his hands into the sand behind him. He watches you slowly descend down the shore but you only stop at your ankle level, you were enjoying the view infront of you, the feeling of the wet sand on your feet. Turning slowly, you catch Satoru’s gaze, filled with love and admiration.

Your sundress flutters in the breeze, and he sees that beautiful smile he adores. Oh how could he be so lucky? You looked like an angel, truly the most beautiful girl he’s seen.

————————-⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖°—————————

Satoru stood up to make his way to you while unbuttoning his ¥178,861, white polo to reveal his heavenly sculpted abs. Your eyes couldn’t help but betray you as you check him out

“Like what you see love?” He grinned at you, his black-tinted glasses reflecting the horizon behind you

you look away and block his face with your hand“No. Not at all..” you scoff, Satoru’s hand finds its way to your waist, and tugs you forward as he leans down to your ear “Your flushed face tells me otherwise.”

He let out a small chuckle as you made a hmpf sound, “Well, I like what I see.” He shamelessly looked you up and down, the sundress hugged your figure perfectly, and he brought you that dress to make sure it did.

Your death glare made him snap out of his thoughts and quickly placed a kiss on your lips “Baby come on, let’s go for a swim before we start eating” He then suddenly carried you bridal-style which made you gasp “W-wait! I don't wanna get wet yet!” He ignored you as he made his way down the water then dropped you once the water reached above his knee, the hair you worked hours on before leaving the apartment, got wet from the suddenness of his action

“TORU MY HAIR!!!!” You screamed at him as you chased the grinning like-cat down, the water slowing your movement so you just started splashing him with water and he did the same to you but he splashed more water than you did, and that made you want to drown his stupid face. The beautiful horizon was disrupted by you and Satoru’s play-fight.

————————-⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖°—————————

“Baby look,” Satoru pointed at a bunny-like slug that was on the wet rocks “It looks like you” he mumbled as his finger gently stroked the little thing “How does it look like me? It’s a slug.” You grumbled, the wet drops of your bodies meeting the wet surface of the rock “Because you look like a bunny and act like a slug, cute but sluggish.”

“How am sluggish?? You’re the one who takes long to get ready because of how infatuated you are with your Nintendo.” You poked his right cheek “Ow!… well don’t act like you don’t take hours to get your hair done Baby!” He defended with a small pout.

————————-⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖°—————————

The two of you settled down to eat after Satoru collected shells to receive a ‘Good job’ kiss from you and made sand castles to compete with each other (You won as Satoru whined his loss)

“Babi, does the ocean have likee… brain-eating amoeba?” Satoru muffled with a mouth full of strawberry donuts, “No Toru. Don’t even wanna imagine that right now, and stop talking with your mouth full!” You scolded but that couldn’t stop the white-haired guy from his ill manners “It doesn’t? Then where are they usually found??” Satoru perked up in interest

“Well uhh—They can be found in lakes and rivers or still waters?” Your skin shivered from the thought of deep still-like waters

“REALLY??! oh god, I just recently went to a lake for a mission, and then I was levitating and accidentally fell into the water because of how sleepy I was!!! AM I GOING TO DIE, BABY??” Satoru’s worried-sad face made you chuckle a bit. You had forgotten that when Satoru gets tired and lacks focus, it can cause his infinity to turn off. You learned this about him when he told you how Toji took advantage of his vulnerable state by attacking your poor boyfriend at his blind spot.

“No Toru you wont!.. It's very unlikely to have a brain-eating amoeba. You'll be fine, Mr. Strongest." You rolled your eyes at his worried state. "Are you sure??? I can’t die without having to marry you yet!!" He whined and complained about the thought of dying without having 5,000 kids with you and his last name being yours.

"Satoru, calm down. You won’t die! And I’m sure you're able to have 5,000 kids with me soon, if I don’t die from giving birth to 5,000 babies, that is." You continued eating the sandwich that Satoru made. You couldn't help but notice that there were no bread crusts on the edges. Satoru really did take note of your dislike of bread crust on your first date, the attentive boyfriend he is. You loved him so much.

"HUH??? NO! Okay! Fine! How about 3 babies??" You let out a giggle. "Okay. Just 3 babies." He moved forward to close the distance between you two. "Promise you’ll soon be my wife and that we’ll have 3 kids together?" Satoru had a small pout on his face that made your heart melt. "Promise." You sighed internally, not expecting the mightiest sorcerer to go all love-struck on you.

"Give me a promise kiss then." You raised an eyebrow and took his glasses off before proceeding to plant a small, quick kiss on his lips. Satoru wasn't satisfied enough with it, so he held your waist and tugged you forward, causing your chest to fall against his. His lips quickly closed the distance, leading to a heated make-out session. His long, calloused fingers stroked your hair as he hummed into the kiss. His tongue invaded your mouth, and you could taste the strawberry donut he had just eaten.

As the sun began its descent, a soft, rosy glow enveloped the ocean, casting a warm hue upon the scene. The embrace satisfied your cold, wet bodies. Your devoted Satoru persisted in showering you with affectionate kisses.

————————-⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖°—————————

The bonfire crackled softly in the background, it’s light flickering against the semi-dark sky. Calm waves lapped gently against the shore, providing a tranquil backdrop to the night. As you gently stroked the back of Satoru’s hair, he lay sprawled across you, his face nestled against your chest, exuding a sense of peace and contentment.

“toru—…you perv.” he hummed in response, unable to process your words, so lost was he in the soothing rhythm of your touch.

“…hmm baby?” He slowly lifted his head to gaze up at you, the flickering bonfire casting a warm glow on his pale skin. “stop face planting on my chest.” you pouted at his lazy smile “s’what babyyy…” he lays his head head down again sideways “boobies so comfy like a pillow, or better than a pillow” he mumbled as he rested his eyes once again.

You flicked his forehead, causing him to let out a soft whine. He tightened his hold on you, burying his face deeper into your chest. You sighed, realizing that you could never prevent him from doing perverted things, but then you realized that the day was spent without his glasses most of the time, so you let him have the comfort.

There were moments when Satoru was like this, too exhausted to move, a painful migraine throbbing around his eye. You came to understand this about him after he began spending nights at your place, revealing his vulnerability in those quiet, intimate times.

The exhaustion came from his life as a sorcerer. Ever since his friends left him, even his bestfriend Geto, he had been facing these missions alone, and they were relentless. As Nanami had asserted that Gojo should alone take on these missions, being the strongest, to prevent others from dying due to his perceived selfishness.

You scoffed internally. Nanami and the others didn’t fail to remind Satoru of his responsibilities, and you couldn’t help but loathe them for it. It was already enough that he lost his childhood due to being the Strongest. You loved him even before knowing about his sorcery life, and you wanted to love him more, to give him what he couldn’t have. You just wanted to hold him close and tell him that everything was going to be okay.

The night sky glittered with stars, and a comforting silence enveloped the place. Satoru had passed out on you, and you chuckled at his slightly open mouth. There were also times his drool would get on your chest. The waves lapped gently against the shore, and the fire grew smaller by the soft breeze.

Satoru appreciated and loved you. You were both his best friend and his lover. He couldn't ask for more. You were everything he yearned for, an escape from his sorcery life through moments like this with you, his beautiful, loving girlfriend.

He often wished that times like these would last forever. He just hoped that someday, once someone surpassed him, he could retire. He dreamed of buying the modern Japanese house you always wanted, putting a ring on your finger, having tons of kids running around the house, and growing old with you.

Little did he know what his future held.

Credits for divider- daddldee on tumblr!

𝙼𝚘𝚘𝚍𝚋𝚘𝚊𝚛𝚍 🥥⊹ ࣪ ˖ ☼

[atmospheral]

weekly one piece poll #5

previous poll result: no, trafalgar d. water law does NOT have an ass (yes: 37.2%, no: 56.1%)

disappointed there was no sweep lol. personally i am of the opinion that he does not have an ass. flat king etc. bepo has all the ass though

links/notes under cut:

Duck is from OP Volume 20 SBS

bighorn sheep is from Ch. 651 cover

fox is because i've seen it in various fanart

black swan is from The Near Divide by Tonko (i recommend it, it's very good)

daemons are from His Dark Materials, basically your soul in an externalised animal form

[shaotie]

Hachi Machi! - Ch 2: Cat Got Your Tongue?

🔻🔻🔻

just throwing out a friendly reminder to please be mindful of the warnings and tags 💚🐢

🔺🔺🔺

Leonardo was sitting at the base of a thick tree, deciding it would be best to sit out the sticky, sweltering heat by staying put instead of moving around and potentially attracting the unwanted attention of some kind of vicious wild predator.

But Nature had other plans for him and half an hour in it began raining.

Not light, drizzly pecks but a thunderous torrential downpour that seemed to roar through the canopy and the made the watery surface of the nearby bog he had plummeted into inch higher and higher.

At some point after it began raining Leo managed to force the disgusting bloodsuckers that were called leeches off his legs with the sharp end of a stick, but two hours after the rain started it showed no signs of letting up anytime soon, so that the edge of the murky water had reached all the way up to his toes.

He had to get on the move if he didn't want to be on the appetizer end of a leech family's dinner.

And didn't Mikey say there were piranha in the water? Did they have a taste for turtle?

Leo didn't know and he didn't care to find out.

After mostly silence on the part of him and his brothers (so he didn't completely wear out the battery on his wrist com - that he forgot to charge the previous night of all nights) Leo quietly announced that he was looking for a dryer place to camp out somewhere within this cesspit and he agreed with Raph to report back in once he had found said illusionary spot before muting his com again and frowning down on the red 'low battery' symbol.

But it was ok - it was alllll good. As long as he kept his com muted as much as possible Donnie assured him that even at the 20% it was on now there would be more than enough battery power for them to hold a conversation once his twinsie arrived near the rainforest.

He just had to continue in the jungle until then. All alone. By himself. Surrounded by creepy bugs and strange creatures and all sorts of unknown sounds that seemed to come from everywhere at once and echoed in his ears.

Previously Leo had given contemplative thought to climbing one of the nearby trees and lodging high up (presumably) far away from any potential danger, but the branches of these massive jungle trees were much too high above his head to reach and the trunks were far too thick around to be able to get a purchase and scamper his way up, so he had to abandon that idea.

It wasn't that the ninja turtle hadn't tried, but rather he quickly learned that climbing a tree was nothing at all like scaling a building and ninjaing up to the rooftops in New York (he fell on his turtle bum trying to reach the lowest branch enough times to learn that lesson the hard way).

So two hours into the rainy weather he finally conceded to the encroaching bog and rose to try and find a slightly less water-logged location in this bug infested hell-hole. But to make matters worse the sun was rapidly setting and it wasn't long before he was covered in a shroud of darkness.

Either because the canopy was thick, the storm clouds high above were dense, or a combination of the two, once the sun dipped past the horizon Leo was left in complete and total darkness.

Like 'can't see your hand in front of your face' pitch blackness.

'Don't know if your eyes are open or closed' pitched blackness.

. . .

'Worried a blood-thirsty predator is stalking you and about to enjoy a tasty turtle snack' pitch blackness.

Not used to traversing through uneven, squishy, root-filled wet ground and thick foliage, the disgruntled red-eared slider was forced once again to concede defeat and stopped searching for higher ground to instead stay put - hoping he had gone far enough away from any icky bogs that his feet wouldn't soon be covered in water.

The rain poured down.

The jungle was alive with all sorts of eerie sounds that sent a chill up the slider's spine each and every time he heard another something calling out from somewhere in the rainforest.

The darkness swallowed everything whole like the entire jungle had been consumed by some kind of ginormous beast and was awaiting digestion deep in the pit of a monster's belly.

And the Big City born-and-raised mutant turtle felt downright miserable.

🔹🔹🔹

The rain finally tapered off around the same time the sun had risen and now that he had enough light to see by (around fifteen hours after he first arrived) Leo was on the move again with a swarm of mosquitoes and other strange insects following along close behind him.

But he was not on the move for the same reason as before because this time he sensed that something was watching him.

Just as Donnie predicted, when Leo unmuted his com and looked down on the time the battery life had barely budged from when he checked it hours ago. And since his twinsie was supposed to be there soon, he risked wearing it out even more by whispering into his com to ask in a sleepy voice that betrayed the fact he hadn't gotten a wink of sleep all through the night: "It's been over fifteen hours Dee, how far away are you?"

Relief washed over his entire body when he heard the welcomed voice of his twin brother instantly reply: "You'll be glad to know that I'm almost at your location my brethren, and will be there in less than twelve point two zero minutes."

"It's about time," Leo complained in a hushed voice; but no one heard him over the sound of their own voices because Mikey and Raph both cut him off - talking over one another, each wanting reassurance that their blue-clad brother was fairing well after a full night of radio silence.

Instead of responding directly to his brothers concerns though, Leo stuck his cocky (fake) 'faceman' grin on his face and commented in a (once again fake) light-hearted tone of voice: "You know Dee, you keep talkin' about how you've got your bad boy image, but I got you beat with my gorgeous good looks. After all, have you ever had a stalker? Hmmm?"

"Not funny Nardo, don't joke about that," came the stern rebuttal from his twin brother.

*Smack* went another now dead bug that had landed on the slider's arm, just before Leo factually replied (still in a hushed voice): "Who's joking?"

"What!?" came Raph's panicked (loud) voice through the com. "Leo whatru saying?"

"I'm saying shut your mouths bozo and keep it down or I'll haveta stick you on mute again," Leo hissed through his teeth. "I think something's stalking me."

With that disheartening news the coms went eerily quiet for a moment so that the only sound Leo could hear was the buzzing of insects (seriously, did they ever sleep or what!?) the wind blowing through the branches in the upper canopy, and the sound of his own breathes that he was taking through his mouth because of how hard his heart was pounding inside his chest in his adrenalin-fueled body.

That was until the silence was broken by Mikey's quiet, shy voice when he asked: "What do you think's stalking you?"

"I don't know," Leo whispered - bringing the com up close to his mouth so he could reply as quietly as possible. "But my ninja senses are going crazy. Hurry up and get me outta here Dee..." *Grr-RAAAA!!!*

With that, out of nowhere a giant-sized spotted jaguar shot out through the thick foliage - pouncing from behind Leo's back - and his brothers could do nothing but listen in shocked horror to the sound of a roaring beast that seemed to be accompanied by some sort of life-and-death struggle; which in turn was followed by the heart-stopping raspy, choking, gasping noise of their one-and-only lost brother trying to suck in one breath after another with a giant sized (heavy) cat biting down on his throat, as its sharp fangs and powerful paws pined him to the ground in a vice-like grip.

Everything happened so fast Leo didn't have time to take evasive action or even pop into his shell. There was the sound of a far-too-close growl accompanied by rustling of bushes and *BAM!* the jaguar was on top of him, knocked him to the ground, and slipped its mouth around his throat in less that a second!

And now his windpipe was being crushed beneath the beast of a creature which was biting down harder and harder while simultaneously digging its claws into his arms and shell. And every time Leo tried to struggle - to push it off, get away, fight back, do something anything to get out of this horrible situation he found himself in - it only made everything that much worse because in retaliation the vicious beast tightened its grip on his body while kicking and leaving long bloody scratches on his legs.

There was a commotion coming from his wrist com that Leo couldn't quite make out through the sharp pain and shock of what just happened and was currently happening to him. The only thing he could concentrate on was trying to gasp in breath after breath through a tiny airway that was closing off more and more as each second passed him by.

*One second*

The gasping changed to a wheezing when his only source of oxygen was squeezed in the grips of a hungry monster.

*Two seconds*

The sound of his rapid heartbeat rushed through his ears, blocking out the occasional snorts and roars of the jaguar clamping down on him, sealing his untimely demise.

*Three seconds*

Leo opened his mouth as wide as he could get it as if that insignificant action would somehow magically force more air down into his oxygen-deprived lungs, with drool foaming around the corners of his mouth from the buildup of saliva he couldn't swallow down.

*Four seconds*

With another growl the jaguar repositioned its grip around his throat and bit down harder, completely blocking off the tiny bit of air he was able to suck in.

Now there was nothing. He couldn't gasp in as much as a thimble's worth of life-saving O2.

Panic soared through his body like pins and needles, his vision went blurry, drool drizzled down the sides of his face, the overbearing weight on his chest and crushingly painful pressure on his throat increased, all hope 'IS-LOST-THIS-IS-IT-I'M-GOING-TO-DIIIIEEEE!!!'

Everything went numb.

His vision blacked out and his eyes began rolling into the back of his head.

There was a loud commotion he couldn't quite make out, the sound of a voice (his twin's frantic, panicked voice) screaming out in anger, and the incredible weight bearing down on his body as well as the crushing grip around his throat was somehow blasted off of him (from Donnie whacking the vicious beast off his twin with the powered drill on the end of his tech bō) allowing him to greedily suck in one life-saving breath after another.

But everything was blurry, his head was spinning and his windpipe had been crushed, so that it felt like he still wasn't able to gasp in enough air to supply what was needed to satisfy his oxygen-deprived body.

His lungs burned in his chest, his heart pounded harder than it had ever beat in his life, blood from the attack trickled down the sides of his throat as well as both arms and legs where the oversized claws had left puncture marks and long scratches behind.

Something or someone was standing over him, urging him to breathe, and 'what-does-it-LOOK-like-I'm-doing!!!?'

Nothing was working for him, his body didn't want to respond to the signals coming from his brain telling him to 'STAND UP, JUST STAND UP!' He rolled around on the ground, trying to get in a more defensible position on his feet but 'nothing-wants-to-work-I-can't-move-I-can't-breathe-I'm-still-dying-I'm-dying-I'm-dying-I'm-DYYYING!!!'

He tried reaching up to grasp his throbbing neck but the oxygen-deprived muscles in his arm spasmed instead and it dropped back down to the ground with a *thud* just before a blindingly bright light flashed before his eyes and every muscle in his body tensed so tightly he was vibrating with violent, painful spasms.

Then everything went black.

🔹🔹🔹

<<previous || next>>

🔹Hachi Machi! Masterpost

[greengrayeyeswrites]

bruise theory » atsumu miya | 宮 侑 (ch. 20)

20. can you feel my heart — bring me the horizon Word Count: 2,329 Pairing: Timeskip!Atsumu Miya x Fem!OC

When Hitomi finally clawed her way back to consciousness, it felt like something had crawled into her skull and was determined to burrow out through her temples.

She groaned, rolling onto her back. The ceiling spun a little, shimmering in the afternoon light streaming through the curtains. Her mouth was dry enough to rival the Sahara and her skin felt tight and too warm.

She closed her eyes again, trying to will herself back into oblivion, but the ache in her head pulsed insistently, refusing to be ignored.

With a resigned little whimper, she cracked one eye open and forced herself to look around.

Her gaze landed on the nightstand.

A bottle of water stood next to a packet of painkillers. A neatly folded note sat on top, the handwriting sharp and familiar.

Take them when you wake up you drunkard. — A

She frowned, her stomach doing an uneasy somersault.

Atsumu.

Memories from the night before rose up in a nauseating wave: Meian’s steady hands on her shoulders, the elevator ride, the way she’d clung to his neck and declared her love like a lovesick teenager.

But worse—so much worse—was the image of Atsumu’s face as she’d accused him of wanting to sneak off and fuck Cherry-Lady.

Heat flooded her cheeks, her skin prickling with embarrassment.

“God,” she muttered, dragging a palm over her face.

She swallowed the mortification down long enough to fumble open the water bottle and rip into the painkillers. She tossed them back, gulping half the water in frantic, greedy swallows.

When she set the empty bottle down, she was still in nothing but her black Calvin Klein bra and matching panties, her hair a wreck across the pillow.

The memory of Atsumu’s hands, gentle and careful, untangling her from her dress sent a fresh rush of mortification crawling down her spine.

She hissed under her breath, scrunching her eyes shut.

“Why am I like this?” she whispered into the silent room.

It took fifteen minutes before she could muster the strength to climb out of bed.

She rummaged in her dresser for a baggy T-shirt and soft jersey shorts, yanking them on with clumsy, still-sore limbs.

Her phone buzzed from somewhere under the duvet and she fished it out to check her notifications.

A message from Bokuto was sitting at the top, complete with a blurry thumbnail image of her and Hinata half-submerged in a neon ball pit, both of them grinning like idiots.

hey hey hey! is it ok if i post this in my party night dump??? you look so cute lol

Despite everything, she smiled—small and tired but real.

She sent him a thumbs-up emoji and a little heart.

Then she noticed Meian’s name just below.

Text me when you’re alive. Thanks for the chaos.

Warmth pooled in her chest, softer than the shame and confusion still tangled there.

Alive. Barely. Thank you for saving me, she typed back, her thumbs hesitating for a second before she added: And for not letting me flash the entire place trying to climb the wall.

She tossed the phone onto the couch and padded into the kitchen, her bare feet whispering over the floorboards.

Lunch was an uninspired affair: instant noodles and a microwaved steamed bun she picked apart without tasting much of it.

Her head was clearing, but her body felt hollow, her skin too sensitive.

Every time she closed her eyes, she remembered Raina’s hands on Atsumu’s shoulders. Her cherry-red lips. The way she’d pressed herself against him like she belonged there.

Hitomi tried to shake it off. It wasn’t any of her business who Atsumu brought home. She was just his coworker. His neighbor.

Nothing more.

Nothing that should make her chest feel like it was caving in whenever she thought about it.

She needed fresh air.

She slid the balcony door open, stepping out into the golden wash of afternoon sunlight.

A breeze lifted the strands of her hair, cooling her flushed skin.

She tipped her head back and breathed in, willing her heartbeat to slow.

For a minute, it worked.

And then she caught a flicker of motion out of the corner of her eye.

Hitomi turned and there she was.

Cherry.

Dressed in a blush-pink Juicy Couture tracksuit, her hair tumbling over one shoulder in perfect, beachy waves. She was barefoot on the balcony of 1301, hands pressed together in prayer over her head as she bent into a graceful arching stretch.

Hitomi froze, her fingers tightening on the railing.

She didn’t feel jealous—she was too tired for that. But she felt something else: small. Inconvenient. Replaceable.

Cherry must have sensed her staring because she straightened and turned with a bright, dazzling smile.

“Oh! I didn’t get to introduce myself properly last night.”

Her voice was smooth, lilting—tinged with an accent Hitomi couldn’t quite place. Somewhere Southeast Asian, maybe.

“I’m Raina,” she said, pressing a hand to her chest. “Raina Nguyen. One of Atsumu’s…” She gave a little laugh, her eyes twinkling. “…bed bunnies, I guess you could say.”

Hitomi’s stomach dropped.

Raina didn’t seem embarrassed about it at all. She almost sounded…pleased. Like it was an inside joke she and Atsumu shared.

“Hi,” Hitomi said, her voice thin. “I’m…Hitomi.”

“Oh, I know,” Raina said brightly. She lowered her arms, resting them lightly on the railing as she leaned forward conspiratorially. “He’s told me all about you.”

Hitomi blinked, too stunned to form a response.

“All good things,” Raina assured her. “He said you were funny. And talented. And that you’re the best photographer the team’s ever had.”

Something like nausea twisted low in her gut.

“That’s…nice,” she managed.

“He really seems to like you,” Raina continued, her voice soft with something that almost sounded wistful. “He talks about you all the time. I think he’s a little bit obsessed.”

Hitomi’s mouth worked silently, but no words came. Raina didn’t notice, she just smiled again, turning her face into the sun.

“He’s at the gym now, by the way,” she added casually. “But later he said he’d take me to Club Aquatica. You know it?”

“Um. No?”

“It’s gorgeous,” Raina sighed, pressing her palms together. “We’re going to dance all night.”

Hitomi nodded numbly, her throat too tight to risk speaking.

“Well,” Raina chirped, folding herself smoothly back into a standing split. “It was so lovely to finally meet you.”

“You too,” Hitomi whispered, already backing toward the door.

She fled inside, sliding the glass shut behind her with trembling hands.

Her heart thudded dully against her ribs.

She hated this feeling, like she was twelve years old again, watching her crush wrap his arm around someone prettier, older, more put-together.

She scrubbed her palms over her face and sank onto the couch, tucking her knees to her chest.

It doesn’t matter, she told herself fiercely.

You’re not his anything.

But the ache in her chest wouldn’t quite go away.

The day crawled by in a hush of soft light and quiet distractions.

Hitomi spent most of it tucked into the corner of her couch, her legs folded beneath her as she texted back and forth with Bokuto.

That was so much fun last night, she wrote, her thumbs tapping out the words slowly. Promise you’ll drag me along next time you plan something like that again. Even if I end up hungover for three days.

The reply came back seconds later, Bokuto’s enthusiasm practically vibrating through the screen.

hey hey hey!! ofc i will. but no clubs, ok?? boring af.

She smiled, pressing the heel of her hand lightly against her sternum, where her heart felt a little less heavy than it had in the morning.

Deal, she texted. No clubs. Just playgrounds and slides and questionable amounts of sugar.

and ninja parkour and bouncy castles!!!

Her giggle startled her into the silence of her living room, making her cheeks warm.

She set her phone aside and padded into the kitchen.

Dinner was simple—penne tossed in bright green pesto, a little grated cheese on top. She ate cross-legged on the floor in front of the TV, watching the new J-Drama she’d started.

By the time the credits rolled on the last episode, the apartment was dim, shadows spilling into the corners.

She’d meant to clean or edit photos or maybe even try to nap off the last of the hangover, but she ended up just sitting there, her fingers picking absently at the hem of her shorts.

She didn’t want to admit it, but the hollow ache in her chest hadn’t completely gone.

Not after seeing Raina in all her effortless perfection.

Not after remembering the look on Atsumu’s face—careful, unreadable—as he carried her inside.

Around midnight, restlessness finally won out over everything else.

She was out of Red Bull. That alone felt like a crisis.

And if she was going to sit here overthinking herself into a spiral, she might as well have something sweet to dull the edges.

So she threw on a big, oversized zip-up over her T-shirt, slipped her feet into her battered white Nikes, and headed out into the quiet corridor.

The elevator ride down was uneventful, the building hushed at this hour.

By now, the 7-Eleven felt almost like an extension of her apartment—a familiar, fluorescent little refuge. She strolled the aisles, her mind pleasantly blank for the first time all day as she plucked three cans of white Red Bull off the shelf and added a bag of neon jelly worms for good measure.

When she stepped outside, the night air felt cooler, the wind lifting her hair away from her neck as she crossed back to her building.

The foyer was empty when she walked in, her sneakers squeaking softly against the polished floor. She pressed the elevator button, yawning into her fist as she waited.

The doors slid open with a cheerful little chime.

And there he was—Atsumu.

He looked like he’d stepped out of an ad in a fashion magazine.

Dark, tailored pants hugging the long lines of his legs, a pale satin button-down left carelessly unbuttoned at the collar. His hair was an artful mess, and his face—tired, a little distant—lit up when he registered it was her standing there.

Hitomi blinked, startled.

He offered her a small, cautious smile.

“Hey.”

She hesitated just a beat, then smiled back, soft and tired.

“Hi.”

Without speaking further, she stepped inside and leaned against the mirrored wall opposite him. The doors slid shut, sealing them in.

For a moment, neither of them said anything.

The elevator hummed quietly as it began to climb.

It felt like there was an entire conversation hanging in the space between them, unsaid and impossible to start.

Hitomi swallowed, gripping the handles of her plastic bag a little tighter.

Then, because silence was worse than any possible awkwardness, she turned her head and looked at him, her voice gentle. “How was clubbing?”

Atsumu’s brows rose and he turned his head slowly, clearly surprised she’d brought it up.

“Raina told me you were taking her out to that nice club,” she explained, lifting one shoulder in a careful shrug.

He blinked, something shifting behind his eyes.

“When did you talk to Raina?”

“She was on the balcony earlier,” Hitomi admitted. “Doing yoga. She…introduced herself.”

He let out a soft groan, pressing his palm to his face. “Yeah. She loves that place. Club Aquatica. It’s full of celebrities, famous DJs…”

He trailed off, looking distinctly unenthused.

Hitomi studied his profile, the sharp line of his jaw, the faint smudge of tiredness beneath his eyes.

“You don’t sound like you enjoyed it.”

“I hate club music,” he muttered, almost sulking.

She laughed under her breath, the sound small but real.

“It has no vibe,” he added, still scowling at the closed doors.

“No vibe?” she teased, nudging her elbow lightly against his arm.

His gaze finally cut back to her and for the first time since she’d drunkenly clung to Meian, he really looked at her. Like he’d remembered who she was. Like maybe, in this small moment, they were still friends.

She lifted her chin a little, gathering her courage. “Compared to what you normally listen to, it’s definitely a change.”

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

She hesitated, biting her lip, then confessed in a rush:

“I can hear your music sometimes. When you leave your balcony door open.”

His ears went pink.

“Oh.”

“I don’t mind,” she hurried to add. “You have…good taste.”

Silence again. But it felt a little less tense.

When the elevator finally reached the thirteenth floor, they stepped out side by side.

For a moment, she thought they’d just say goodnight and drift back behind their separate doors.

But she was tired of the weight in her chest. Tired of feeling like she was tiptoeing around something they didn’t have the courage to say out loud.

So she turned to face him fully, her heart hammering.

“Do you…” She swallowed. “Do you want to come over?”

His brows rose, startled.

“I have snacks,” she blurted, lifting the bag as proof. “And…we could watch a movie. Or something.”

Atsumu just stared at her, stunned into silence.

Her face burned. She scrambled to fill the quiet.

“I mean—it doesn’t have to be weird. I just thought—”

He cut her off with a small, crooked smile. “Like Fast & Furious?”

She blinked, startled by how gently he said it.

“Yeah,” she breathed, her throat thick. “And…Vodka. If you want.”

His smile grew a little wider.

“Sure,” he said softly. “I’ll change into something comfortable and come over in ten.”

Relief poured through her so fast she nearly swayed. “Okay,” she whispered. “I’ll…I’ll leave the door open.”

His eyes lingered on her for a moment longer—something warm and tentative flickering there—and then he turned to his door.

Hitomi watched him go, her heart thudding unsteadily.

When she slipped into her apartment, she didn’t feel like she was running away anymore.

She felt—just for tonight—like maybe they could still be something good to each other.

───────────────────────────────

🍃 fun facts:

Raina did dance the whole night, with a colourful cocktail in her hand and glitter on her cheeks and her arms around Atsumu. She sensed that Atsumu wasn't enjoying their time quite as much and when they decided to part ways, Raina told him she'd stay at her hotel tonight and would get an Uber. Atsumu nodded, slipped into his Corvette and drove home. He didn't smile the whole drive home and only felt lighter when the elevator doors opened to a still hungover Hitomi.

Masterlist | < previous | next >

Taglist: @itsclda @sarascorner @kissmeharderrrr open!!

[nathanbatemanfucker]

Boundless Ch 1: The Rigid Hunter

summary: he’s looking for her— hunting her.

pairing: witch hunter!marc spector x witch!reader

contents: enemies to lovers, mentions of murder/torture, marc is a broken asshole, injury, blood mention

gif credit: @perotovar

wc: 2.4k

an: welcome to the boundless universe! i’ve really enjoyed writing this so far, i love the concept. i’d really love to build it together, so if anyone has any questions, thoughts, headcanons swirling around in your brains please feel free to come talk to me about these two! i hope that y’all like this and i’m excited to hear your feelings on it. 🤍

boundless masterlist | moonknight masterlist

Marc remembers the day he found out the legends were true. Say your prayers, lock your doors, and sprinkle your salt because they’re out there. Witches and wizards walk the streets looking for opportunities to spread pain and suffering. They look like us, and talk like us. But they can’t feel like us, love like us, care like us.

He was 10 years old the first time he witnessed the violence that comes with being in his family . He watched with horror as his parents tied up one of his teachers. She spewed nonsense, objects flew, and fires burned. Each hunter chose their weapons and that day he’d watched his parents use daggers he thought were for show.

He was afraid at first. He didn’t want to kill, didn’t want to be violent like her— like his mother. And though eventually he had succumbed to violence, realizing that there was no way to fight it, that it was in his blood, he always vowed that he would be different. Despite his disdain for witches, he has never been ruthless. He has always killed them quickly, painlessly with mercy, never been one to taunt them as they meet their deaths.

Today, almost 20 years later, Marc’s crossbow is slung over his shoulders, one of his hands resting over the dagger on his hip as he slowly makes his way through the forest. He’s hypervigilant and jumpy, eyes roaming the greenery that fades into orange and yellow and red. He’s ready to defend himself at the drop of a hat.

He’s looking for her— hunting her. The full moon is tonight, and witches always flock to their dens, charging their crystals, infusing their spells with the magic of the celestial being. Her den and a handful of others are in these woods, just on the outskirts of a camping resort so as not to draw too much suspicion. Time and time again witches fail with anonymity— he and his family follow the breadcrumbs they leave and pick them off one by one.

He’s looking for her darkness. He’ll know it when he sees it, he’s seen many dens and killed more witches than he can count. They surround themselves with smoke and blood and evil. This one will go down just like all the others, he’s sure. She’ll be just as vile, conniving. Just as eager to beg for her life when he lines the tip of an arrow up with her eyes. Emotionless and self-serving with a heart that bleeds black.

It’s easy to get distracted by the sights around him. He loves autumn, the symbolism of how even as an organism fails and dies, there’s beauty to be found. It gives him the hope that maybe there’s something to be found in him too despite all he’s been through.

There’s something soothing in the sound of leaves crunching beneath the weight of his boots. There’s a waterfall in the distance that feeds into the creek he’s following. Where there’s water, there’s life.

He continues up the stream, noticing the remnants of a paper sailboat coated in wax tangled in some brush on the bank. He bends to pick it up, noticing words sprawled across the side.

Sail under Hecate’s moon.

The words heighten his senses— she’s close, within walking distance of the area. And while that can mean a wide variety of things, Marc is prepared for the worst, to walk miles and miles if he has to. Standing quickly his eyes scan the area, wary of her. There is no one to be found, not an inkling of life in his sights so he carries on.

He nearly makes it to the waterfall when across the creek he hears the rustle of leaves and his heart lurches in his chest. No matter how many times he faces a witch, there’s always the unpredictable— they could have anything up their sleeves. Thousands of spells and enchantments and potions, each one more horrible than the next. His hands slick with sweat reach back, drawing his crossbow to line up with his sight.

Deer.

Two of them make their way to the bank, bending to drink, paying him no mind. His heartbeat slows and shakes his head, letting out a silent sigh of relief as he lowers the bow.

Marc’s eyes return to the waterfall that’s a short distance in front of him. He could simply go around, and walk a short distance so that he could get to the top of it at a steady incline. But that would be too easy for him. He was taught to never take the easy way, that anything that holds weight in this life is a challenge. It must be difficult for it to mean anything in his mother’s eyes. He still doesn’t quite understand why after all this time, her opinions have a hold on him. He bats the thoughts of her away as he eyes the rocks to the left of the waterfall’s mouth.

They are damp sure, but not completely slick and unclimbable. The summit of the waterfall is much higher than it looked far away, but he thinks nothing of it as he steps forward and begins to climb. The hood of his cape falls as he puts one hand above another, exposing his dark curls.

A bush behind him rattles and he glances over his shoulder, eyes going wide as he realizes how vulnerable he is right now. There’s nothing he could do if he were to face her now, this high up is too far of a jump to do it safely. The best course of action is to finish the climb, it’ll grant him a better vantage point to get his bearings and height is always an advantage in combat. But when Marc turns around, looking up to his goal, there’s a crow— the largest crow he’s ever seen in his life, cawing loudly in his face. He’s startled, losing his grip on the rocks, feet slipping as they try to find purchase and he falls, grunting as he hears his flesh and bone tearing and cracking before he goes unconscious.

When Marc wakes sometime later, he hurts all over. There’s a splitting ache in his head, and a pain much sharper and dangerous sitting in his leg. He can handle pain, he’s been trained his whole life, day in and day out to handle much more than a slip in some gnarly wood. He blinks up to the trees, taking shallow breaths. If he can just lay here and gather his strength he should be able to get up.

What would his mother say if she could see him? All the things she said all his life, he imagines. Baseless shouts of this is not his calling, that he was meant to weld or harvest or research. That his attempts at living for Randall are in vain. Like he wasn’t bred for this. Like the mistakes he made has tainted his blood, taking away his right to hunt.

He tries to sit up and pain screams in his side. Had he broken some ribs? He lays back again, trying to get enough air to his brain so he doesn’t pass out again. His attempts are futile and soon, he drifts out again.

Somewhere in his mind, he can hear the graceful patter of feet near him. He feels when he is picked up by something as large as it is fluffy. A wolf maybe, taking him back to her cubs for a meal. He wonders if it would be such a bad way to go if it meant he’d never see his mother again.

A little while later his surroundings change. He’s somewhere soft and warm. Everything inside him is on edge. His instincts tell him that he’s unsafe, that he must get up and go, but his body is in no state to do so. He can’t even open his eyes, can’t speak a word, let alone take any steps.

Something—someone guides his head up, tipping a cup to his mouth. “Drink this,” A soft voice says to him gently.

He wants to resist but he’s weak to this person’s will. Whoever it is pours a steady stream of the liquid down his throat. It’s thick, warm, and tastes like black currants, mint and citrus. His body goes a little numb, relaxing further into the bed he’s laid in.

His pain waxes and wanes even as he sleeps. Though he isn't conscious, sometimes can feel the way his body cries and aches. He can feel the heat of healing, feel his muscles and bones scraping against each other as they slowly move back into place. He’s grateful for the braviety, happy to sink into a deeper place of unconsciousness, to run from the discomfort.

Marc wakes gradually. He first wiggles his toes, feeling the numbness in his right leg. He taps his fingers softly, enjoying the fullness of whatever bed he lies in. He tries to stretch his neck but he’s quite stiff and decides to just open his eyes. To do the inevitable and face his reality. When his eyes open, he frowns at the sight of paper boats hanging from the ceiling.

Paper boats, covered in wax, sailing under Hecate’s moon.

Marc knows right away where he is. He’s too warm. He can smell moss. The room glows from the outside in, candles lit but somehow he still feels the darkness. Maybe it is the deep dark reds and purples of her linens and furniture. Maybe it’s the white wolf that sits near the fireplace, eyes as dark as the night sky as it watches him. Or maybe the sense of dread as he takes in his surroundings, as he realizes he’s been made. He tenses, turning his head until his eyes meet hers.

Marc’s mouth drops open, going dry. She’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen— her soft mouth raised in a smile, her eyes clever. There are no words, just sensations that contradict each other. He feels wonky like his body can’t decide if he wants to stay or go. His brain tells him that he should fight, that he should leave. His heart pounds loudly in his chest as adrenaline builds. But in the pit of his stomach, there is nothing but ease as he looks into her eyes. All of this leaves him utterly confused and then some.

When he continues to stare at her quietly, she says, “You’re awake.”

He’s in the witch’s den and here she is, smiling down at him because she’s got him in her grasp. He’s not sure why she hasn’t killed him yet. He should be more afraid. He should kill her.

Where’s his weapon?

“Don’t. I don’t want to hurt you. Or paralyze you, drug you— maim you. Especially after fixing you up, I’d be destroying all my work,” She muses playfully, looking down into her book.

Marc’s eyes go wide with shock. Is she being funny?

“You know who I am,” He states, ignoring the way his heart starts to beat more quickly.

She nods, looking up from the pages, “The sigil on the crossbow made it pretty obvious.”

“You saved me anyway.”

“The wolves would’ve eaten you alive.”

“That would’ve been better than being taken hostage and killed by a witch.”

“You aren’t taken hostage— I’ve nursed you back to health. If I wanted you dead I wouldn’t waste my energy. I would’ve watched them feast,” She says matter of factly.

“Spoken like a true witch,” Marc scoffs.

She narrows her eyes at him, “You know nothing about me.”

“I know everything about you. My whole life is about you. Your kind,” He corrects.

“News flash Spector, I’m just as human as you are.”

“You might look human but our hearts don’t beat the same. You’re a monster, it’s in your blood.”

His words punch her in the gut. She knows that witch hunters are cruel, she’s been taught that all her life. Spell writing, potion brewing, ingredient harvesting, and the all-important learning to murder witch hunters in any and every fashion. There are many rules to be followed in witchcraft— regardless of one’s craft or coven but the most important of them?

If you see one, there should be one less in the world.

She knows they’re raised to hate her as much as she’s raised to hate them. But the hate never stuck. It was drowned in curiosity, in a yearning for peace and understanding. Because how dare she want to live a life that is fruitful and soft. How dare she see the humanity in them. She blows out a breath, eyes raising to the ceiling as she tries to keep her tears in. Even as her heart aches, it roars, begging to retaliate. Begging to lash out and hurt him. She ignores that urge like she always does, wiping at her eyes.

He sees the way her tears twinkle in the soft candlelight— she truly is beautiful. He quickly bats the thought away again. Beauty can only run so deep in her, she is a witch after all. It stops at the surface, he knows that. But, he feels bad for making her cry. She’s a witch, the bloodsucker of the human race. He shouldn’t care if she lives or dies, let alone if she cries. But before he can think better of it, an apology sits on his tongue. He doesn’t get the chance to say it.

“You’d prefer to be alone,” She sets down her grimoire and stands, reaching for a cloak that’s hung on the wall. “I’ll go to look for matching wood to repair your crossbow, part of it broke during your fall. Don’t try anything stupid, your leg is still setting.”

The white wolf that hasn’t taken its eyes off of him makes growls under its breath and Marc glares.

“Neither of us is going to hurt you. She simply wants you to be kinder to me. How a wolf knows that and you don’t….” She clicks her tongue in scolding, turning to look at the wolf, “Come along, Nimbus.”

He watches them leave, letting out a deep breath when he’s finally alone. He’s still confused. He doesn't understand her.

Kinder to her? She must not understand their dynamic— she must be out of her mind. That much is clear since she’d brought him back to her den to help him instead of killing him. Could he really trust that? A witch so unstable? She could’ve brought him here to nurse him back to health for a challenge, all to kill him again. That makes more sense, that aligns with all of his previous experiences. There must be ulterior motives for why she’s brought him here. He won’t fall into this trap.

let me know if you'd like to be tagged (18+ only)!

boundless taglist: @campingwiththecharmings, @grogusmum, @ninebluehearts, @mdnigts

[bigasswritingmagnet]

Blood Will Out Ch 20 - The First Reveal

AO3 Link

“Would you just go home already?” Saturnus snapped, fumbling with the ray gun on his lap. He couldn’t seem to get the lever to click into place properly, especially with Teodora hovering over him like that. “It isn’t safe out here for you.”

“As opposed to you, who are immune to bullets.”

“I’ve got a lot more experience dodging them than you do.”

“Dodging them using the body of a man in his prime, yes! Right now, you are still getting used to the controls on that chair. What am I supposed to tell Agatha if you get killed?”

“That I died defending Mechanicsburg like a proper Heterodyne!”

“Oh, don’t you dare give me that nonsense—”

A mechanical device, no more than a gun attached to a propeller, zipped over the wall and hummed down the street. Teodora wrenched the ray gun from Saturnus’ hands, twisted the handle, locked the firing mechanism into place, hefted it against her shoulder, aimed, and blasted the device into a shower of sad little springs and cogs. 

She lowered the ray gun and glared at Saturnus, who gazed up at her with starry eyes.

“Black fire, I love you.” 

“Inside.”

“I’m going, I’m going.” 

He had gone no more than half a meter when the ground underneath them…flexed. It was like a wave underground, a rolling of the earth that left changes in its wake. The stones on the street clattered as they shifted and resettled in a very slightly more organized pattern. The streetlights clicked on, brighter than they’d been in years. When the wave hit the walls of the town, they shuddered once, and then all was still. 

Ignoring Teodora’s protests, Saturnus hurried down the road until he could see the fountain in the square. He waited. And waited. No water poured forth. He looked up at the castle, as still and silent as it had been.

“What is it?” Teodora asked. “What’s happening?”

“I…don’t know,” he said. He shook his head and snapped his fingers at a young man passing by carrying a crate of ammunition like it was candy floss. “You. Get a couple of lads and go down to Mamma Gkika’s. Get the hammer and hike it up to the Doom Bell. Do not let her see you.”

“What if she does see me?” he asked, nervously.

“Tell her I told you to do it,” Saturnus said. “Then go and tell Carson to meet me in the crypt – and if you ask one more question, I will turn you inside out and use your bones to build a new hammer!”

The man was off like a shot.

“You’re going to the crypt?” Teodora asked, bewildered.

“There’s a conversation I need to have,” Saturnus said, mentally adding And let's hope he won't die before it's done. 

Saturnus had once asked his father why the Throne of Faustus was kept in the family crypt, and not somewhere more easily accessible, or at least warmer. He vaguely recalled the answer was some lecture about reminders of responsibility and the weight of the family name, which even at the time he’d thought was a load of hot air. His personal guess was that it was simply because Faustus Heterodyne was a dramatic son of a bitch. Normally, Saturnus appreciated the family flair for theatrics, but in this case, he would have preferred a little more practicality.

He’d never admit it out loud, but he hated the crypts. For a start, they creeped the hell out of him, which was downright embarrassing for a Heterodyne. They were cold and wet and the air was always heavy with the weight of centuries of death.

Mostly, though, it was because there were no good memories to be made in the crypts..

There were only two reasons to come down here. The first was to use the throne in order to run diagnostics on the castle without its interference, which meant something had gone very wrong. The castle got...embarrassed about damage to its mechanisms. It’d moan and fuss over every patch of flaking paint or cracked windowpane, but would actively hide a burst battery in the kitchen temperature regulators, even if it accidentally immolated a cook.

The other reason was to bury someone.

Saturnus had brought his father here, and his uncle. He had to bear the grim hope that someday he would get enough of his sons back to bring them down here, too. He’d brought…

Saturnus halted the chair before a headstone barely larger than the paving stones outside the cathedral.

Klaus Barry Heterodyne. Forever in our hearts.

Technically, he hadn’t buried his grandson. He’d attended the funeral, but hadn’t come down when they interred the body. Nobody had told him not to, just as no one had ever told him not to go near the baby, but they didn’t need to. He could see it in their eyes any time he so much as entered the room.

So while Teodora went with Bill and Barry and Doctor Yglyn to lay the boy to rest, Saturnus had begun work on the castle. He didn’t go after they were done, either. In fact, he had never come down here with the singular purpose of visiting his grandson. It had felt foolish to try and say goodbye to someone you’d never said hello to.

Staring down at the grave now, he felt a strange, new kind of feeling: regret. Was it possible Klaus Barry might have been like his sister, missing the drive for chaos and destruction, but with the passion and love for the town Bill and Barry had not had? Would Klaus Barry ever have stuck out that Vodenicharova chin and insist he had the right to choose who he spent his time with, even if that someone was evil incarnate? Would he have dared to enter the workshop of a distant and unwelcoming grandfather and strike up a conversation?

Would he have loved Saturnus? Could he have?

Footsteps approached and Carson called “My Lord?”

The seneschal of Mechanicsburg was still slightly pale and trying to look like he wasn’t leaning as hard on his daughter-in-law’s arm as he was. Arella was giving Saturnus a glare only a von Mekkhan was allowed to get away with.

“He needs to rest.”

“I’m fine,” Carson groused. “It was just the shock of it, that’s all. That damn castle. I felt it die! How far into my brain is that thing?” This was to Saturnus, who shrugged.

“Hell if—” He stopped short upon hearing himself, his voice so cracked and heavy he almost didn’t recognize it. He cleared his throat, and ignored the way the von Mekkhans’ eyes flicked to the grave at his feet and back again. “Hell if I know. Come on, we need this done quickly.”

Saturnus glanced again at Carson, and was shocked to realize he was feeling genuine concern for the effect this might have on the man’s health.

Damn that girl, he grumbled to himself. Agatha’s got to me. She’s insidious, that’s what she is.

“We’ll keep it as brief as possible,” he said, gruffly. “Don’t you raise your eyebrows at me like that, young lady. I have need of him yet. That son of yours isn’t nearly ready to take the role.”

The throne was in a state of disrepair, but not as much as Saturnus had feared.

“Sit down,” he told Carson. “And shut up and listen. You go,” he told Arella, whose eyes narrowed. 

“It’s alright, Arella,” Carson said as he carefully lowered himself onto a step. “We’re not in so deep that we’ll need protection from anything.”

“Then I’ll wait outside the door,” she said tartly, “so I can help him haul your lifeless corpse up the stairs when you’re done.”

The moment the door was closed, Carson opened his mouth.

“Agatha is Bill’s daughter,” Saturnus said.

Carson’s mouth stayed open, silently.

“You are now the fifth person in Europa who knows that fact. Possibly sixth, depending on where Barry is.”

Carson let out a sound that might have been the beginning of a word, but did not finish it. Saturnus turned away and began to put the mechanisms in order as he spoke.

“That locket of hers kept her mind in a trap so she couldn’t break through. She didn’t know any of this until the day before she ran away. She overheard Teodora calling her our granddaughter, but not about the locket. Felt like she’d fail the town if she became the Heterodyne, so she ran. Now she knows about everything, and she’s gone haring off into the castle to fix it, which it looks like she may actually manage to do.

“Vole figured out who she was on his own. He went after her in Sturmhalten because she’s my granddaughter, and that’s more important to him than her being Bill’s daughter. Him going into the castle to get the Sturmvoraus boy is an excuse so he could go in and get her out, for me, without revealing that he’s still…” His voice trailed off, and he forced himself to focus. “Still loyal to me.

“Once she knew what the locket did, Agatha refused to wear it. We were going to do our best to hide her Spark, continue to keep pretending she wasn’t a Heterodyne until I had fixed the castle enough, and she felt she was ready. I don’t know if we’ll be able to keep that up after this, or if she’s decided to announce herself now. Questions?”

“Yes.”

“Too bad. Get in.”

Carson slowly rose and crossed the room to stand beside the Throne of Faustus, but did not sit.

“I am still your seneschal,” he said, in a voice that had Saturnus fighting not to squirm. “It is my job to keep your secrets.”

“It wasn’t like we thought you’d tell someone!” Saturnus exclaimed. “We were afraid you wouldn’t need to! Klaus is much, much too good at what he does. If people started acting differently after a young girl the right age started living with Teodora, he might get curious. And even if we did throw him off the scent, the fact that he suspected even for a moment would get people’s attention!”

This mollified Carson somewhat, but he was still not ready to let it go.

“You realize what the Jägers are going to think about this,” he said.

“Yes,” Saturnus said tersely. “That it’s wonderful to have a Heterodyne again.”

“That you didn’t tell them because they work for Klaus.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Saturnus cried, outraged. “They know I didn’t think they’d tell Klaus any of the other secrets! Why the hell would they think that I’d think they’d tell him this one?”

“Not that,” Carson said. “And you know it. I know how you felt about Klaus taking them.”

“He didn’t take them! They went!” Saturnus snapped automatically. “He offered a deal and they chose to—”

He caught himself and closed his mouth, his lips pressing into a thin line.

“I don’t know what you said to them when they went into that house to talk to you,” Carson said mercilessly, “but we all saw the looks on their faces when they came back out.”

“I didn’t say anything to them,” Saturnus sullenly protested.

Unfortunately, this only made Carson nod, his expression that of a man who has just had a long-held mystery solved.

“Yes,” he mused. “That would do it.”

“Get in the damn chair,” Saturnus snapped. “We are not working with an abundance of time.”

“It’ll break their hearts.”

“Theirs or yours?” Saturnus snarled, and that, at least, wiped the pointed look off Carson’s face. “Don’t mess me around, Carson, I am not going to coddle your feelings. We did what we had to do, not what we wanted to do.”

“I believe you,” Carson said, finally seating himself. He took hold of the helmet with both hands. “I just hope they do, too.”

With that, he brought the helmet down sharply. 

[distortedclouds]

Thinking about BW and Annie’s reluctance to tell Armin she was pregnant but how long do you think it would’ve taken him to put 2 and 2 together like she might be more sensitive in the body, sleep more etc how long could Annie push it

I've talked about this before in BW

For Armin, I don't think it'd take more than 4-6 weeks after she figures out for everything to finally click and he's sure

Before that he can sense that something is up because Annie isn't being herself; she stays in bed for long but doesn't really sleep well: she's always tired in someway; and she also seems to be conflicted between wanting to isolate herself and be alone but also stick to him like gum at every opportunity, and when she does she is much more sensitive both emotionally and physically

If Annie was going to take it for that long, then I'm sure she's never gonna get around to confronting him and she's basically just digging herself a deeper hole. Maybe a couple of weeks after Armin figures out hes the one to bring it up, something along the lines of: "I already know, I did for a while, I just don't understand why you're not telling me"

[rosanna-writer]

we said hello and your eyes look like coming home (24/?)

Summary: A canon-divergent AU where the bond snaps for Rhys on Calanmai, Feyre unwittingly accepts it, and Fire Night magic proves to be more transformative than anyone bargained for. Feyre drags a mate she hardly knows out from Under the Mountain, then puts him back together as war with Hybern approaches. Warnings: dubious consent, canon-typical sexual violence, canon-typical violence Rating: Explicit Chapter Word Count: ~4k

ch. 1 - 10 | ch. 11-20 | ch. 21 - i wouldn't marry me either | ch. 22 - burn all the files, desert all your past lives | ch. 23 - i've still got love for you | ch. 24 - and the girl in your bed has a fine pedigree

It's quite brief and not the focus of this chapter, but just a note that there's some brief discussion of disordered eating/skipped meals.

Read on AO3 or you can find the twenty-fourth chapter below the readmore.

Cassian found me while I was on another one of my aimless walks through Velaris. Though honestly, they weren't completely aimless anymore—the city was full of public art, and I'd taken to walking by as much of it as I could.

Statues were easier to face than paintings. The largest concert hall had several on its roof—lullabies given physical form in the stone, marble creatures from fae bedtime stories, and lithe bodies of hewn dancers. Several streets over, water sprayed from sculpted copper river nymphs at the center of a fountain where children swam during the summer. And in a quieter square, a black granite memorial honored the warriors Amarantha had killed in an attempt to break a then-captive Rhys during the War.

Murals covered so many buildings, even outside the Rainbow. The soaring, multi-story portraits were far beyond the scope of anything I ever imagined painting myself; they didn't remind me of the thorny emotions surrounding my own art. I could let myself just appreciate the colors and shapes.

The mountains and pine forests of the Night Court were all brutal, untamed beauty. But Velaris had been made beautiful by the artists who'd called it home for thousands of years. It was a waste not to appreciate it, even if I could only manage to paint half-hidden decorations in the townhouse myself.

I'd been crossing one of the footbridges that spanned the Sidra when the shadow of a massive wingspan fell over me. Stopping to lean against the railing, I watched as Cassian dropped smoothly into place at my side.

There was a slight gust of wind as he pulled his wings in tight. "Rhys said you have orders for me."

I stilled. There was a deferential note in Cassian's voice that I'd only ever heard when he was speaking with Rhys—not as brothers, but as High Lord and his general.

I was aware, of course, that courts had a hierarchy and that I existed somewhere in it. Amren ranked above Mor who ranked above Cassian and Azriel—that much had been explained to me early on. I'd never thought much about it beyond that.

But if Cassian was taking orders from me, then Rhys was making it clear that he would not interfere in matters involving my father and sisters. My choice—it was always my choice with him.

"He told you about Nesta?" I said.

An expression I couldn't read flashed across Cassian's face. His wings twitched. "Is that her name?"

"Cauldron, what the hell did he say about her?" Whatever had passed between Rhys and Nesta clearly hadn't been friendly, but…I hadn't thought it was bad enough that Cassian would look so stricken at the mere mention of my sister.

"Nothing, other than that he'd met her. It's your business to handle."

"Nesta can see through glamours."

Realization dawned on his face. "Ah, fuck."

I laughed, partly just because it was a relief to hear Cassian stop speaking to me like I was someone with authority. Being his brother's mate—and his friend—was much more comfortable, familiar territory.

"Would you be able to talk to her about the sentries and ease her mind? She knows they answer to you."

"Of course."

For someone known as the Lord of Bloodshed, Cassian was remarkably reassuring to be around. I'd experienced that firsthand when I'd found him perched on the roof of the townhouse on my first day in Velaris. And there was nothing I could imagine intimidating him.

Well, almost nothing.

"Thank you. Nesta is…." I stopped short as I tried to find the words, eventually settling on, "She's her own creature."

Cassian knocked a wing against my shoulder. "I'm sure. There's no way anyone could have grown up with you and not come out of it unscathed."

I scowled. He barked a laugh, then added, "You're headed to the House of Wind soon, right?"

"Yes."

The world turned on its head as Cassian hoisted me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. There was no chance to wiggle out of his arms before we shot into the sky. I went limp, afraid I'd end up plummeting to the ground if I moved the wrong way.

"What the hell was that for?" I grumbled, resigned to my fate for the next few minutes.

"React faster next time if you want me to hold you more comfortably."

Bastard. But he was right—I still had quite a lot of training to do before being grabbed and winnowed unexpectedly wasn't such a concern when I stepped outside Velaris's wards. The practice was good for me, even if he was being an ass about it.

"Fine. Don't drop me on my head when we get to the House of Wind, then."

"Tuck your chin and roll. If you crack your skull open on the floor, we'll do remedial drills once it heals."

Learning to fall safely had been one of the first things he taught me, so I contented myself with a glare at the back of Cassian's head. "You're worse than Az."

His long hair whipped in the wind, smacking my face as he tipped his head back and barked a laugh that echoed against the townhouses below. I gritted my teeth and wished he'd fly faster.

But before long, we did make it up there, and my training was good enough that I earned a pat on my thankfully uninjured head. Cassian left for some sort of business with a promise that he'd be in the mortal lands as soon as Nesta gave me a date and time.

Brushing my bangs back into place, I retrieved a book from where I'd left it in Mor's office the other day. Now that I could read, she'd given me an open invitation to see any diplomatic correspondence that mentioned me and give input on her responses. I'd forgotten to bring my book back home when we'd finished working through the latest round of letters.

There had been more talk of me than I would have thought. Helion himself—not an underling—had asked about what would be required to ensure a human was comfortable during our eventual visit. There had been blandly polite inquiries about my health from the Autumn Court, though according to Mor, those were Beron's or Eris's attempts at fishing for information about me because I'd been the one to whip Lucien Under the Mountain. Even amid a discussion about fish imports, Cresseida, a Summer Court princess, had written that she was relieved to hear Rhysand was treating me well, though she'd left it unclear whether she meant as an emissary or as a…lover.

"They don't know that I'm immortal, so I don't see why any of them care," I'd told Mor, speaking freely behind the privacy wards that she'd casted to protect her workspace. "As far as they're concerned, I'll be dead in the blink of an eye."

"Why wouldn't they care about the fate of Feyre Cursebreaker, Savior of Prythian, a true living legend?" she'd said, brown eyes twinkling.

I knew Mor didn't mean it like that, but I still squirmed in my seat. It sounded too much like the faeries who occasionally stopped me when I was out in the city and thanked me for going Under the Mountain. They spoke about me as if I'd been a selfless hero, but in truth, I'd only been thinking of Rhys. Everyone else just…happened to also benefit.

"Because I'm not that interesting." And because I mostly just wanted to be left alone.

Mor shrugged. "Immortality gets dull after a century or two."

I wondered if I'd ever be able to speak about being alive for so long with the same nonchalance. It was easy to forget just how old my new family was. They were all ancient, even if none of them looked a day over thirty.

"It must if I'm what passes for interesting around here."

Rolling her eyes, Mor swept her golden hair off her shoulders, twisted it deftly around a finger, then secured it to the back of her head with a spare pen. "It won't kill you to be a little less modest. You're allowed to be proud of yourself."

I wasn't sure exactly when I'd forgotten that, but I had. And I was grateful for the reminder.

Today, however, Mor's office was empty. She was back at the Court of Nightmares, but I wanted company, so once I'd grabbed the book off of her rosewood desk, I made my way to the library downstairs.

Several heads whipped in my direction when I entered, gems on their foreheads glittering. I froze. Evelyn, the priestess who'd taught me to read, waved me over to the table where she was sitting with several others.

I'd studied with them before. Roslin, who sat next to her, was a historian, and she'd been kind enough to make me a list of books about Night Court history that were appropriate for someone who knew nothing about the subject. Many of them were children's books. But still, Roslin, Evelyn, and the others didn't mind answering my occasional questions about what I read, and ever since I'd helped with the aftermath of the attack on Cesere, I'd always been welcomed to work alongside them.

No one had ever been crass enough to voice the silent, shared understanding aloud—that I might not have sworn an oath to the Mother and donned a hood, but I was still like them. Another female who'd been through an ordeal and found solace afterward in quiet study here.

But today…when I didn't move, Evelyn merely waved her webbed hand more frantically. Confused, I slid into the seat between her and Roslin.

"We have news for you," Roslin said. Her voice was low, almost conspiratorial.

"You do?" I said.

"Ianthe returned to the Spring Court."

I blinked. "Who is that?"

"The worst," another priestess at the table, Deirdre, said without looking up from the yellowed pages of the hefty tome she was reading. Roslin brought a hand to her mouth to hide a giggle.

Evelyn rolled her coal-black eyes. "The youngest High Priestess in three centuries. Her father sent her family to Vallahan—that's on the Continent—when Amarantha took over. Apparently, now she's back."

I was only vaguely aware of what the High Priestesses did. There were twelve of them, apparently, and Rhys had conferred with some of them regarding temple security after the attacks. They were as powerful and well-connected as nobility, but I didn't understand the intricacies of it.

Maybe I should have asked Mor for more detail when she'd explained all this to me a while back. "Is that a bad thing?" I said.

The look Roslin gave me was….sympathetic. "Clotho mentioned the news came in a letter with other updates this morning. We thought you should hear it first, considering your history with Spring."

It seemed as if she'd done me the courtesy of making sure I wasn't blindsided by something important and possibly upsetting. I just wasn't sure what. But still, I appreciated the gesture, even if I didn't quite understand.

"Thank you," I said, though the words came out as a question.

Deirdre flipped to the next page of her book. "Ianthe is unofficially banned from the Night Court because she tried baby-trapping the High Lord."

My immediate, instinctual rage was so strong that my vision went white for a moment. If anyone said something, I didn't hear it over the roaring in my head. My breathing nearly went ragged.

If any other female even considered bearing my mate's offspring, I'd feed her her own intestines.

A gentle hand on my arm snapped me out of it. I took a breath, hoping my reaction wasn't too insane. And before Rhys could hear anything, I clamped down harder on my mental shields. We'd never discussed the possibility of children, but this certainly wasn't how I wanted to broach the subject.

But perhaps I didn't have as much self-control as I would have liked, because the words that slipped out of my mouth were, "She can live if it means she's making Tamlin miserable."

Roslin laughed. "No wonder Rhysand loves you so much."

The tight feeling in my chest loosened. She'd said the only thing that could have made me feel better when the feral instincts of the mating bond were riding me hard—a casual observation that Rhys loved me. Not that he cared about me as merely as an interesting human playing or a useful emissary doing his bidding.

Knowing that an outsider had noticed was…comforting.

But still, I was curious. The Spring Court had been quiet since our return—no signs of interest in either a misguided attempt at saving me from the wicked Night Court or killing me in revenge for a perceived betrayal. Azriel's spies had reported that Tamlin still kept the boarders with Summer and Autumn sealed shut. We knew very little.

"Do you think Ianthe wants to be Lady of Spring?" I asked.

Deirdre's face darkened, and the scars criss-crossing her cheeks, a reminder of whatever she'd survived before coming to the library, seemed to deepen. "Despite our vows to serve the Mother, some of the sisters are more interested in serving their own ends."

Rhys had said I was the only one he'd ever sent after the ring tucked under my tunic, but there must have been plenty of others who'd wanted it, as dangerous as being Lady of Night could be. It worried me that one of them had now set her sights on my kidnapper.

Maybe it was for the best that Night had no diplomatic relations with Spring—I wouldn't have face Ianthe at some dull courtly function.

And perhaps it was all the talk of sisters, but I couldn't help but think that Nesta would know precisely how to politely eviscerate her if that ever changed.

I'd gone quiet, and the conversation had petered out. We returned to our books, and I flipped to the page I'd marked because there had been a word I didn't recognize and needed to ask about.

"By the way," I said, "What does def— defenes—"

Unable to pronounce it, I gave up and pointed to the word as Evelyn peered over my shoulder. "Defenestrate. It means to throw someone out a window," she said.

"Does that really happen enough that there's a word for it?"

"It was a favored method of execution in the Court of Nightmares a few millennia ago," Roslin said. Her smile turned into something a bit ghoulish as she rested her chin on a fist. "Isn't history just fascinating?"

I laughed, not sure I agreed, but enjoying myself all the same. This was certainly better than Tamlin's war-camp limericks fashioned out of the list of words I didn't know.

It was a good way to pass an afternoon. And it hadn't been a waste, exactly, but by the time when priestesses left for their evening prayers and Rhys had slipped into my mind to let me know he might be late for dinner, I had to admit to myself that I was procrastinating. I still needed to send that letter to Nesta.

It wasn't the wording that I hesitated on. Nesta would feel more comfortable if she knew what Cassian looked like ahead of time—to be sure that the meeting wasn't more faerie trickery. So I intended to enclose a sketch.

I'd set myself up on the roof of the townhouse, paper and pencil in hand, and wrote the letter. That much had been easy enough. But when it came time to draw…I froze.

After the painting I'd done all over the townhouse, I'd thought I could manage it. But this was different. Those designs had been impersonal—flowers, birds, flames, that sort of thing. A portrait, however, was a statement by the artist about the subject.

I couldn't hide. But I also needed to get this done, and all I could do was sit and stare at the empty paper. I'd faced actual danger much more fearlessly, but somehow….a blank page left me paralyzed.

That was how Rhys found me when he landed some time later. Before he could say hello or ask how my day had been, I said, "Could you help me with something?"

He went preternaturally still. Better than anyone, Rhys knew how difficult I found it to ask for things, especially help. I might as well have just declared a crisis.

"Whatever you need," he said, violet eyes roving over me as if he were looking for injuries.

"I'm sending a sketch of Cassian to Nesta so she knows who to look for when he meets with her. Since you're a daemati, could you help me…er…hold a picture of him in my mind while I draw? It'll be more accurate that way."

I actually didn't need that—I knew perfectly well what Cassian looked like. But I couldn't do this alone, and it felt a little pathetic to admit that I wanted the comfort of Rhys's mind curling around mine.

He understood anyway. With a wave of his hand, the chair I was sitting in became a bench wide enough for us both. He sat, draping his wings over the back, and pulled me against his side.

He hadn't even touched my mind, but I'd already relaxed just from having him near. Getting closer to Rhys always felt like straightening out something that had just been askew.

Mate.

A talon rapped politely against my shields, and I let him in. The picture formed, sharper than I would have been able to manage with just my own mind's eye—Cassian, with his rough-hewn features, shoulder-length hair, and easy smile. Not so obtrusive that I couldn't concentrate on anything else, but clear and easily reachable. A perfect, helpful reference.

Rhys's mind encircled mine just as surely as his arms did. For anyone else, that might have been terrifying, but I was held—not fenced in. Cradled. Rhys was there with me, every step of the way. Even the darkness settled around my shoulders.

I managed it. The sketch was hardly my best work, but it didn't have to be. It was accurate enough, and I folded the paper and let it disappear before I had too much of a chance to nitpick my own creation. Rhys, who must have known I didn't want an audience, kept his face buried in my hair and scented me instead of peeking over my shoulder.

Once the letter was gone, I swung my legs to the side, crossing my thighs over his and letting my head fall against his chest as his hand rubbed soothing circles on my back. I could hear his heartbeat through the fine embroidered fabric of his jacket, slow and steady. We sat like that for a while, until the first few stars appeared in the sky.

"You haven't eaten anything, have you?" Rhys said eventually.

Right. Dinner. I'd told myself I'd eat once I'd sent the letter, then gotten so caught up in not being able to sketch that I'd forgotten about food entirely. But now that I thought about it…I was starving.

"No, but I need to," I said, standing up.

Rhys was looking at me curiously, with an expression I couldn't quite name. He'd once told me he could feel my hunger pangs through the bond, but I wasn't quite sure if that was what this was about.

"You could have told me sooner that this was a bad day," he said gently.

"It wasn't. Not until I tried to draw. And then…" It had felt like everything came crashing down.

"Come," he said, taking my hand. "Let's not let an empty stomach make it worse."

Cerridwen had long since left for the day, and the meal she'd left us had gone cold. Rhys set about heating it up again, shooing me away from the oven when I tried to help.

Instead, he reached into a pocket dimension and pulled out a wine bottle. "You can open this and pour if you really feel the need to make yourself useful."

"There's a cellar downstairs," I said, hopping down from my perch on the countertop to take the bottle.

There was wine down there, and whatever magic protected the townhouse had kept the bottles pristine—not a single speck of dust had touched them during his fifty years away. Because I'd refused to snoop, I hadn't known they were even there until Mor had insisted on opening one that first dinner after we'd returned.

Rhys flashed me a wicked smile. "The good wine is downstairs, where Cassian can steal it and think he's put one over on me. But I don't tell him about the best bottles, and they stay where he can't get to them."

I couldn't help but feel a warm rush of affection. Even in something as small as this, Rhys couldn't help but be a sneaky, conniving bastard—who also trusted that I'd keep his secrets.

We sat down, and it was hardly the first time we'd eaten a meal together. I was still acutely aware this was the sort of evening I'd dreamed about Under the Mountain—idle chitchat about how our days had been, enough food, weather mild enough to leave the windows open and let the salt-tinged night breeze inside. Everything we'd fought for, really.

We'd just been finishing up when Nesta's response arrived, the note appearing out of thin air next to my plate. Rhys hovered in the doorway, far enough to make it obvious he wasn't trying to read it, but concern for me evident on his face.

Nesta had given me a date and time, then written, Send an accurate portrait, not cover art from a cheap romance novel. No one actually looks like that.

I hadn't embellished anything. The sketch might not have been my best work, but it was true to life. And if it had truly been bad, Nesta would have said something far more scathing.

With a small smile, I picked up the pen that had appeared and wrote, I haven't been able to read long enough to take inspiration from novels. You can trust it's a good likeness.

I thought that would be the end of it. But the dishes were in the sink, and I was halfway up the stairs and intent on drawing a bath when the paper appeared again.

Was Rhysand angry? An illiterate wife would have difficulties running his household.

I was tempted to scoff or roll my eyes, but those words had a certain weight to them when they came from the woman who'd nearly married Tomas Mandray. Instead, I considered what to say while I brought the note to my room.

There's not much of a household to run. The palace is for business only. Rhys and I are the only ones in the townhouse where we reside. He wasn't angry, though. Just concerned and horrified on my behalf.

Her last note of the evening arrived as I stepped into my bedroom. Your husband is quite strange, but send him my regards. Please ensure General Cassian arrives on time for our meeting. Goodnight.

No pen accompanied the note; Nesta clearly intended the conversation to end there. I tried to let it go, though I wished I'd asked about Elain and my father while I'd still had the chance. But still, it was one of the most civil conversations I'd had with Nesta in recent memory.

Perhaps it was easier to be kind when we weren't looking each other in the face.

Though we could now sometimes manage without it, out of an abundance of caution, Rhys and I took the sleeping draught that night. We'd taken to knocking it back together, then kissing goodnight.

We weren't quite fine yet, but we were getting closer.

[333creolelady]

Lady Of The Blue Bakunawa Ch.1

!black-Afab OC X auPirate Roman Reigns

Chapter warnings : descriptions of injuries/illness, paranoid OC.

Banner created by : @joannasteez

Songs this chapter : Whatever may come, An impossible choice, I'm listening

Alt PL songs this chapter: Me in 20 years, Rebel

Story Playlist link here <-

Alternative Playlist here <-

Next -> chapter 2

<- Back to Masterlist

She’s floating. Blackness surrounds her as a rush of sound penetrates her ears. She smells salt and sun. There’s a layer of grain that covers her body like sandpaper. She stopped fighting the current of her mind and let go a while ago. In the distance, her grandfather sings to her. She has no energy left to question it. She leans into the melody, trying to block out the loudness below her. That deafening whooshing of water that rings in her ears. 

Just as she nearly feels the embrace of death, a splash of cold water blankets her body. She’s so weak she doesn’t wince, instead it pushes her further and further from the peace she so desperately seeks. She’s still alive. She can still feel it all—hear it all. The hoot of a bird, the blistering sting of heat on her chest, the death rattle in her sternum

  " Let me go," she whispered to the world. How she wishes she could cut the string that tethered her to this wretched planet. The world was never kind to her. How much easier would it be to just leave it all behind? To never have to endure the stab of grief or the unrelenting sting of loneliness she felt almost every day? Death would be a clean slate. A salve for the burn of her existence. 

Another splash of water hits her unreactive frame. Why is the world trying to shake her awake? What more should she have to endure ? She’s certain she’s paid her dues in tears ten times over. 

" Ahoy!!'"

" Ahoyyyyy!!— GIRL! "

" Avast! "

Voices boom in the distance. If she wasn’t so cracked and fried from the sun, she’d open her eyes and turn her head. She senses a large presence next to her. A distant “thunk” in the water and a few seconds later she's being hoisted up from her lying position onto a harder surface. The hands that touch her are warm, large and calloused.  A deep velvety voice calls out to her. " Alright now Dove, Hold on.”

She floating upward. The sounds of the ocean travels further behind her. Then her back softly hits a hard warm surface. The thumping of shoes startled her enough to make her open an eye. She starts with one, taking a moment to allow her pupil to adjusts to the light. She closes them again. 

" Back up. Let the girl breathe ", a voice calls out in the distance. 

"Where is she from?"

" Is this an omen?"

"Careful, she could be a siren!"

" The poor girl…”

Different hands fondle her now. They hold her flopping head still and check her pulse point. She’s still using all of her energy to attempt to peel open just a single eyelid 

" She's alive. She's just unconscious. Heat exhaustion and maybe—-" This man with no face pulls back her lips to check her gums and then peels one her eyes open from the top. He checks her button gums once more. 

“ Her gums are pale and bloody. She is desperately in need of fluids or she might pass on in the next few hours”, says the man. His voice is higher and heavily accented. He sounds foreign and aged. 

“ Quick, give me that rag ", the velvety thick voice demands. He sounds like he’s in charge. 

Droplets of water splatter her mouth. Her face scrunches in discomfort and then she slowly cranks her mouth open to let the ice cold water into her throat. Her aching dry throat weeps with joy. Finally  some drinkable water. 

Her head is propped against a hard muscular chest. That thick hand grabs her chin and supports her head, pressing her against him as to not let her waste a drop. 

He inspects the beautifully wounded girl. Her face is swollen with cuts and bruises littering her face and body. 

“You have a  name, girl?”, he finally asks. His tone is hushed as if it’s just them two together. He’s trying his best not to scare her. 

She makes a third attempt to open her eyes and she finally can see where the hushed voices were coming from. A crowd of men, maybe 20 or more all towered over her. Looks of concern washed their sun kissed faces. It takes a moment for her to register her unluckiness. Is this her final end? As if almost every moment of her life wasn’t hard enough, her exit was seemingly to be met through a sea of men. PIRATES. Depraved men. 

 “ You’re alright”,  says the voice behind her. She looks up at the man holding her. She has no time to register his face before she’s scrambling away. Her voice is shot, she can’t scream. Her bloodshot eyes are far too dry to produce tears. She only makes it a few feet away before the mysterious man crouches down to her. His hands are in front of him in surrender.

" Easy… "

He watches her carefully. Her eyes are large and protruding out of her face in panic as she clutches her knees. She folds into herself. Suddenly there isn’t enough air. 

"We won't hurt ya' miss ", a man steps forward slowly approaching her. She weakly stands up and reaches down into the side of her boot and pulls out a knife, swinging it crazily. The crowd of men don’t even flinch as she points it at them. Her harsh movements knocks her on her bottom again. She can’t take a deep breath, the room is spinning and there’s a pressure in her head that won’t let up. Her mouth opens and closes for relief before she begins to pass out again. She eventually slumps against the wooden edge of the ship, succumbing to the darkness again. 

Roman 

A moment of silence passes between the men. They watch her limp body rise and fall. Roman tilts his head as he notices bruising around her neck as if she'd been choked. He squints in worry. She's in worse shape than he thought. She needed a bed, a bath and rest. There were no women on the ship to get her out of her torn nightgown. This was all just one big mess. He sighs in frustration as he picks her up again, the crowd parting a path to the cabins for him. He lays her flat leaving a pitcher of water and a glass near her bed. He then shuts the door behind her softly. The crew is still frozen after the jarring event of the girl's arrival.

A crew member speaks up, "What do we do with er’ capn’? "

" You lot’ keep your distance and don’t approach unless she addresses you directly. Earl, I need you to tend to her after she wakes up ", he grunts protectively. Earl was the Doctor and a Surgeon—a real one and the smallest man on the ship. He was also graying with huge glasses and a short stature. He was a safe bet. 

“ Aye captain”, says Earl as he scurried off to get supplies for the girl. The men all slowly fall back to their tasks and the ship takes off again. Roman eyes her cabin once more before heading to his own small quarters. This does not and should not interfere with the plan. He plops down on his wooden chair and sits at his table, rolling open his map marked with black ink. He'd been familiar with the sea for some time. He might as well have been a fish by now. He knew the ocean more than land and this journey would make every hardship he endured worth it. He was one of few who were brave enough to make the quest.

 A small secluded island sat on the edge of the world.  He’d found hints and torn maps over the years. How the riches got there? Nobody knew. Gold, Jewels, endless riches. Many had made it there but nobody could seem to make it back. Some called it a trap by the gods. It was rumored to be a trip to hell. He was certain that he would be the one who would live to tell the tale through knowledge, science and destiny. 

As for his men? Well they believed in Roman. 

Over the years, he gained his crew by taking over other ships. The men with the better vessels usually weren’t the best lads. He always gave his conquered groups the option to leave but they stayed. He was a fierce fighter, a true beast with a sword should anyone be pinned by the other end of it. There were stories of his brutality to the men who wronged him. He was a fierce protector to those who swore to him. Cross him and he could make someone wish they were dead. This duality earned him acclaim and respect but also fear. Thankfully, his outstanding leadership made his crew true believers and in return they put their best foot forward. These were the men he would sail into glory with. If they found these treasures not a single one of them would have to work again. Not even their families- family. 

"We need to dock soon Captain. We need more supplies for the girl—Medicines. She’s in a bad way. She'll need something for her throat as well. The fluids will help for now but not for long ", said Earl in a thick German accent. 

“ Tomorrow we stop. I sense a storm coming, I want to get as far away as possible," Roman grumbles in displeasure as he takes a swig of spiced rum. Earl sees himself out and closes the cabin door behind him. Roman kicks his feet up and indulges himself as he tries to decompress. 

Early the next morning he notices the clouds ahead. Roman sent his surgeon and his cabin boy to get supplies for the girl. Extra boots, clothes fit for sailing and night gowns. Whatever they could get their hands on would do. His surgeon would fetch her the soups, healing balms and medicine for her fragile state. By noon they are back at sea and rushing to get ahead of the storm that would even further set them back. Afternoon comes and he asks for updates often on the girl. Earl can see his worry which was unusual for Roman. 

" I'm sure she’ll turn around. She wouldn't have survived all this way just to pass like this. There's a reason she's crossed our paths”, Earl pats his Captain on the back and leaves him to his solitude. Roman sighs in doubt. He is not too fond of seeing the spiritual side of things. He had a better understanding of miracles or magic. Immaculate conceptions of the universe producing luck seemed more digestible to him—it wasn’t religion or fate. In the back of his mind he believed magic to be science in some way. Pirate culture was superstitious at times, even bordering religious despite how violent the life path could be. Truthfully, he believed that if some devine being existed, he wouldn't have had such a hard go at life. Surely his suffering would have amounted to something ? Still, A single Dove sitting beside her as she clung to life in the middle of the ocean? The universe had it’s humor. 

Dove

She wakes with a gasp. Her eyes peel open slowly yet she remains motionless. Immediately she notices the water and bread on the night stand beside her. Sitting up, she quickly grabs the pitcher of water and drinks from it like a madman. Gulping hurt, but she’d deal with that later. Right now she needed to replenish what was lost.

After she gets her fill, nearly making herself sick in the process, she truly takes in her surroundings. Her room is lit by a lantern and the rock of the boat becomes more noticeable.  Ah yes, she almost forgot she was captured by fucking pirates.

 She watches the door in fear, hoping she can use the pitcher as a weapon. She clutches the glass to her chest as the door knob slowly turns. She slyly raises the pitcher in a defensive position. A man peaks from behind the door. He's balding, short, with glasses and a plump mustache. His non-threatening appearance means nothing. A man’s horror knows no bounds and a monster has no specific look. That’s what she learned the hard way. 

" Miss-" before she can compute what he's about to say, she throws the pitcher at the door. She misses him by a second and he slams the door shut. She can feel her pulse in her ears. 

" Ma'am... I'm not here to hurt you. I'm the physician of this ship. I was just coming to give you medicine for your throat ," he calls from behind the door. She doesn’t answer. 

" M-Ma'am. I mean no harm to you. Just wait one second I'II get the captain and he can explain-"

She throws her plate at the door in protest. She attempts to stand and the world spins. Her knees shake trying to  support her weight. He goes quiet. The man with the glasses pokes his head from behind the door once more. She’s frantically looking for another weapon. 

" My lady please. Don’t throw anything else—let me leave you with the medicine and I’ll go”, he says carefully. She stills her movements in the corner of the room, looking well on her way to being a corpse. 

“You've lost a lot of weight and you will need bandaging for your throat. Do you know how….? ", he asks carefully. She just stands wide eyed, unmoving like an owl. Maybe her nickname should have been owl instead of dove with how uncanny her eyes were. Earl had seen eyes like that by soldiers shaken from war, never to be the same again. She had a tremor to her that left him uneasy.

He held a hand up in a pleading manner, “ I’m leaving now. Just know that an hour from now a man will come in with a tub of hot water, soap and a rag. We’re out of oils, salves and hair wash until our next stop so you’ll have to make due. He’s the young lad—you might have seen him. Anywho, he’ll be in and out and you’ll have an hour to wash up. Alright?”, Earl speaks frantically as if running out of time. She nervously nods her head, still trembling in the corner. Earl bows out with a troubled look on his face. 

After the man left she ate herself into a stomach ache but eventually it subsided. A knock disturbed her thoughts and she returned back to the corner with a piece of glass in her hand. He announces himself and pushes a medium sized bin full of water into the middle of the room. It wasn’t filled to the rim in case of the rock of the ship. She could see the steam floating from it. It was boiled sea water with a herbal smell. The boy was tall, lanky and had an extremely young face. He couldn’t have been more than 15 or 16 years old. 

“ Miss…your bath. The doctor added some medicine to it to help with your soreness. I’ll be back in an hour to retrieve it. Please be clothed by then ”, said the young man. He set a towel on her bed and a change of clothes before heading to the cabin door. He stopped just before exiting. 

“ My name is Caden … my lady ”, he took off his hat briefly and put it on his chest in acknowledgment before putting it on and leaving. 

She rushed to her door and locked it before stripping and sinking into the water with a hiss. It was just tolerable enough, slightly stinging when it touched her. She let out a long gush of tension while she flexed her toes. The water felt so good on her aching neck. She sank far enough to submerged herself in a cramped fetal position. She let the water work into her scalp and fill her ears. She stayed submerged for a moment. 

Her bones sung their praises as she massaged her skin. She washed herself gently along with her hair. Once she was done she dressed in the men’s garments left for her and twisted her wet hair in small sections, pulling it up and away. It was her attempt to keep it from matting with limited products. She also applied the medicine and the bandages to her neck. She finished just in time as Caden came to retrieve the water. She didn’t feel as scared around him, likely because he seemed so young. Still, she carefully watched him as he moved the bin out of her room. He nodded at her and shut the door behind him once more.

Then she was alone again with nothing to do but think of the horrors that could be inflicted upon her. She played with the pirate's hat in her fingers, twirling it around as she thought of an escape. Perhaps she could fake an Illness or play insane ? She had to find a way off this ship. God knows what they could be planning for her. They could be getting her strength up just to —-

Dove jumps as the door opens and freezes like a fawn when a large man ducks into the cabin. He’s so large, his head nearly hits the ceiling. Her eyes widen as she stands slowly and makes her way to the corner. All her weapons are gone. Caden cleaned it all up. 

“ The doctor said you’re awake. I thought I’d come in and check on you. I’m just going to ask you a few questions and I’ll be on my way”, his voice is so velvety, rich and calm for a man of his stature. He’s undoubtedly European born and very posh sounding with a tinge of foreignness in his accent. He couldn’t have been originally from Europe though. He’s at least 6 ft 6 with wavy long onyx hair. It’s shiny in an unnaturally healthy way. His eyes are a deep chocolate with a slight deep set  almond shape, which make his features pop. His jaw was sharp and defined just like the rest of him. His skin is a light olive, likely due to his work in the sun. He’s got a full beard that connects across his face with dominant brows. His nose is broad and wide but straight. It compliments his full evenly proportioned lips. Her eyes trail down to his neck and then his chest. He was huge and cut, his shoulder never seemed to end. He wore a loose white short sleeved shirt that revealed his elaborate tattoos. He was covered in them, especially on his right side. He had a some sort of tribal tattoo that covered his collarbone down to his wrist. He wore black breeches with a sword tucked into his waistband and black boots. 

Everything about him made the hairs rise on the back of her neck. He swallowed the light in the room. She felt her heart beating out of her chest. She was almost certain they had a plan now. They cleaned her up for HIM. That’s surely what this was. They bathed her and put a metaphorical bow on her, ready to serve the captain. She shakes her head, ducking into the corner. 

Romans eyes widened in offense, “ Look I’m..not here to harm you. I just need some information about where you came from. So I can return you”, he says with a hand out. 

She can’t go back either…..

“ What’s your name ?” 

She didn’t answer. She couldn’t answer, she was frozen. She was trying her hardest to focus on her breathing. To mentally prepare herself for whatever he could possibly do to her . 

Roman 

Roman looked around the room awkwardly trying to find a way to calm this hysterical woman. “Why don’t I introduce myself? I hear that it’s what you’re supposed to do in these situations.” 

Still no answer from her. He shifts with a hand in his pocket. “Uh…I’ll start— My name is Roman. At least I go by Roman. It’s not the name I chose but when you’re forced into the west it’s better to have a western name. I’m the captain of this ship,” he sighs. 

The woman before him was a complete shell of herself. She wasn’t fully here despite being in front of him. She was also freighteninly beautiful. Full lips, beautifully coiled hair, eyes deeper than the ocean. Everything about her pulled him in and it seemed like everything about him pushed her away. He hated that. He hated being looked at like the cause for every evil in the world. 

“ The men on my ship will cause’ you no harm believe me. There’s no need to be afraid. I can tell you more about myself—would that make you more comfortable? If I talk about something else?”, he asks. 

Through her shaking he could almost see some semblance of a nod. He rubbed his sweaty palms on his thigh and sighed out, wracking his brain for some sort of information to humanize himself in a moment like this. 

“ I’m from the pacific islands. My people reside on an even smaller island there. We were invaded by Germany. Some islands the French…others Spanish. I was taken as a child—aged 8 by German soldiers as a gift to Queen Augusta Marie Luise Katharina. I was kicked out of the court and left on the streets at age 15. I figured you were wondering why a man like myself could seem so…”, he doesn’t finish his sentence. He really meant proper sounding, civilized. Smart for a —

 A brief feeling of regret washes over him as he contemplates if he should have told her. He didn’t tell many people his origins but he felt the need to now. It must have worked because she relaxed at bit at his words. 

“ I had nothing. I volunteered myself on a ship in exchange for food and shelter. I mopped decks and hung laundry and cleaned chamber pots. I worked up the ranks doing dangerous jobs, joining fencing competitions and gambling. I won enough money to buy myself a haggered boat. I started sailing around the world and along the way I met my crew.” 

Dove had stopped shaking now and swirled circles into the wood beneath her. There was something catatonically innocent about her movements. Like she was visiting a long lost part of herself for comfort. It worried him deeply. 

“ I know you’re probably scared. You think you can’t trust the word of a pirate and most times you can’t. Please know that we do have some morals. I won’t allow them to touch you. I know the men I vetteed. Where I come from, a man who hurts a woman suffers are far worse fate than her ”, he promised.

Dove

Dove stared at him curiously. This dark, tall and looming presence confessed his troubled past. He was a victim of something bad too and for some reason it made her feel slightly better. She finally caught her breath now that she was thinking about something else. She’d heard of this “adoption” thing that royals did. Queen Victoria stole a boy from Ethiopia and the Queen before her, a boy from India. The British empire acted like it was some gift from god, believing Britain was a savior for children in “poor” countries. Really it was kidnapping and brainwashing. She couldn’t imagine how long a child must cry for their family after something like that. It was a murder of the soul.

And here was this hulking, quiet man laying out his story to her. His voice hadn’t raised an octave, not even in panic. She hadn’t spoken a word and yet he was so open with her already. He looked at her like he had been waiting for her for some time. The pain was so brief in his face but he hid it so well she nearly missed it.

She wanted to say something. In a moment like this one someone was supposed to share their pain too. That despite the fact that they came from other places, they could feel the same homesickness. She should say that she was a stranger in this world just as much as him. That even though she spent most of her life in England, every fiber of her being told her she didn’t belong. That she was a traveler from another world much like him. How lucky was she to meet someone from the outside. Someone who once lived a life outside of the poison and vitriol of Europe. Maybe he was like her. Yet when she opened her mouth the fear wrapped it’s hands around her throat and rendered her speechless. 

His eyes widened in a hopeful way before they darkened with disappointment as she curled back into her self. She turned away in defeat. He slowly got up and walked to the door stopping just at the entry. 

“ The doctor told me you were in shock. My apologies for not giving you more time to make sense of all of this. I was just rather eager to see you. I don’t run into many people like you—- seems you’ve triggered my homesickness in a way. I’ll check back with you in a few days”, he admits. His tone was defeated as he stole another glance at her and then quietly left. 

She remained in the corner, scolding herself for not saying anything. She wasn’t entirely sold on the idea that his crew members wouldn’t try anything. However, she believed that if she laid low she might be able to get by until they dropped her off. 

Roman 

Roman went to bed that night puzzled. He didn’t know why he cared so much about this. She was a complete stranger who hadn’t spoken a word to him. Despite it all, he approached her with an openness that most couldn’t pull from him. He wondered if he came on strong. Perhaps she thought he was weak…or desperate. 

Their encounter left him aching from memories of being a child and feeling alone. Longing to make a connection with someone who understood him. Next time he swore to himself would be more stern—more distant. She didn’t care about his story. She was the only woman on a ship of almost 200 men. She had bigger problems. In a few days he would get her to talk and send her on her way. Her story ends somewhere else and his begins with his treasure. 

The way it should be…. 

————————--------------------------------------------------

Note : 

Don’t forget to like, comment and re-blog. ALL reblogs will receive a link to a sneak peek of next weeks chapter! 

Special thanks again to @joannasteez  who helped me during my writing process and actually gave me the original idea for the fic as well as designed the cover. Love you! ❤️

[meltedbluecaterpillar]

Hemophiliac

you are here! - ch. ii - ch. iii - ch. iv

A/N: This is a commission for @twisted-desires . I am a big fan of vampires and this will be another male!reader. The AU is... It is a little modern... But more... A form of the 50's or 60's in a way. Don't think too hard about it...

tags: vamp!male!reader x noble!riddle rosehearts, aged up au (Riddle is 20+, reader is 200+) wc: 1k+

Riddle sobbed quietly, stuffing some of his clothes into a small leather suitcase. Big round tears rolled down his cheeks as he wiped at his face with a pale shaking hand. “She’s so… Just so awful to me…” He whispered under a croaked breath. Hiccuping softly he crossed the room to grab his coin purse from his vanity, adding it to his suitcase as well. Riddle Rosehearts has always obeyed his mothers wishes. He has always done what she asks of him even if he didn’t want to. But this was something he would refuse to do.

His mother is the most well respected doctor in the country. Especially being a woman in the field of medicine while his father was off in another country for reasons he couldn’t get answers to. He wondered if the reason his mother arranged a marriage without Riddle’s knowledge was because of this. Just telling him over lunch this afternoon that he was set to marry a woman he has never met before. “Just because I’m twenty years old doesn’t mean I want to marry… She married when she was twenty three… Maybe I want to wait…” Riddle grumbled bitterly to himself as he zipped the suitcase shut and looked around his large bedroom. It was illuminated by a yellowing gas lamp chandelier high above him. 

Everything he owned was selected by his mother. Clothes, books, the very bareboned decor… Even the cream and olive colored wallpaper with fern lace. He had nothing of his own that he could truly feel attached to in this large and lonely manor. It was hardly a home. It was just a place he lived in. That is why it felt so much easier to run away under the cover of the gray, cottony clouds and the blacked out moon. He sniffled away one final time before grabbing a thin necklace with a small silver cross, and his thick, red, traveling cloak. The sky was starting to rumble, and the delicate tap of rain pelted against his bedroom windows. 

It was dark. The moon had vanished as he slipped past the servants quarters, down the marble stairs, and out the heavy doors of the manor. He held tightly to his leather suitcase, keeping it protected beneath his cloak as the rumbling grew louder and the rain fell harder. Riddle cautiously avoided the puddles as he raced up to the iron gate. His body was thin enough for him to slip through, but his bag was the problem. He pulled and grunted, attempting to yank the bag through the bars before slipping and landing on the soaked ground. His bag tumbled into a large mud puddle on the other side. He would be traveling even lighter than expected. 

Riddle despised the dirt, but he had no time to complain. He had to leave now or be trapped in a loveless marriage with a woman he didn’t know. The young man kneeled in the softened earth, sticking his arm through the water soaked bars to pull his bag close enough to dig through. Riddle would only take his coin purse and abandon the rest. It didn’t matter. All of his clothes are things his mother bought him. Riddle rose to his feet, the small purse tight in his icy fingers as he began to walk down the lonely dirt path. No destination in mind. Only the rain and cold kept him company as the manor shrank behind him. Riddle had never done anything like this. He had fantasized about running away. Of vanishing into thin air with no traces of him ever existing. But everyone reaches a breaking point. This was his. 

It was exhilarating, 

This newfound freedom to wander the world as a proper adult. No one would tell him what to do. Riddle could live in the forest among the deer and the little bluebirds. He could bathe in the rivers and nap in a patch of clover. All very idealistic despite the stormy weather. But that would be for the future when he abandons the modern world for a life among the trees. For now he needs somewhere to hide from the rain. “If I seek shelter from Trey… My mother will surely find out. Pinkā is completely out of the question.” He murmured as he found himself nearing a wooded area. If he camped out in a cave for the night he would have better luck in the morning. With the moon and stars hidden it was impossible to see anything. So he would just have to pray. The foliage was thick, branches swatting against Riddle’s legs as he continued his trek. His boots continuously became stuck in the soft soil, and it became harder and harder to walk among the dark trees. Riddle didn’t mind. He actually was enjoying himself. 

For the first time in his life he was able to go somewhere alone. Even if he had no real destination in mind, his mother wasn’t holding his hand. Riddle is an adult and he wants to be seen as one. As he walked, he made it to a clearing. One he couldn’t recall ever seeing near the manor in the past. A small manor, appearing ancient and gothic with its architecture. A large iron gate surrounded the area but Riddle was confident in his thin frame to squeeze through the bars. The cobblestone path clicked beneath his heels as he avoided the larger puddles. The plants all looked dead, yellowing and bone dried under the sun. Riddle walked closer and closer, feeling the chill from the sleet starting to settle into his bone marrow. Maybe the place was abandoned? He now stood at the doorstep, staring at the heavy oak double doors with a trembling fist. He would knock and announce himself. If no one answers he will just let himself in. It isn’t a crime to break into an abandoned building. Riddle will just say he was sleepwalking. 

Before Riddle could muster any more courage, the door suddenly opened and a masculine frame greeted him. But something felt wrong. Riddle just hasn’t pieced together what.

[hellishere7980]

Whatever It Takes (CH-4)

Dear mother, I know you're mad at me. I was supposed to stay with Damien. Stay ‘safe’ as you put it But there is still a weak point I need to cover. You said our aim was to get Damian to safety. Mother, you and I both know he is not completely safe. Safer? Yes. But not completely safe. You know, I promised to myself that I would do whatever it took to keep you both safe. This is my way of doing it. Go ahead and say that ‘You don't need to do it’. But I know I need to do it. So, forgive me, mother, for disobeying your direct orders. I was following the order you gave me a long time ago.

I love you, Mother.

You always said that repeating something again and again reduces the value of your words. These three words I will never tire of speaking to you. Because you gave birth to me. You kept me safe as much as you could. You snuck in and stayed with me when I was sick. You are my mother.

You always said, “Mariam, You are my daughter. Be brave.”

Now I'm saying, “You are my mother, Trust me.”

Trust me to know what I'm doing.

Your daughter, Mariam.

Talia fell down crying after reading the letter. The woman who never shed a tear even after being stabbed and shot.

Bruce stepped forward and supported her to a chair.

— — — — — — — —

“M-Mother?” Damian asked as Talia was about to get back into the car.

“Yes, Damian.” Talia said, smiling at him.

“Don't worry.” Bruce said, standing beside Damien. “We'll keep a lookout for Mariam.”

Talia just nodded and was about to get into the car when a notification chimed up in the bat computer.

Facial match: Ra’s Al-Ghul Location: Gotham Harbour, Dock #7

They all looked at each other as they rushed to put on their costumes. Dick dragged Damian with him to at least make him wear a basic black Kalver uniform. Soon enough, they all took off. Dick and Tim on the nightcycle and the R-Cycle. Bruce, Damian and Talia in the Batmobile with Alfred manning the comms. After breaking some traffic laws, they pulled up at the Gotham Harbour in under 20 minutes. They all stepped out and saw Ra’s standing on a cliff while his personal helicopter, ready for takeoff, waited below in the sandy area.

“Well.” Ra’s said, turning towards them. “I expected that pusillanimous girl of yours to do this.” He said to Talia. “But you? You failed to achieve the low expectations I set for you. This has gone on for long enough. If you so desperately wish to get out of the league, then fine. The league has no place for cowards like you and your daughter who can not even respect their blood. Come along, Damian.”

“NO!” Talia And Damian said together.

Ra’s opened his mouth to say something else but just then a stone was catapulted from the nearby higher cliff which hit Ra’s, the momentum throwing him off the cliff and onto the spinning blades of his helicopter.

Everyone else remaining on the cliff were stunned and watched in utter shock as they heard the sound of flesh being sliced and falling into the slightly acidic waters of Gotham Harbour. As the men in the helicopter jumped out, arrows from the nearby cliff, although from a different area, claimed their lives as they fell down in the pools of their own blood.

All of them stood motionless. Then Batman said, “Whoever did this, the intention was not to harm us yet. Proceed with caution. Robin, Damian, check if there are any survivors. Talia, Nightwing and I are going to check the cliff from where the attack came.”

After spending hours, they couldn't find anything. Just a note that said.

I Bow to thee, Talia Al-Ghul. The Demon Head of the League of Assassins.

“What does this mean, mother?” Damian asked when they showed the note to everyone back in the Batcave.

“This is an ancient ritual.” Talia said looking at the note with something akin to silent horror. “Whenever a Demon had died and the heir took the place as the next Demon Head, all the people of the League of Assassins were supposed to pledge their loyalty to the new Demon Head. They used to bow as a symbol for accepting their superior.”

“But didn't Ra’s say that you were not to inherit the League?” Bruce asked. “Because you are a woman.”

“I know that.” Talia said.

“OK, OK, you are the new Head.” Dick said. “Got it. What are we gonna do now? I think that Mariam might have done it—”

Talia said, “She wouldn’t kill her own Grandfather.” She took a deep breath in.

“I still think the League isn't a fit place to bring up Damian. I still wish you would keep him here.” Talia said, looking at Bruce.

“That would be my absolute pleasure.” Bruce said. “But I want to know one thing.” He continued turning towards Damian, kneeling down to his level, “You wanna stay here, Damian?”

Damian looked deep into Bruce's eyes. “Yes, Father.”

“Well, that's settled!” Tim said. “He gets to stay with us. And you,” He said to Talia. “Get to head the league. Fun.”

Talia gave a light chuckle. “I will leave now.”

And so the days went by. Damian adjusted in his new life as the new Robin after Tim gave him the mantle. Talia went on to Head the league, changing the name from League of Assassins to League of Shadows. When Damian called her about it, she replied, “A new change of aim, means a new change of name.”

Talia even revealed that Jason was back in the living world. They tried to fix that burnt bridge. But Jason was still not completely open to coming back, but, baby steps. Everything was going swimmingly until one day, specifically on Damian's birthday, someone rang the doorbell.

[orivaa-kun]

ride for me | chapter 2: get set

ch. 1 | chapter word count: 13.6k warnings: mature (18+), drinking, drug use, smut, fluff, angst, feels pairings: Gojo Satoru x Fem OC, Geto Suguru x Fem OC, Gojo Satoru x Geto Suguru x Fem OC series summary: Lena Okamoto was emotionally estranged from her father—the CEO of Okamoto Group, a Tokyo-based, multi billion-dollar sports car manufacturing company—after her mother died due to a longterm, post-pregnancy related illness when she was a kid. Amidst her father’s misdirected blame for this, now 27, Lena is finally back in the city. She’s introverted and troubled by her past with her father and step-family, but hardworking and anxious to prove herself to everyone: that she can create the best cars for the Okamoto brand and the fastest engines for their Formula 1 cars. Satoru Gojo is the face of Gojo Industries—the corporation that practically owns Tokyo with its advanced tech that can be found all over the city. Unlike Lena in many ways, the confident and extroverted man leads a completely different, unblemished life—having basically had a spoiled upbringing, and the only trying aspect of his life being the sheer amount of his company responsibilities, obligations, and public appearances. When the two meet, both of their lives change completely. Will they be able to juggle their relationship, trying professional careers, family dynamics, and public image all at once? Sacrifices will have to be made.

When I opened my eyes, the sun was already up. I jolted upright in the cream-colored sheets of my bed, reaching for my phone on the nightstand. 6:38 AM??I’d slept through my alarm?! What the hell??! That hardly ever happened, I was such a light sleeper; unless... I pressed my hand to my stomach and winced when I felt the familiar sharp pain in my abdomen—cramps. Of course it’s early. I always felt more tired than usual when my period hit. 

I scrambled out of bed and to the bathroom, getting ready as soon as possible. I only had 20 minutes to get to the track for the OXB 600 speed test drive! After I used the bathroom, I washed my hands and splashed water on my face, quickly combing my curls out and slipping into the closest and easiest piece of clothing I could find; in this case, it was an old, black and white and Okamoto-branded auto racing suit made of denim material—the sentimental jumpsuit my grandpa had given me years ago. 

Minutes later I was sprinting to the elevators of my apartment complex with my phone, bag, and keys to get down to the garage; and the metal doors were just about to close on me before I reached in between, causing them to retract once more. I recognized the man inside the elevator immediately, mood souring at the mere sight of him alone with his arms crossed cockily over his chest. Not this asshole. Why did I have to run into him, of all people, right now?! 

The black-haired man was tall and extremely buff, today clothed in a black button-down shirt and white slacks. His biceps, shoulders, and chest muscles protested the taught, black fabric wrapped around them, nearly stretching them beyond their limits. Sure, he was physically attractive, but his personality had made him an asshole. The small scar on the corner of his mouth curled upward with his growing smirk after he checked the silver Audemars Piguet watch on his wrist, “Aren’t you supposed to be at the track soon?” 

Toji Fushiguro . Though it was a luxury apartment building, I still couldn’t believe I lived in the same complex as Okamoto Group’s COO—the 40-something-year-old man who’d been appointed by my father a few years ago. Though he was much younger than my dad, Toji was just as cold, spiteful, and as bad a father as him—as I’d heard the whispers about his son, Megumi, during countless board meetings—but in Toji’s particular case, the man was also notoriously a horrible gambler who was very bad with money. Needless to say, he’d somehow made it as the worst COO pick of the century. 

I sighed and stepped into the elevator, tucking myself in the farthest corner away from him as the doors closed once more, “Good morning, sir.” I spoke the words as respectfully as I could, which was not very much at all. Unfortunately, he was still my superior. I bowed my head quickly, “Yes, I’m on the way.” 

“You’re on the way? But, you’re still here, no?” Toji chuckled to himself, tone deviously low, “Though I guess it’s just in your nature to slack off, isn’t it, Lena ?” 

I hated the way he said my name. Toji didn’t know shit about me—the meals and hours of sleep I’d missed over the past months while creating and perfecting this vehicle. I had no idea why he always bothered and bullied me like this; he never missed an opportunity to. What the hell did I ever do to him? It must’ve been some lies or exaggerations my father had told him about me. 

“I’ll get there in time.” I said flatly, trying to hide my foul mood. I tapped my foot anxiously. Why was this elevator so damn slow?!  

“You better...” Toji nearly cooed the words, voice deep and song-like—it almost made me sick. Though I couldn’t see his expression as he was behind me, I could feel his eyes burning into my back, “I, on the other hand, don’t need to arrive until 8 o’clock. Lucky me, hm? I was thinking of even getting some breakfast nearby the track.” 

Why was he telling me all this? Like the fuck I cared. I looked up to watch the floor numbers drop on the elevator’s small display screen. 25... 21.. 17... 13... 

“There can’t be much that you can help with, now. Why don’t you join me? I can explain to your father and the leadership team about your absence...” 

Me, getting breakfast with him?! I turned my head to look back at Toji, genuinely surprised and a bit appalled by the proposition, “Uh, no thanks. I should make sure everything’s set with the new OXB model and our driver.” 

Toji suddenly guffawed, voice loud and hoarse as he laughed, “I was joking, kid. You seriously think I’d have breakfast with you right now?” His steely black eyes narrowed at me, almost as if he was suddenly upset by something, “It was a test. Hm. I guess you do have some semblance of a work ethic after all... Then again, so does an ant .” 

I balled up my fists at the last of his words. Fuck you. Finally, the elevator doors opened to the garage lot. Beside myself, I offered Toji a courtesy nod and began to sprint towards my car. 

“I’ll make sure to ask the others if you arrive on time! I’m sure the board would love to know if their VP of Style and Chief Designer wasn’t even dedicated to her role enough to show up on time!” Toji called after me, grinning again. 

“Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you...!” I cursed him under my breath. I unlocked my driver’s side door of my Ferrari and threw my stuff in the passenger seat, quickly jumping in before loudly starting the vehicle. 

~ 

I’d made it to the track with one and a half minutes to spare, panting with my hands on my knees in the loading area to catch my breath, that turned into a small white cloud around my face with each exhale. It was still cold outside at this time in the morning and I hadn’t had time to grab a jacket. 

Before me was the ground crew, huddled around the new Okamoto OXB 600. Different members of the production and mechanic team were completing last checks on the car, and Jin stood at the center with an electronic notepad. 

“There you are, Lena!” Jin was the first turn and see me. He strode towards me, “Thought we were gonna have to start a little late. Where've you been?” 

“Sorry...” I gasped, still catching my breath, “Slept through my alarm...” 

“Shit, well, glad you’re here on time! Oh...” He trailed off, clicking the bluetooth piece in his ear. Someone must have contacted him through our test drive comms channel, “...oh no.” Jin finished, the tone of his voice particularly devastating. 

“What’s ‘oh no?’ What do you mean ‘oh no,’ Jin?” I asked impatiently, my concern audible. 

Our driver for the speed test is still stuck in traffic, and the board’s already here.” Jin used his thumb to gesture back and up towards the nearby observation room in the tall glass building beside the track. 

My eyes widened, “What?! You’re fucking kidding me...!” I threw my head into my hands, “The hell do we even hire this guy for??!” 

“Can’t be helped.” Jin shrugged once and shook his head. 

“We’ve got a backup, right?” I finally stood back upright, brows furrowed in concern. 

“We tried to call Yuji, but his arm is still injured from his accident last month.” 

“Why don’t you just do it, Lena?” A new voice interjected, and both Jin and I turned our heads in his direction—it was the assistant mechanic, Kaito, “You’re a rallying pro, and you know this track like the back of your hand.” He walked towards the sidelines where we were standing, just having tightened the lug nuts on the wheels. 

“Me?!” I was half awake, and my cramps were so strong it felt like someone was stabbing my uterus with a butter knife, “Wha—” 

“Damn, that’s actually a great idea, Kaito.” Jin jumped in, seemingly impressed by the notion. He looked at me, “You can do it, right, Lena?” 

I paused for a moment, and there was a long silence. There was no way I could’ve expected this situation, but if the speed testing didn’t start soon, then the Okamoto leadership board would grow impatient, and the blame would fall on my ass. I took a deep breath, beginning to answer, “I mean, technically I could—” 

Jin clasped his hands together, “Then it’s settled! Nice save, Lena!” He harshly clapped his hand on my back a few times. 

I nearly folded over from my overall achiness and the repetitive force of Jin’s hand, “Sure thing.” I winced a bit, attempting to smile. 

“You’ve got gloves, right?” 

I patted the pockets of my jumpsuit, feeling the familiar lump in my back left. I retrieved the all-black gloves from my pocket and began to slide them on, “Yeah. Shit , I don’t have my helmet though.” I immediately remembered. It would feel a bit foreign driving without my usual. 

“Let me grab you a helmet, then. A small should work, right?” Jin began to jog back to the building, shouting the last of his words back so I could hear. 

“Yeah, thanks!” 

“Thank you , Lena. You’re really saving our ass.” Kaito said, laughing, as if this wasn’t an urgent situation. 

“Yeah, well, your ass is my ass in the board’s eyes.” I reached into the front pocket of my jumpsuit and fished out a loose hair tie, raising my hands to quickly fasten my curls up and away from my face. Jin quickly returned and handed me the white, Okamoto-branded helmet, which I hastily slid on, already beginning to approach the OXB. 

“And when our asses work together, our cars are the shit!” Kaito said with enthusiasm. 

Jin and I both turned around, staring back at Kaito expressionlessly at his god-awful pun. 

“...I’ll, uh, excuse myself.” He laughed nervously, making his way back to the building with the observation room. 

“Comms are already hooked up inside your helmet. So, shout with any issues, alright?” Jin followed behind me as I slipped into the low driver’s seat of the sports car, closing its heavy door behind me. 

I nodded, adjusting my helmet and tightening the velcro straps of my gloves around my wrists. I checked all the mirrors, watching as the remaining crew finished their last tweaks on the OXB before almost everyone backed away from the vehicle. Jin bent close to the side of my window, and I rolled it down. 

“You know the deal. Three laps, and we’ll take your best time. One lap around the course is 5.5 kilometers and we’re expecting an average of about 2 minutes, 15 seconds, with the vehicle weight in mind.” Jin smirked and folded his arms on the open window ledge of the car, “Now don’t shave too much off that number. Remember civilians will be driving this model, not pros! Plus, it’s not like we want legal on our ass on the overall safety of the vehicle.” 

“I know, I know.” I smiled for the first time this morning with a small wave of my hand, dismissing the last of Jin’s comment. We knew this information more than anyone—it was our team that had designed and built this car from the ground up. 

“You grew up on this asphalt, Lena. No one knows this track better than you.” 

The memories flooded my mind at the weight of Jin’s words. 

I was five years old, and my grandpa was helping me push my mini go-kart up to the Okamoto track start line with the brightest smile on his face. Then, I was 11, racing my karting class rival—the kid with long black hair who’s name I couldn’t remember—and crying after he’d beat me to the finish line. Then, I was 16, totaling my grandpa’s 2003 Porsche 911 GT3 RS on the backend of this very track. And those were just three of the no doubt thousands of times I’d found myself driving around it. It was a mix of sweet, spicy, and sour memories—but impactful memories, nonetheless. And every single lap I’d made around this track had taught me something new; no matter well I knew it or how much I improved my driving skills over the years, there were always new experiences to gain here. 

“Thanks, Jin.” I smiled sincerely. I felt my heart flutter excitedly. It’d been a while since I’d been presented with the opportunity to let loose on the track. 

He tapped the hood of the car twice before standing back upright, “Show ‘em what you got!” He shouted, grinning. 

I started the car and revved the engine three times in response, rolling up the window before slowly pulling up to the start line. One of the staff with a bright orange baton in his hand led me forward, directing me to stop right before the checkered white line before backing away to the far sideline. 

“Lena, can you hear us?” I suddenly heard Kaito’s voice in my ear. His voice sounded a little muffled on the comms line but was still clear enough to understand. 

“Yeah, I hear you.” 

“We’re monitoring your speed remotely via a speedometer attachment to the vehicle, but we’ll also use LaserCam speed guns at four key points on the track—including the finish line—to trace your speed and calculate averages. As a backup and for high-definition footage, the course cameras will assist with that, too.”  

“Copy.” I glance up to look at one of the big mechanical cameras on the side of the track when it slowly panned in my direction. I briefly wondered if my father was watching in the observation room. Why did I care?  

“Production test team, standby for start.” Jin’s voice entered my ears on comms. 

My eyes instantly moved to the big, bright, and red circular signal to the left of me. Here we go. I stared at the light, unblinking, allowing its neon color to practically burn into my retinas. Strangely, I didn’t feel nervous about the speed test drive—even if it was basically in front of the entire leadership board of Okamoto Group. Maybe it was because I was home. 

The light flashed green with a loud tone, and my foot immediately floored the accelerator. 

~ 

When I exited the car and removed my helmet, my hair tie snapped and my curls spilled out from it. I was too excited to pick it up. I shook my hair out with a shit-eating grin on my face, striding up to Jin just as quickly as he was approaching me, “That last lap was less than two, wasn’t it?!” 

“One minute and 58.07 seconds, to be exact!” He mirrored my grin and held his hand high up above me, to which I had to jump to high-five, “Lena, you were a fucking beast out there!” 

“Thanks, Jin. You think we gotta worry about legal and safety?” I hugged the helmet to my side, still smiling. 

“Hell, no. That was absolutely perfect .” 

A few more employees on the production team approached me on the edge of the track, similarly high-fiving and slapping hands with me while offering quick praises. I looked back when a few began to approach the OXB model, that’s engine was loudly rumbling just a few meters away—door propped open and wheels still smoking from the way I had dragged and turned them over the track’s pavement at max speeds. 

“Our savior!” Kaito clapped a few times before bowing his hands and arms down to me over and over, in a mock worship-like gesture. 

I laughed, “Oh, it was nothing.” 

“The board was in there going crazy! Think they wanna make your test drive footage into a commercial!” Kaito exclaimed, and I glanced over, noticing the thirty-odd older men in dark business suits who were now beginning to flood out of the observation building and towards the track. I could hear a few of their comments, even from a distance. 

“Isn’t now a good time to publish a press release and announce to the world that there’s a new OXB model coming?” 

“We should have her test drive every new car!” 

“Ha! Driving really does still run in the Okamoto family, even after all these years!” 

“Let’s get the Okamoto Social Strategic and Creative teams on this!” 

“PR should be all over this!” 

“Maybe we should get more women driver influencers to test it ahead of its release!” 

“Nominating her for Chief Designer might’ve been Eiichiro’s best contribution to the company in the past decade!”  

Hearing my grandfather’s name being mentioned particularly made my smile grow. 

I shook a number of the board members’ hands, respectfully bowing my head with a smile and offering my thanks to each compliment received. I glanced to my father who stood in the back of the group, chatting with a few board members. He met eyes mine and he crossed his arms over his chest, seemingly unimpressed. 

He eventually approached me, but stopped beside Jin, “What happened to the original driver?” He demanded the information, eyes still menacingly locked on me. 

“Megumi was stuck in traffic, sir. Couldn’t get here in time.” Jin explained. 

“And who allowed you to make the call to swap her in??” My father finally glanced over to Jin. 

“Respectfully, sir, this is Lena’s department... She ultimately makes all production-related calls and decisions. And we didn’t want to keep the board waiting, nor hold up their surely, very important schedules.” 

My father looked a bit disgusted by Jin’s answer, his expression practically screaming, ‘A woman should know her place,’ but it was the truth. My department, my rules. It was almost as if he’d forgotten that I even worked here; that I was a part of the leadership team, too. 

The group of board members’ chatter grew quiet at my father’s tone, but an older man in a gray suit spoke up, “Oh, relax, Hanzo. She did well! It’s just an internal test drive!” He approached me, using his short, wooden cane to steady himself before pressing a hand to my shoulder, “You’re too hard on your daughter. I doubt more than five people in Tokyo could make those times in a car they’ve never driven before—even if they did build it!” He laughed, happily, and I felt some of the tension in my shoulders release. Thank goodness someone was here to be on my side. My father couldn’t let his personal hate for me get in the way of the business, this time. I stood there, completely straight faced. 

A few others chimed in with chuckles of their own, and Hanzo averted his gaze from me and the laughing board members once more, already turning to speak to Toji, who had just arrived at the track. And, just like that, I was invisible to him again. 

~ 

Just a few hours later, I found myself on my childhood friend Shoko Ieri’s couch in oversized sweats, her blue electric heating pad practically glued to my abdomen and a giant plush blanket tucked all around me. Apart from the time I’d spent in Italy during my high school and college years, we’d practically known each other all our lives. She primarily spent most of her days working as a general surgeon, but I was glad I could spend some time with her now before her shift at the hospital tonight. 

“Shoko...!” I groaned out, mostly for dramatic effect. My cramps were bad, but currently manageable now that I was laying down with a heating pad. At the very least, I was glad I had the rest of the day off now that the test drive was done, “I’m gonna die...!” I turned in the blanket so I was facing her in the kitchen, resting my arm over my forehead. 

“You’re not going to die, Lena.” She flipped over a piece of mackerel on the mini grill appliance in front of her, “But at the same time, I feel you.” 

I grumbled, “Ugh. Even with the cramps, today was going so well, too! Then fucking Hanzo had to go and ruin it.” I referred to my father by his first name, “I swear it’s like his life goal to embarrass me in front of the entire sports car industry or something.” 

“It’s a shame; he used to be so nice when we were kids.” Shoko noted, moving to the stove and stirring a small pot of soup. 

“Yeah... Before my mom got sick.” I said much quieter, sighing. 

“What did he do this time?” She glanced up from the pot. 

“He was all like, ‘Who let her get behind the wheel for the test drive?!’” I mocked his voice when I recounted the events from earlier this morning, “Mind you, the driver was stuck in traffic, and also, he knows that the entire fucking design production department falls under my leadership. And he said it loud as hell, in front of the whole Okamoto board!” 

Shoko’s eyes widened briefly, “Geez... What the hell is his issue?” 

I pinched the bridge of my nose, briefly closing my eyes, “You know, I’ve been trying to figure that out for a majority of my life now, Shoko.” I paused, “My thing is like, be an asshole to me privately all you want; but at least keep shit professional in a professional setting!” 

“Okay, but he shouldn’t be an asshole to you in private, either.” Shoko challenged, now turning to the rice cooker that had just chimed. She popped the lid open, and a hot cloud of steam escaped from the cooker. 

“Well, obviously he’s incapable of doing that.” I rolled around in the blanket on the couch, grumbling dramatically again, “Fucking asshat ruined my mood. Then there’s his evil, gambling henchman, Toji.” 

Shoko snickered to this, beginning to portion out our lunch trays with grilled fish, rice, soup, and traditional Japanese sides, “Does he still live in the same complex as you?” 

“Yes, unfortunately.” 

“That’s insane.” She shook her head. 

“Exactly. Do you know what kind of houses I could buy with his COO salary?! I mean, my place isn’t shabby at all—but still. The guy’s gotta be blowing every paycheck he gets.” 

“Seriously. Is he still bothering you?” 

“On occasion. But today was weird.” 

“How so?” Shoko rose a brow, beginning to carry our food into the living room where I laid. 

“He asked me if I wanted to skip the test drive and join him for breakfast...” I said with a scowl. 

Shoko mirrored my disgust, “Ew.” 

“Yeah, tell me about it. But no time for asshole fathers—I've got a date tomorrow and my uterus is committing war crimes!” 

Shoko looked surprised to hear this, maybe a little too surprised, “ You’re going on a date?! Miss indoors who never goes outside unless it involves a car??” 

“Hey, I go out sometimes...!” I pouted up at Shoko, who set our trays down on the living room table. 

She simply stared at me. 

“Okay, maybe I don’t.” I immediately conceded. 

“When did you get asked on a date?” She asked, curiously. 

“Just yesterday. I went out to the Gojo Industries gala with Yuko last night.” 

“ You went to a Gojo Industries gala??!” Shoko looked even more shocked, somehow, “Who asked you out?” 

“Satoru...” I said in a small voice. 

“Geh! Satoru Gojo??!” Shoko wore an unreadable yet simultaneously confused expression on her face. 

“What’s ‘geh?!’” I sat up when Shoko froze in her tracks, staring at me with wide eyes. 

“Satoru asked you on a date?!!?! Oh, I need to sit down for this.” Shoko looked overwhelmed. 

I shifted my feet off the couch so that they now rested on the floor, and Shoko sat by my side, “Yeah? What’s wrong with that?” I asked, genuinely concerned by her tone. 

“You know I went to high school with him, right?” Shoko picked up her chopsticks and bowl of soup, taking a long sip from it after she spoke. 

“You did?!” 

“Yeah. You don’t remember me telling you? Wow, never thought I’d hear ‘Gojo�� and ‘date’ in the same sentence...” Shoko shook her head before taking another sip of soup. 

I sank into the couch, covering my face with my hands, “Noooo... Is he gonna play me or something?” 

Shoko cocked her head to one side, thinking for a second, “I wouldn’t say that. It’s not like he’s ever even put himself in the sort of situation to play someone, in the first place.” 

“So, what, he doesn’t date?” 

“Not publicly. You’d see it plastered all over magazines and social media if he did. Though, that doesn’t mean he’s not a bit of a playboy... You really didn’t know any of this?” She traded her soup for her bowl of rice and turned her gaze back to me, honestly puzzled. 

“Does it look like I follow Tokyo pop culture?” I sank even further into the couch, sulking. 

“You have a point.” 

I groaned, “ Of course the one night I go out and meet someone they end up being a playboy.” 

“His family basically owns this city... What did you expect? Though, I guess all is not lost. I’ve personally have never heard of Satoru asking anyone on a date before. Hm. Maybe guys like him do have hearts after all...” Shoko said the last words mostly to herself. 

“You’re not exactly selling him, you know!” I exclaimed and finally sat up again, arms now crossed over my chest. 

Shoko chuckled at my reaction and began to pick at her piece of mackerel, “Maybe I’m selling him a bit short. Satoru’s a good guy at the heart. He’s helped a lot of people with his company’s research and tech, and he’s given a lot back to the community since he became the sole successor of Gojo Industries. Honestly, I don’t know how he manages all that work while having some semblance of a life.” Shoko quickly whipped her head back to me, “Strangely enough, in that way, you two are actually very similar.” By her current expression, Shoko seemed intrigued by her own revelation. 

“So, maybe we are a good match...?” I suggested the idea. 

Shoko shrugged, “Maybe you two are. Time will tell. But if the guy who doesn’t ask people out asked you out that quick, then he's really interested in you. Just guard your heart, be firm in your boundaries, and enjoy yourself. He’s a goofball, too, so I’m sure you’ll have fun!” 

I eventually picked up my soup, using my chopsticks to fiddle with a piece of tofu before taking a bite, “Mm... Now I don’t know how to feel.” 

“Well, you’re not just going on a date with anyone—this is Tokyo’s golden boy we’re talking about here.” 

Just after Shoko finished speaking, my phone chimed with a new text message. I picked it up off the armrest of the couch and read the contact name, “Speak of the devil...” I began to type out my response to Satoru. 

I was about to place my phone down on the living room table after I finished texting Satoru, but Shoko reached out for it, mid-bite of rice, “Mm, lemme see.” If there was anyone who could get a good read on Satoru out of the two of us, it was undoubtedly her since she actually knew him. I passed her the phone, and she scrolled through our brief series of texts. She eventually handed me my phone back and stared at me curiously, “...You sure this is the Satoru Gojo with the white hair? Tall guy, born and raised in Tokyo?” 

I giggled a bit, “Yeah, why?” 

“He hardly ever communicates this well over text... Whoa, he’s really on his best behavior with you. It’s almost creepy.” She put her chopsticks down and grabbed her own phone from her pocket, quickly scrolling through her text threads before tapping on one and showing it to me, “Look. Here’s the last time he texted me a few weeks ago, for context.” 

I laughed after reading the thread, “Did he ever get to ask you the question?” 

“Yeah, it was some shit about his protein intake.” Shoko briefly shook her head, “But see what I mean? His texting style is completely different!”  

~ 

After lunch at Shoko’s and a long nap, I found myself back in my apartment, scribbling and sketching out a few realistic—but mostly unrealistic and futuristic—car designs. My 2hollis playlist had inspired this spontaneous creative work session, as music and art had always inspired me to come up with new car ideas. In my mind, there was a car for every playlist or picture, a four-wheeled vehicle to match every vibe, from the sound and mechanical makeup of the motor to the body’s build and color. 

As I’d slept most of the day away, it was much later at night; now nearly 9pm. I sat in my desk chair with my legs crossed under me, biting my lip out of habit as I focused intently on my sketching. The light of my work desk’s sunset lamp poured down on the white pages of my sketchbook, highlighting it a dewy orange as my fingers and pen moved swiftly across it. It was a royal blue Okamoto LVI that’s body was shaped in an insanely unconventional way to make it look like the paint and metal was melting, dripping, and flying off behind it at the high speeds it would travel. I wondered if Kokichi could help me with the tech to build something like this, even if it was my own project, personally funded by me... I bit the end of my pen, beginning to think over the logistics when my phone suddenly chimed with the FaceTime ringtone. 

I flipped my phone over on my desk so I could see the call screen. Gojo? That’s right; he did say he would call me later. I put my sketchbook down and quickly tied my hair back with a scrunchy that rested on my wrist, slightly adjusting my sweater before sliding my finger across the screen. 

“Hi, Satoru...” My eyes widened when I saw that his bright skin was covered in a thick sheen of sweat, his shirt nowhere to be seen as he sat on what looked to be a gym floor with his legs wide apart in a stretching position. Even sitting, his pecs and abdominals looked insanely toned. He was unreal.  

“Hey, Lena.” Satoru smiled brightly, keeping his eyes directed to the phone but reaching over towards one of his legs to stretch it out. He sounded a little out of breath. 

“Just worked out?” I assumed. 

“Yeah, just beat my sparring partner’s ass.” Satoru chuckled, “What about you?” 

“Sounds like a fun workout! And me? Nothing, really...” I picked up my sketchpad once more and waved it at the camera, “Was just sketching out some really bad car designs.” 

Satoru moved from stretching one leg to the other, huffing out a short laugh, “I’m sure they’re fine.” 

“Oh, trust me... They’re pretty ugly.” I laughed, “But it’s all part of the creative process, I guess.” I shrugged. 

Satoru simply stared at the camera for a while, “You really love making cars, huh?” 

“It’s the best. I gotta show you my brain babies sometime.” I placed my sketchbook back down. I was really proud of every car I’d ever designed. There were only nine of them, but I’d built them from the ground up and cherished them deeply. 

Satoru’s smile grew, “I’d like that.” He paused, changing the subject, “But about tomorrow—feel free to wear whatever you like. I’d say casual, but make sure you’re comfortable and warm, above anything.” 

“Okay,” I thought aloud, nodding to myself, “I think I know just the thing.” 

Satoru picked up his phone, “Ooo, you gonna show me?” He grinned, his forehead shining with sweat. 

I shook my head, “If our plans for tomorrow are a surprise, then so is my outfit!” I said cheekily, smiling. 

Satoru groaned playfully, “Boooo...” He sighed and rolled his eyes, “But I guess that’s fair.” It was so funny, how blatantly obvious it was at times that men were such visual creatures, “Where are you based?” He asked, changing the subject. 

“Like location-wise? Mostly Shibuya—that's where my apartment is. I’ll text you where to pick me up there tomorrow... But I do sometimes like to spend a few days a week at my mom’s old place on the countryside in Yamanashi. She left it to me when I was a kid, and now I’m slowly remodeling it into a more permanent home.” I explained. 

“Oh nice, is it close to Tokyo?” He questioned, seemingly beginning to walk somewhere in the gym. 

“Yep, just outside of it.” 

Satoru walked past a dark-haired guy who was about his height face too far to make out, “I want my rematch, Satoru!” The guy with broad shoulders and long hair gave Satoru a shove and threw a hand towel at him. 

Satoru grabbed the towel out of the air before it hit him, “Yeah, yeah, yeah... Later, bro!” He chuckled, then focused his attention back on the phone, “Sorry.” He wiped his face and neck of sweat. 

I shook my head, “You’re good! Now that I know the dress code, and am sending you my address, I think we’re all set.” 

Satoru grinned, looking down at the camera. Curse him for looking this good at an upward angle, “Yeah, you better get excited—I've got the best plans for us tomorrow.” 

“The best, you say?” I rose my brow. 

“Uh-huh, I might’ve put some brain power into crafting this itinerary. So, trust me, you’re gonna love it.” 

~ 

The next morning, I looked over my outfit once more in the mirror before heading out. It was an early autumn day, but a bit overcast, so I wore a thin, brown, and fitted turtleneck shirt tucked into high waisted blue jeans that hugged the curves of my hips and were wide legged with slight flares at the ends. Underneath them I wore black leather boots with a comfortably short block heel, and tucked in the fold of my arm was my deep brown and white, tightly checkered long coat. My hair was straightened and tied up into a high bun, and I wore simple and small gold hoop earrings. 

Once I received Satoru’s text that he was outside, I locked up my apartment and made my way to the elevator. When I tapped the button, the doors opened moments later and I groaned internally at the sight of the man before me. Not Toji, again. I sighed with a small bow of my head, “Hi, sir.” 

Toji wore a tight, black compression shirt and loose, gray sweatpants. He nodded once and crossed his arms over his chest, the material of his shirt stretching impossibly taught over his thick biceps, “Lena. Where are you headed, dressed like that?” One could say the same to you, asshat.  

“I have the day off.” I explained, not exactly answering his question as I slipped my purse over my shoulder. I bit my lightly glossed lip nervously—I probably did look different from my usual work appearance as I was wearing a little makeup today. Was it too obvious that I was going on a date? I stood on the opposite side of the elevator as him and faced forward. The ‘L’ button for the lobby had already been clicked, so I simply faced forward, watching the floor levels drop on the elevator display screen. 

“Is that so? I’m headed to the gym in between meetings.” 

There was a long silence, until the elevator bell rang upon reaching the ground floor, “Enjoy your workout.” I bowed my head one last time and exited the doors, turning left towards the main entrance. I slightly frowned when I still felt Toji’s presence behind me. Why did he have to walk this way?? The gym was on the right side!   

One of the suited security guards for the complex opened the main door for me as I approached, and I offered him a small nod and smile as thanks. When I stepped outside, there Satoru stood—dressed in a slightly cropped deep blue denim jacket, a plain white t-shirt, black wide leg slacks, small black shades, and black and white essex leather loafers—holding a lidded hot beverage cup in his right hand. To top it all off, he leaned back against a ‘24, golden-yellow Ferrari SF90 Spider—the very model I’d worked on and had helped produce two years ago in Maranello, Italy. 

Immediately, I burst out laughing, “Satoru...!” 

“Good morning, Lena. You look great.” He stood upright with a smirk as I approached, opening up his arms to embrace me in a hug. 

“Thank you—wait, you know I worked on this Spider model, right?” I was still laughing, attempting to cover my mouth with my hand as I spoke. 

“I told you I put some brain power into this date!” When I finally reached Satoru, his arms enveloped me in a tight hug and he took the opportunity to bend down and press a quick peck to my cheek. 

“Clearly.” I giggled as we broke away from each other. His choice in vehicle was a nice, yet hilarious touch, “Did you already have this car?” 

“I did, funny enough.” Satoru slipped his free hand in his pocket. 

“Ah, so you’re a fan of my work?” My smirk grew. 

“Oh, absolutely.” Satoru’s expression mirrored mine, and briefly, his gaze curiously flickered to the space somewhere behind me, then back to me, “You ready?” 

I nodded, “Yes.” 

“Let’s trade,” He held the lidded hot beverage out in my direction, “this is for you, anyways.” 

I handed my long coat to him and relieved him of the warm cup, “Is this why you asked me my go-to coffee order earlier?” 

He nodded, “Regular capp with 2 pumps of caramel, right?” 

“Thank you.” 

“Of course, beautiful.” He turned and maneuvered around to open the car door for me, and I stepped in and sat before watching him close it shut. I took a sip of the cappuccino—it was perfect, and still hot. Must’ve been the work of the cupholder warmers I’d urged my old mechanics assistant at Ferrari, Gio, to add to this model. 

Satoru walked around the car and popped the trunk at the front of it, neatly folding my coat inside then closing and making his way to the driver’s seat. He slipped in and closed the door behind him with a questioning look on his face, “Question. Who’s that guy? He looks kinda familiar.” 

Satoru turned his gaze, and I followed it outside the car, right in the direction of where Toji stood, leaning up against the side of the apartment building and smoking a cigarette. I groaned, “Ugh, please don’t ask me about the Okamoto COO.” 

“He lives in your building? Wait, what’s his name again?” Satoru looked surprised by the notion. 

“Unfortunately. And it’s Toji Fushiguro.” 

“Huh. He was looking at you pretty hard...” Satoru’s expression was a mix of confusion and concern. 

“That’s because he loves any reason to talk shit about me to my dad and anyone else at Okamoto and make my work life a living hell.” I rolled my eyes. 

Satoru’s brows remained furrowed, “Weird. Maybe he has a crush on you.” 

I was mid sip of my cappuccino and nearly spit it out, “Please don’t make me throw up so early in the morning...” I managed a laugh. 

“Yeah, I don’t like it either...” Satoru trailed off, continuing to stare in the older man’s direction. He looked completely serious. But then he started the car, and his expression abruptly brightened, “Welp, enough about that guy, we gotta get to our first stop!” He buckled his seatbelt. 

I buckled myself in as well and put my cappuccino in the cupholder, “Where are we headed to first?” 

“Art gallery.” He kept his eyes focused on the road as he pulled off, the Spider’s engine roaring to life. 

“Wow, I see you were taking notes two days ago.” I smirked, remembering I’d mentioned visual art as one of my interests back when we were chatting in the spa pool. I looked over at Satoru—the man was already pulling out all the stops; from the car to the coffee, and now the art gallery. It was fun, this surprise guessing game of ‘What will Satoru do next?’ I hadn’t been this impressed buy a guy in a while... Then again, it wasn’t like I was one to date. 

“I’m a great listener, you know.” Satoru said cockily. When we stopped at a red light, he reached down into a paper bag by his legs, retrieving a huge, fluffy pistachio creme croissant. Satoru opened his mouth wide, about to take a big bite when his eyes traveled to me, “Want a bite?” He tilted the pastry in my direction. 

I licked my lips. It did look good; curse you, uterus and period cravings. I bent close to Satoru, leaning over to take a small bite from the end of the croissant, “Mm... Is this from the same place you got the cappuccino?” 

“It is.” Satoru took a large bite after my own, “Good, huh?” 

“Both are amazing! Where’d you get ‘em?” I wiped my lip of the bit of green pistachio creme that had fell on it, then took another sip of my capp. 

“My best friend’s parents have a bakery that’s not too far from your place, actually. It’s called Jun’s Bake Shop.” Satoru kept his eyes on the road, making a left turn after a few hundred meters, “You might’ve actually heard of him, in your line of work.” 

“Oh yeah?” I perked up, glancing over from the road ahead of us to look at Satoru. My eyes were drawn to his chiseled jawline. 

“Yeah, his name is Suguru Geto.” 

My eyes widened, mouth falling agape, “The F1 driver?!” 

“Yup. He’s also the guy who made the recipe for that bomb ass white cake at the gala.” 

“Wow, F1 driver Suguru Geto is your best friend, and also likes to bake? Huh.” 

“Mhm, been best buds since high school.” 

That made me remember something; I released a short huff of a laugh, “You know my bestie, too, you know.” 

Satoru quickly glanced at me before returning his eyes to the road, “I do?” He rose a brow. 

“You know Shoko Ieri, don’t you?” 

Satoru threw his head back slightly with a hearty laugh, “No way. Shoko is your best friend??” He briefly looked at me again, now grinning. 

“Yeah, we’ve known each other since we were babies.” 

“We went to high school together!” 

“I’ve heard.” I nodded and smirked, “That was her cooking I sent you a pic of yesterday.” I noted. 

“No shit...” Satoru eyed me curiously before returning his eyes to the road, “How in the hell have I not met you before?” 

I shrugged, “Maybe we’ve crossed paths and didn’t know it.” 

“No, I would’ve remembered you.” Satoru replied definitively, shaking his head and seemingly the notion away. 

“Well, I did go to boarding school for high school, then lived in London for university, and I only really officially came back from working in Italy about two years ago...” I listed off my background, “Though Shoko and I are besties, we were basically pen pals for a while there.” 

“That has to be it, then.” There was a long pause, then Satoru spoke again, “Well, I’m glad you came back home.” 

“Are you?” I asked, playfully. 

“Very glad.” I watched as Satoru looked me over shamelessly and much longer than necessary, his eyes focused on the front of my thin and tight-fitting turtleneck. 

I reached up with my index finger, nudging Satoru’s head back in the direction of the windshield, “Hey, eyes on the road.” I smiled teasingly and folded my arms across my lap. 

Satoru pouted childishly, only for a moment, “We’re basically here.” He made another left turn, pulling into a tiny parking lot that faced a small strip of luxury boutiques—mostly consignment shops and the like—with a white, unmarked building at the end. Once Satoru pulled into a parking space, I reached for the handle of my door, about to pull the handle to open it, “Wait,” he instructed, putting his hand out in my direction. Before I knew it, Satoru was already out of the driver’s seat and making his way around the car to open my door for me, “Allow me.” He extended his arm in my direction. 

“Thank you.” I smiled softly and stepped out of the low car, holding my coffee in one hand as I gently grasped Satoru’s with my other. 

“Of course.” 

“How did you find out about this gallery?” I asked, looking around as we approached the door, “I’ve never heard of one in this part of Shibuya...” 

“That’s because it’s a private distributor.” Satoru noted after he clicked the key and locked the car, resulting in two quick chimes. 

“Ah...” Of course the Gojo family had a private art distributor. They probably had multiple, actually, with all their properties and estates in the city, “So you’ve got an art guy?” 

“I’ve got an art guy.” Satoru’s hand that was closest to me found its way to the small of my back, and the other pushed his shades up above his hairline, revealing the high cheekbones, long white eyelashes, and piercing blue eyes that were currently fixed on the entrance. He pulled opened the door and ushered me in, and the inside of the building’s intricacy did not do its outer appearance justice at all—it was massive. 

Paintings and placards were all over the white walls; they were huge, extravagant pieces organized in specific artist collections—and the paintings themselves ranged from traditional portraiture and landscape art, all the way to abstract modern pieces. I was already lost in awe of my surroundings, before we even made it to the front desk of the gallery. 

The only man behind the desk wore a simple black suit with a deep maroon tie. His square rimmed glasses hung low on the bridge of his thin nose, and he had black, middle-parted hair—a style that wasn’t doing much for him. He stood to his feet when we entered, bowing his head, “Mr. Gojo.” 

“Hey Kiyotaka!” Gojo waved his hand with a broad smile before turning to me, “Lena, this is Kiyotaka. Kiyotaka, Lena.” He gestured between the two of us and I extended my hand to him. 

Kiyotaka took my hand in his two and shook, “Kiyotaka Ijichi; nice to meet you, Ms. Lena.” He bowed his head. 

“Oh, Lena is fine!” I’d never been a fan of over-formality, and my years abroad only strengthened this. 

“Yes, ma’am.” He dropped his arms back to his sides with a slow nod. 

‘Ma’am’ wasn’t necessary either... Perhaps he was the type that liked speaking formally. I laughed awkwardly. 

“Please take your time and look around and let me know if you have any questions at all.” Kiyotaka bowed once more, and Satoru and I began to explore the main floor of the gallery. 

I brought my cup of coffee up to my lips for a sip as we aimlessly strolled around, the steam from the mouthpiece on the lid pleasantly warming my nose. 

“Don’t mind him,” Satoru started once we were far enough away from Kiyotaka, “he’s like that with everyone. Been that way since high school, actually.” 

“You went to high school with him, too? Wow, seems like everyone in Tokyo went there.” I exaggerated, more so fascinated by this growing trend. 

“ Almost everyone who’s somebody.” He offered me a quick wink. 

I glanced over at Satoru who was looking at a large, old-fashioned landscape painting. From the size and age of the piece alone, it had to be at least a few million dollars—just like everything else in here. I wondered who else went to this high school of his, it seemed like everyone who was anybody had attended with him... My eyes look to a more abstract painting of a both calm and storming ocean; only one of two weathers were determinable depending on which side of the painting the viewer looked. The outer edges were so neat they appeared pixilated, almost digitized, and the dark green and blue watercolors intriguingly disrupted the clarity of it all. It was a painting completely mixed with light and dark colors and energies; I found myself getting lost in it. 

It made me wonder what my life would’ve been like if I’d stayed in Tokyo—if I’d put up with my dad and stepfamily and attended high school with Shoko. Would things have been better, or worse for me? Would I have found people who loved and supported me, like I had in England and Italy, or would all the menacing figures in my family life and hateful voices in my ear have won? Would Shoko and all these high school friends and I have taken day trips to Tokyo Bay or Onjuku Beach for spring break? Would the waves have looked this blue when we dipped our toes in? Would Satoru’s friends have been my friends? Would we have dated back then; even though I was lost, hurt, and far from who I was now? 

Satoru joined me at my side, “It’s a nice one, isn’t it?” He noted, looking over the painting with me. 

“Yeah... I really like this one. You can feel the emotion on it.” I looked it over with a still focus, holding my coffee cup to my chest and folding my other arm underneath. 

“You have a good eye, ma’am,” Kiyotaka’s voice tore my gaze from the painting, but only for a moment. I hadn’t heard him walk up to us, “that’s a solo piece by Ryu Nakamura—it's a little rare as it doesn’t belong to any of his themed collections.” 

“Wait, isn’t he...?” Satoru trailed off, trying to conjure up something from his memory. 

“One of the descendants of Michizane Sugawara? Yes, Mr. Gojo, similar to you.” Kiyotaka said, hands folded neatly behind his back in a pose that felt much older than what I assumed his current age to be, having gone to school with Satoru. 

“It’s loaded with so much... I love it.” I paused for a moment, then mostly thought aloud to myself, “One day I want something like this in my mom’s old place in Yamanashi.” Yes, it would go perfectly in my work studio that I was currently renovating, “It just makes you think.” I summarized, though it was hard to put into words just how visually and intellectually stimulating the piece was. 

“What are you thinking about?” Satoru smiled down at me with curiosity in his eyes. 

I didn’t answer. I giggled softly and turned away, beginning to walk over to and look at another painting, “That’s none of your business.” I looked over my shoulder and offered Satoru a glance, a slightly smug look on my face that just barely hinted at brattiness. 

~ 

Satoru hadn’t lied nor overhyped his words about putting brain power into our date. After visiting the art gallery, we’d taken a private tour of the Tokyo Aquarium’s new Marine Wildlife Conservation near the bay—a space that had been revitalized by Gojo Industries tech and funding. We’d done it all, from helping keepers by feeding dolphins and petting tiny sharks, all the way to learning about the endangered sea otters in the country. 

And after the Aquarium, we had a very late lunch at a small, family-owned fish shop nearby—where even the owners, a husband and wife, knew Satoru personally, having been donation recipients of the Gojo Small Business Support foundation years ago. Our date wasn’t boring like a typical dinner outing at all; it was one filled with the kind of things I enjoyed like art and design, and was filled with the causes and people that Satoru seemed most passionate about helping. Wherever we found ourselves in the city, there was always someone around who could tell a story about Satoru or his family. It felt nothing like a job interview, interrogation-style date; instead, it was like Satoru was inviting me into his life. 

Then we were at the docks within a private, gated yacht club by the water. And instead of showing off to me the biggest yachts that belonged to the Gojo family (that we’d most certainly passed while walking in), Satoru had shown me his favorite: a much smaller, one or two-person boat that only had a small bathroom, kitchen, and bedroom beneath the main deck. 

He’d taken us on a long ride along the choppy waves of Tokyo Bay at sunset, where we eventually arrived at a small pocket filled with numerous boats of varying sizes—all facing a massive white screen that had been placed on the side of a steep cliff. The screen had a projector with loudspeakers playing the original Godzilla movie from the ‘50s, ‘GOJIRA.’ I had heard of movie screenings on the water but had never been to one; I was always too busy studying or working. Satoru and I raided the mini fridge, freezer, and pantry beneath the deck for movie snacks; and had arranged a mess of blankets and pillows into a makeshift fort while we watched the old film up on the top deck. 

After the movie ended and it got cold out, we returned to the yacht club and anchored the boat at the docks before retiring to the heated bedroom beneath the deck; where Satoru revealed that other than occasional cleaning staff, a repairman, and his best friend, I’d been the first person he’d invited onto the boat and allowed to enter the area beneath. I thought it was just a silly ‘no girls’ rule, but it turned out that this was one of his favorite places to think when he was growing up—that while his life was constantly filled with countless faces and names and hands to shake, that he’d just wanted a space to himself; something small enough that didn’t require constant staffing our guards like a ginormous yacht undoubtedly would. 

We listened to records from his old CD player, laughed about hits with lyrics that aged poorly, and even danced around in the small space beside the bed. It was fucking perfect. I’d never been on a date like this... One that felt so thoroughly and thoughtfully planned yet effortless at the same time. 

And after that event packed day and evening, we simply laid back on the bed and talked. 

Satoru laid on his side on the queen size bed, arms comfortably crossed under his chest as he stared at me laying on my back right beside him. Our heads were only a few centimeters apart as he’d curled close, eyes focused on me with a directness that seemingly came to him so easy. I, on the other hand, alternated between glancing at him and looking to the low ceiling as we talked. 

“You’re beautiful, Lena.” And there was that directness again. He was so transparent when speaking on whatever he was feeling, never withholding anything, and never feeling too embarrassed to say what was on his mind. I couldn’t help but envy the ease of how he expressed his self-confidence. 

I closed my eyes briefly, huffing out a short, closed-lip chuckle from my crinkled nose before speaking, “How do you just say stuff like that?” I smiled, opening my eyes and looking at Satoru again. 

Satoru shrugged his shoulders for a moment, still looking at me, “It’s the truth, and I felt like telling you right now.” His answer was so simple. I giggled and he sat up enough to reach over and stroke my cheekbone, just under my eye, “I like your big brown eyes... How you look at the people you’re talking to and smile. Even better when it’s me.” He spoke lowly, simply because we were that close to one another. 

“Like this?” I looked up at the white-haired man who hovered above me and blinked a few times. 

“Mm... Mhm, just like that.” Satoru continued to stroke my cheekbone with his thumb as he looked at me, then was silent for a moment. 

“What are you doing?” I asked, voice soft and a bit shy—I was still not used to this. I gazed up at his piercing blue eyes. 

“Downloading this view into my brain.” Satoru immediately replied. 

I gazed up at his piercing blue eyes. I couldn’t stand the thick tension between us any longer. I reached up with one hand, hooking it around the bit of undercut of his white strands before pulling his head close to mine, “C’mere...” 

Satoru quickly complied and bent over to join our lips in a deep kiss. He took control of it, moving his lips and tongue soft and slow in perfect rhythm with mine. He occasionally pulled back to graze my bottom lip with his teeth, and I couldn’t help but release a small chuckle when he randomly and hungrily tugged it with a comedic, animal-like grunt. It was obvious he was trying to elicit some laughter from me, that he was conscious or unconsciously trying to ease my nerves and help me feel more comfortable with him. It worked. 

Our kiss turned lewd and open-mouthed after that, and Satoru’s hand on my cheek moved down, lightly ghosting over and around my neck before traveling further south to rest on and squeeze my shoulder. I moaned shamelessly to the erotic nature of Satoru’s hand movement, and I heard him suck in an impatient breath through his nose just after, somehow deepening our kiss even more. 

Satoru shifted so that he was nearly straddling me, his weight evenly distributed to his elbows and forearms that now rested beside my head. I moved my legs beneath him, attempting to accommodate him but instead accidently bumping my knee against his groin—and there was definitely something firm there prodding against the front of his pants. He pulled back from our kiss abruptly with a pained groan and hiss, “Ah...” 

“Oh, I’m sorry!” I said in a startled, high voice. He was hard? Did he want to have sex...? Was this date just a lead up to a hook-up to him?? Maybe Shoko was right about guarding my heart...  

Satoru chuckled, the low sound snapping me out of my thoughts. He was still so close to me, “It’s fine.” He shook his head and paused, shifting his weight onto one of his arms so he could return his thumb to my cheek once again. He stroked the skin close to my lips this time, “You look like you wanna say something...” 

“I’m on my period...!” I blurted out, voice just above a whisper. 

Satoru blinked once, glancing between my eyes, “Okay, and what does that have to do with us kissing?” 

“Well, we are kissing horizontally on your bed late at night, so I just thought you should know—so I don’t lead you on or anything.” I said breathlessly, nervousness beginning to settle into my shoulders. 

Satoru thought carefully before responding, slowly opening his mouth to speak, “Fair, but Lena, I don’t expect sex or anything from you physically—even if we are kissing horizontally, in a bed, late at night.” His thumb moved to stroke my chin, his gaze briefly moving to my lips before returning to my eyes again, “The only thing I expect is for us to have fun, and for you to enjoy yourself on this date with me. Are you having fun?” 

“Yes.” I breathed out, the corners of my lips creeping up into a sheepish smile. 

“Me too...” Satoru trailed off, quickly pecked my lips, then he shifted backwards a bit so he could get a better look at me, “You okay, though? Are you in pain?” 

“I mean, a little bit; but it’s nothing I can’t handle.” I glanced over to my purse on the chair in the corner of the room, “My tampon stash is running a little low, though, since I didn’t expect to be out this long. The second day can be a bit brutal, you know...” I laughed a bit awkwardly, unsure of why I was suddenly sharing all of this with him. 

“So, I’ve heard.” Satoru almost looked disappointed that I hadn’t told him earlier, “Damn, I’m sorry, Lena... I had no idea you were powering through today like that.” 

“Oh, it’s not that bad.” I immediately protested, “And I wanted to go out with you.” 

Satoru smiled at my words, pausing before speaking again, “You want me to run out and get you some tampons? There’s a convenience store near the docks...” Satoru suggested, poking his thumb back in the space behind him. 

“Oh, you don’t have—” 

“What kind do you get?” He reached over to grab his phone on the nightstand that was built into the wall of the boat. He moved back to lay on his side beside me, typing something into his phone and turning it around to me with a web browser now pulled up on it, “Here. Search a picture of it, so I grab the right one.” 

I looked up from the phone to him, briefly studying his eyes. He really didn’t mind doing this? I looked back at his phone, hesitantly taking it from his hands before typing the brand name in, “I usually get this variety pack.” I explained, showing the screen to him once the right image popped up. 

Satoru took the phone back into his hands and screenshot it, “Okay,” he started, locking his phone before sliding it into his pocket, “You need anything else? Pain meds, a snack? Oh!” Satoru sat up completely, maneuvering over me to step off the bed. He walked over to a wooden dresser on the opposite side of the room, squatting then opening the bottom drawer. 

I watched curiously as he silently searched through it for something, and eventually he pulled out a giant plush black blanket with a white cord attached to it, “Aha! Knew it was still here...” Satoru turned to me, “It’s an electric blanket! Used to use it on cold nights, back before I got the heat fixed. This could help, right?” He held up the material; and the image of the handsome, toned, blue-eyed hunk of a man hunched over and dangling a rolled up electric blanket over his head—and with a thoughtful smile on his face—honestly made me swoon a little. I wanted to download this view to my brain. 

I nodded a few times, blushing and lightly smirking to the cuteness of his innocent gesture, “Yeah, that’s... kinda perfect, actually.” I said softly. 

Satoru stood up and began to unfold and spread the blanket out as he reapproached the bed, leaning in close when he started to wrap the long length of it around my body, “I did good?” He asked with a goofy grin, maybe leaning a little too into the himbo personality. He was so sweet; I didn’t mind it. 

I praised him with a small pat on top of his head, “Uh huh, you did.” I smirked back. Suddenly, Satoru had brought both of my arms to my sides and started wrapping and folding the blanket around me way faster than before. I giggled at the sudden change in his blanket tucking speed, “What are you doing?!” 

“Making you into a burrito... A Lena-rito, if you will.” Satoru smiled to himself, not letting up on his fast-paced wrapping of the electric blanket. 

I laughed, “A what?!” I playfully fought back, giggling as I squirmed around in the blanket to break loose. 

It was no use; for such a big guy, Satoru was insanely quick with his arms, “No! You can't fight your burrito-fication!” He continued to grin, even going so far as crawling on the bed at one point to keep me pinned under the electric blanket. 

I quickly conceded, almost unable to breathe from laughing so much, “Okay, okay...! You win!” 

When Satoru stood back up, he placed his hands on his hips and looked me over with a few approving nods, “Mhm. Yep, that’s a perfect Lena-rito if I’ve ever seen one.” He moved to my feet to find the white cord, then bent over and plugged it in a nearby outlet. 

I couldn’t help but chuckle to this, smiling ear to ear, “Satoru, you’re a fucking idiot!” 

“And you’re a Lena-rito.” Satoru stated matter-of-factly, striding over to a nearby closet and grabbing his jacket, “Both things can be true simultaneously.” He shrugged into a navy blue and yellow, 90s-style windbreaker. 

I scoffed out a laugh at his nonsense logic, shaking my head, “What does that even mean??” 

After zipping up his jacket, Satoru approached the bed and bent over at his waist, placing his hands on either side of my head, “It means you’re so cute I could eat you up.” He quickly pecked my lips, but remained close to me after doing so, “Now, is there anything else you need from the store? A snack?” 

“Hm,” I thought for a moment, biting my lip. I watched Satoru’s eyes follow the motion, “pretzels, please.” 

“Regular, or chocolate-covered?” Satoru met my gaze again and leaned in even closer. 

“Ooo, chocolate-covered!” I lit up at the idea of the sweet and salty combo. 

Satoru stood back up, repeating the short list of items to himself, “Variety pack tampons and chocolate-covered pretzels. Got it.” He turned and made his way towards the door that led to the outer deck of the boat, “I’ll be back in 15, 20 minutes tops.” 

“Okay!” I called back, beginning to relax even more as I felt the blanket’s heat begin to kick in. 

Satoru winked at me before departing, closing the door behind him. It was silent for a moment, but then the door abruptly opened once more. Satoru stood at the doorway, simply looking at me with an unreadable look on his face. 

“Forget something?” I quirked my brow. 

“I sure did.” He made a beeline for the bed again, reaching over to hold my cheeks as he suddenly and swiftly pressed his lips to mine in a long kiss. 

~ 

Hours later, unbeknownst to myself I wrestled around in my sleep—tormented by the same repetitive nightmare. 

It was the night after my mother’s funeral. I was six years old, long curls fastened up neatly in a high, braided ponytail my nanny Aiko had done for me as I quietly creeped down the long hallway of the main building of the Okamoto residence: the family property that I used to call home. I fiddled with the frilly ends of my black skirt as I walked down the hall, ears tuned to the strange, strained voice that seemed to squeeze itself out of my father’s study. It couldn’t be him. Dad never cried. And he hadn’t smiled since mom’s illness started to worsen over a year ago.  

Why did my mom have to go? It wasn’t fair. She didn’t do anything wrong. All she ever did was help the people around her. Even when she was disrespected, doubted, and rejected by members of our own family, she never let it defeat her. Her smile never faltered, even until the very end. She was so strong. Even when she wasn’t feeling well, she still loved to laugh, play dress up, and bake sweets with me. I could never forget the image of her face on the last day I’d seen her—the way the corners of her mouth curved up into a gentle, knowing smile. He way she wrapped her long, amber arms around me and cooed, “You’re ok.” over and over. I wasn’t. She wasn’t. The way she seemingly showed no fear for the illness that had its vicious hands wrapped around every part of her, that had done its best to extinguish her life and won. My heart sank at her memory, the loss of my very best friend.  

When I reached the door of my father’s study, I noticed that the door was already ajar. I peeked in through the small crack, eyes widening and mouth falling agape when I saw my father’s state. It was him. He was... crying? I had never seen him like this before. His black tie had been loosened into a messy state, his white button-down shirt stained with drops of deep, brown liquid. My eyes found the source on his desk, a half-drunk bottle of whisky that’s cap was nowhere in sight. His fingers desperately gripped the edges of a picture frame that’s picture I couldn’t make out from behind the office door—grasping it as if he was holding on for dear life, like he himself just might die if he let go.  

His lips were pulled back tightly in a pained grimace, teeth visible from how harshly the muscles of his face had contorted his expression. He was hurting, too. He was hurting just as much as I was. In the past, and even throughout mom’s sickness, he’d acted so cold and emotionless that I never expected he was... Had it all been a front?  

I pushed the door open at the sight of my dad, broken by the loss of his wife and my mother. I wanted to hug him, to cry with him, “Daddy...!” The tears were already running down my cheeks.  

His eyes turned to me in surprise, then widened, then quickly narrowed. Somehow, he seemed to grip the picture frame even harder, “Lena?! Whaaat are you doing here??!” His words came out loud and slurred, voice both strained and uneven.  

“I miss mommy!” I began to wipe at the tears that endlessly streamed down my face, already striding towards him.  

“Get out!!” He yelled the words.  

“But dad-”  

“I said, GET OUT!!!”  

Before I’d even registered my father’s movements, my forehead stung with a sharp, hot pain. I touched it hesitantly, freezing when I drew my hand back and saw blood on my fingers. I looked down at my side, the now broken picture frame at my feet. I saw the picture of my mom and dad holding each other and smiling brightly peek out the mess of broken glass.  

When I looked up at my father again, I froze. He... hit me...?  

“...D-Daddy?” My voice trembled when I spoke, in complete disbelief of what had just happened.  

“It’s your fucking fault!!”  

Still locked where I stood at the side of my father’s desk, I flinched at the sound of his voice alone, my sadness completely and quickly replaced with fear. He was angry.  

“You did this to her!!” My father screamed the words, voice breaking and strained in a tone I had never heard before, “You took her away from me...!” He sobbed the last part, tears spilling from his eyes as he hiccupped with a pained wince. It was like my presence alone physically hurt him. My father grabbed the bottle of whisky, bringing the mouth of it to his lips before taking a long series of hard gulps. When he finished, his eyes returned to me and his expression turned to one of anger and disgust, “You never should’ve been born.”  

Mouth still agape in shock, I blinked, and two more tears rolled down my red, puffy cheeks, “No...!”  

My father reared his arm back that was fisting the bottle’s neck and I instinctively flinched to one side, closing my eyes and preparing for the impact of it, “She only got sick after having you!!” He threw the bottle at the end of his scream, emphasizing the word ‘you’ with his strained tone. The glass shattered on the wall beside me and the brown liquid splashed all over my clothes, face, and hair.  

I cried, loud sobs fleeing my throat as a mix of fear, shame, and sadness sank heavily in my chest, “I’m sorry!!” I wailed and howled uncontrollably. I already knew it. I’d overheard the nurses once, a year ago, talking about the long-term postpartum illness that my mother continuously suffered from. But when I asked mommy about it, she’d reassured me over and over. She hugged me tightly in her hospital bed, shaking her head and repeating over and over with a confident, comforting smile that it wasn’t—it wasn’t my fault. I’d almost believed her.  

Until now.  

“Sorry’s not gonna bring her back!” My father spat, standing from his seat at his desk and abruptly approaching me with staggered steps. I continued to cry helplessly, too taken over by grief and guilt to move from where I stood beside the desk. I yelped when my father painfully gripped and pulled my small arm up with the full strength of a grown man, looking up at him again in fear as I felt the blood on my forehead drip down to my eyelid and blur my vision, “You already killed her!!!” He screamed and reared his hand back once more...  

And I jolted upright in bed just before his hand made contact with me. It took me a few seconds to recognize my surroundings; I was on Satoru’s boat, in the little bedroom beneath the main deck. I gasped and panted heavily for air as I felt my heart race, hearing it beat heavily in my head as my eyes roamed around the dark room—the only source of light being the full moon’s that poured in through the bedside window. 

I looked over and saw that Satoru was already awake, reclined back on the pillow beside me with his hand on my back, and face full of concern, “Lena... bad dream?” Brows furrowed, his tone was deep and hoarse with sleep. 

I looked away and nodded quietly, quickly wiping away the tears on my face. He shouldn’t see me like this, not after our first date.  

Satoru sat up a bit with me, his warm hand slipping up the fabric of my shirt—his shirt, really, as I was wearing it as makeshift pajamas. He rubbed his hand up and down the length of my back, “You wanna talk about it?” 

I sniffled once, “No,” I said quickly, shaking my head. I just wanted this moment to be over, for us to go back to resting and enjoying each other’s presence, “sorry...” 

“Hey, it’s okay... c’mere.” Satoru used his hand on my back to gently nudge me closer to him, and I finally looked in his eyes. The moonlight highlighted his white hair and eyelashes as he smiled gently, calmly, even. He was so handsome. Only in his boxers, his chest was completely bare, and the toned muscles there lightly rippled beneath warm ivory skin as his hand continued its rubbing up and down my back. 

I leaned in and rested my cheek on the corner of his shoulder and pec, wrapping my arm around the width of his abdomen as I felt his chin rest on top of my head. I closed my eyes, just wanting to forget it all. 

“I’ve got you.” Ear to his chest, I heard Satoru’s voice gently buzz and rumble throughout his body. His fingers drew circles in the small of my back, and the warmth of his body and touch caused me to close my eyes. There was a long silence. 

“It’s my period.” I blamed my cycle, trying to dismiss my own discomfort about this situation. What if he thought I was weird for suddenly crying like that?  

Satoru’s chest gently twitched with a small huff of a chuckle, causing my head to shift, “Periods give you nightmares, too?” He asked, sleepily, “Now that’s just mean.” 

“Sorry for waking you.” I said softly, eyes still closed. 

“Stop apologizing.” Satoru groaned, and I felt him press a peck to the top of my head, “It’s fine, Lena, really.” 

~ 

It seemed like the more time I spent with Satoru, the more of his clothes I acquired. The next morning, I was dressed in his black long sleeve shirt, the name ‘GOJO’ in small white letters on the left side of my chest. It was supposed to be fitted but was oversized on my much narrower shoulders. I’d tucked the shirt into the same high-waisted blue jeans I’d worn yesterday and wore my checkered long coat on top to combat the cold morning breeze by the docks. 

Satoru walked me back towards the stretch of sidewalk at the entrance of the yacht club, currently dressed up far nicer than I was as we were headed two separate places: him, to work; and me, back home. He wore a gray business suit with a black tie and had a white cashmere scarf loosely wrapped around his neck. Just as we reached the end of the walkway, a black car pulled up and the driver turned off the engine—presumably my ride. 

“They’ll take you back to your apartment, or wherever you want to go. Even as far as your mom’s place outside the city in Yamanashi.” 

I nodded a few times, hands stuffed in my pockets to keep warm. It really was cold this early in the morning. I turned to him, shoulders slightly raised beneath my jacket to brace the frigid weather, “Thanks, Satoru.” I smiled. 

Satoru faced me and looked me over with a light smirk before moving in close, removing his scarf before neatly looping it around my head, “Did you have fun?” He asked in a low voice, slipping his hands around my waist after he’d finished putting his scarf on me. I was starting to get used to his proximity like this. Emphasis on starting...  

I looked up at Satoru as he moved around me, admiring the way the morning sunrise accented his skin and filtered through his white eyelashes. Immediately I felt the warmth of the scarf shield and heat up my cold ears and nose, Satoru’s cologne just slightly noticeable on the fabric, “Yes, I did.” I said comfortably, appreciating his gentle embrace. 

“Good, so did I.” Satoru paused, slowly moving his hands so that his arms locked around my waist and I moved closer to him. I arched back a little so I could still see his face, “Can I see you again? Maybe this weekend?” He added, smirk growing. 

“You’re trying to take up all my free time, aren’t you?” I challenged playfully, slipping my hand up to poke my index in the direction of his face. 

“Well, yes.” Satoru said simply, and I busted into a fit of giggles. While I laughed, one of Satoru’s arms moved from my waist and his hand embraced mine before pulling my cool fingers to his warm lips. He gave them two small pecks, and the tenderness of his gesture pulled at my heartstrings—causing me to pause in my giggling to simply watch the man and soak up his touch. So sweet. It made me imagine what kind of lover he was. 

Satoru’s other arm left my waist as well, and he cupped both of his hands on my cheeks to kiss my forehead, then tilted my bead back to press his lips to mine. I allowed myself to be maneuvered, closing my eyes when he bent in to kiss me—it made me forget where I was completely. I got lost in his lips, and before I knew it Satoru had deepened the peck into a long, slow kiss. I could have sworn I’d heard the clicking of a shutter, but I was too preoccupied with Satoru to notice. 

When we pulled apart, Satoru reached down to open the door to the black car for me, “You’ll call me when you get in?” 

I nodded shyly, about to turn to enter the car when Satoru’s arm swiftly pulls me back in to face him, only a few centimeters apart. My eyes widen a bit at our sudden proximity. 

“You’ll call me; right, Lena?” His tone lowered considerably, eyes locking directly with mine. Oh, he wanted me to answer verbally.  

“Yes, I’ll call you.” I perked up, a bit amazed at how easy it was for him to move me around; I had no bratty comebacks for him today. My stomach fluttered with excitement. 

“That’s better.” Satoru smirked confidently, then helped me into the car. I blushed profusely at his words, turning away and hiding my face in the scarf as I buckled my seatbelt. I turned back to him after doing so. 

Satoru leaned on the open car door for a moment, “Get some rest this morning. There’ll be a surprise waiting for you when you wake up.” He winked down at me and quickly shut the door. 

I rolled down the tinted window, “A surprise??” I questioned, honestly curious to what it could be. 

“Uh huh.” He tapped the black car, and the driver started the engine, “Bye, Lena.” He grinned. 

Satoru and his damn surprises. I shook my head and chuckled under my breath as the car slowly began to pull off, “Bye, Satoru.” 

[starspatter]

Heroes and Thieves, Ch. 25

Title: Heroes and Thieves Fandom/Universe: BTAS, pre/post-RotJ flashback

Summary: A story about second chances, healing, and having hope.

Rating: PG-13, for references to character death, child psychological torture and trauma.

Genre: Romance/Family/Friendship/Hurt/Comfort

Word Count: 2,156 Previous Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24

Also on ff.net and AO3.

If you'll be my star, I'll be your sky You can hide underneath me and come out at night When I turn jet black and you show off your light I live to let you shine, I live to let you shine

-Gregory and the Hawk, "Boats and Birds"

————————–

Between.

“Mom, Dad!  Come quick!”

Stephanie and Tim came running out of the house at the summons, finding their two children apparently safe – thank God – but crouched over something on the ground.  Tim stiffened when he saw what it was: a baby robin, barely moving but alive.

“Think it’s okay?”

Steph swiftly swooped in to take command of the situation, stooping as she reached out to carefully scoop the bundle up.

“It should be fine, we just need to put it back in its nest…”

“The nest’s broken though, because some big dummy dropped it.”

Annie shot an accusing glare at her older brother.

“It’s not my fault!  There were weird bugs crawling all over it!  It’s got ‘em too.”

Stephanie froze before her fingers could touch the feathers, squinting up close.  Upon further examination, she was horrified to discover there was indeed a swarm of infinitesimal insects infesting the poor thing’s exterior.

“Gross.  What are those?”

Their boy Peter, normally enthralled by the rude and repulsive, eyed the parasites in disgust.

“Probably mites of some kind.  Annie, sweetie, can you go get Mommy her gardening gloves?  And Peter, I want you to go inside, fill a sink with water, and then go take a bath yourself.  Make sure you scrub hard.”

“But-”

“No ‘buts’, mister.  Get to it.”

The lad grumbled, but obediently scampered off.  Tim, who had been silently staring up to now, snapped out of stupor and cleared his throat.

“I’ll… go make sure he does as he’s told.  Check that he gets everywhere.”

Stephanie simply nodded.

…

A gentle but thorough wash cycle later, both boy and bird were clean and rid of pests at last.  The latter had been set up in a makeshift home of a slightly misshapen pottery bowl crafted in Annie’s art class, with plenty of soft tissues to keep it warm and comfortable.  Fortunately it didn’t appear to be suffering from any other injuries; according to Peter it must have already fallen out from the nest before he curiously picked it up from the bush – and chucked it immediately aside like a beehive.  It was lucky no other predators had chanced upon it before them, likely concealed by the bramble and branches.

“Poor little guy, it must be hungry,” Annie cooed as she extended a fingertip towards their tiny visitor, who nibbled on the end as if it resembled a giant caterpillar, struggling to fit its beak around it somehow.

“What do robins eat?  Usually worms, right?”  A mischievous grin formed on Peter’s face, still freshly pink and rosy from his soak, as he sneakily pulled out a mysterious box from behind his back.  “…Think it’ll eat spiders?”

“Peter, don’t you dare-”

There was a minute of silence, before a piercing high-pitched shriek once again alarmed their parents over in the next room.

“Moooooom, Peter’s dumping dead spiders all over the rug!”

The two adults looked at each other, and sighed, shaking their heads.  This was going to be a handful.

…

That night, Stephanie tiptoed worriedly downstairs upon waking to find her husband absent from her bedside.  As she approached the “guest room”, she saw the lights were dimly on and heard his hushed voice traveling from it:

“Your family abandoned you too, huh?”

Peering around the corner, she spotted Tim talking absently aloud to the dozing ball of down, pouring himself a glass in the process.

“Bet you were the runt of the bunch, too weak to fly away with the others probably…  Left you alone to fend for yourself.”  He swirled the amber liquid, before lifting and downing it in one shot.  “I know what that’s like.”

He stretched out to soothingly stroke the small head half-tucked under its wing, as it shifted but didn’t stir.

Stephanie drew her robe’s train close, and treaded forward cautiously, wrapping herself around his waist as she leaned her forehead into his hunched back.  He put a palm appreciatively over hers, and they stayed connected like that for a while, before he gradually revolved around and inclined towards her, tilting her chin-

“Mommy?  Daddy?  What are you doing?”

They startled simultaneously as their daughter appeared in the doorway, drowsily rubbing her lids.  In her other hand dangled a doll with a freckled button smile and raggedy red yarn in braids.  Stephanie separated with a sheepish glimpse at her partner and crossed over to kneel before her youngest, petting her hair.

“Darling, go back to bed.  Mommy and Daddy were just having a grownup talk.”

“Didn’t look like talking to me,” Peter grinned goadingly from the top of the stairway, peeking between the banister bars at his equally embarrassed parents through a pair of toy binoculars.

“Peter!  Were you spying on us?”

“Maybe.”  He smirked in smug satisfaction at his stealth skills.  “What’s everyone doing up so late anyway?”

“Nothing you kids needs to be concerned about.  C’mon, back to bed, both of you.”  She ushered insistently.  “You’ve got school tomorrow.  Scoot.”

“But I want to see the bird,” Peter whined.  “Since I’m here anyway.”

“It’s asleep right now – like you should be – and doesn’t want to be disturbed.”

As a last-ditch effort, Peter cast a pleading glance towards his paternal side, who firmly echoed his spouse’s sentiments.

“You heard your mother, young man.  Bed.  Now.”

“All right, fine, fine.  I’m going,” the youth groused as his mother marched him straight upstairs.  Annie lingered however, looking wonderingly up at her dad’s stonefaced expression, sensing something wrong.  She knew he always tried to hide it around them, but even then, his eyes seemed so incredibly… sad.  She tugged on his cuff, squeezing Papa’s icy paw, large and rough compared to hers.

“I can’t sleep.  Will you come tuck me in, and tell me a bedtime story?  The one about the beautiful princess and the giant clay monster, and the brave, heroic, handsome prince who comes to rescue her…”

 Tim gazed down at his little girl’s shining pupils, and smiled as he bent down to boost her up and carry her.

“Of course, sweetheart.”

…

“Maybe we should let it outside.”

It had been a few days since they gained a new “member” of the household, and their patient was looking much healthier, gaining back plump fluff and energy – if not quite color, as its puffed chest still seemed unusually pale.  The kids had come home from school to find it surveying – as it often did – out the glass sliding door to the backyard.  …As if longing to be free.

“Yeah but if we put it outside,” Peter pointed out, “it could wander off and get lost.  …Or eaten.”  He made a menacing leer at his sister in an endeavor to frighten her, but she folded her arms and sniffed, unimpressed.

“What if its Mommy and Daddy are looking for it though?  They won’t find it if it’s cooped up in here.”

“Stupid, haven’t you heard that if a human touches a baby bird, then its parents won’t care for it anymore?”

“Lian says that’s just an ‘old knives tale’.  Like the Batman.”

“‘Old wives’ tale’,” Peter corrected.  “And the Batman is real.  He did exist.  Right, Dad?  You remember seeing him.”

“Huh?  Oh… Sure, son.”

Tim muttered distractedly, as if in a daze.  Stephanie hastily stepped forth to settle the argument.

“We’ll give it a try for a bit.  I’m sure it could use the sunshine.”

…

“Check it out, Dad!  I’m teaching it to fly!”

Tim came out on the terrace to bear witness to his son standing a short distance from the deck, with their new feathered friend perched on top of the fence dividing them.  Peter held out his sleeve, and the pilot spread its wings as it dipped off the railing-

A panic seized Tim as he dashed forward in a desperate attempt to catch it – stop it – save it from… from…

What is it you’re so afraid of?

It falling?  Failing?

Or flying away…?

It merely glided over the gap though, fluttering to a rest on the fabric, tweeting with pride over its accomplishment.  Peter beamed as he poked at the fledgling’s plumage, tickling under its jowl in congratulations.

“Pretty cool, huh, Dad?”  His pal peeped in agreement.  “You want to give it a try?”

“N- no thanks.”  Tim swallowed.  “I’ll just… watch.”

“Come on, it’s fun!  Let’s test to see how far it can really go.”

He bounded up the steps and pushed his father to trade places, positioning him at approximately the same site, but perhaps an inch further.  Directing him to mimic the same inviting motion.  Tim’s limb trembled incessantly as he did so.

“You gotta stay still, Dad!  Pretend you’re a statue – or, actually I guess a tree would probably be better in this case.”

Meanwhile, Stephanie was inside doing the dishes, keeping a constant eye on the proceedings.  She paused to pay full attention as her husband grit his teeth and stabilized himself, indicating mental preparedness with a nod. “Ready?  Okay – here goes!”

Peter released the avian aviator, and Tim halted his breath as it sailed down smoothly.  …Although its landing might not have been so graceful, as it descended with a slight stumble on his skin.  Still, it managed to right itself and shake off the mistake, clearly ready for another round.  Stephanie smiled at the boys’ successful bonding ritual, and resumed her task as Tim exhaled in relief, admiring the creature’s persistence.

“You’re really not giving up, huh?  …Good for you.”

It chirped.

…

“Mom, Dad!  Come look at this!  Hurry!”

The two arrived again to their tykes pressing wide-eyed features to the glass, gawking in awe at the scene taking place outside.  They had been leaving the “nest” on the porch for a few hours a day so its occupant could sunbathe, propped on a lawn chair so as to prevent predator attacks.  …Roosting on the rim was a fully mature robin, devotedly feeding its missing young.

“…I don’t believe it.”

“See?”  Annie waved excitedly, bouncing up and down.  “I told you: Its parent came back for it!”

Tim gaped in amazement, utterly stunned by this development.

“…It really came back.”

He repeated in a wavering whisper, like a trance.  Stephanie slid next to him, slipping her hand into his.

“It must love its child a lot.”  She supported her head affectionately against his shoulder.  “I bet it broke its heart to have to leave it behind.”

Tim said nothing, but gripped back tightly as together, the four of them marveled at the miraculous display of Mother Nature.  A true family reunion.

…

Over the course of the next couple days, the parent and its mate kept dutifully returning to take care of their chick in turns – as well as tempt it further and further away from the house.

The first time it vanished from the veranda, they eventually located it in the same shrubbery it had originated from.  Its shelters kept moving progressively beyond just the backyard towards the property’s border though, becoming increasingly difficult to track – and recapture – until one day it disappeared entirely.

They kept the search party up through the evening, and as darkness fell Stephanie suggested they head inside, but Tim stubbornly fished out a flashlight and continued foraging through the foliage.

“…Tim, please.  That’s enough.  The kids are hungry, and tired.  We’ve looked everywhere.  It’s probably gone by now, I’m sure it flew off with its folks.  Let’s just go back-”

“NO!”

All three jumped at the thunderous bark.

“You can do what you want, but I’m not quitting.  It’s just a baby – what if something happened to it?  It got caught by some predator, or – or worse…”

He was so fixated on his hunt that he ignored thorns stabbing into his flesh.  His children huddled together, shivering from chill and growing fear as they observed their father bleeding and ranting like a madman.

“Daddy, you’re acting kinda scary…”

Stephanie determinedly grasped her husband’s forearm, striving to keep him from hurting himself any further.

“Tim – honey – let it go.  I’m begging you,” she implored, irises shimmering with intense apprehension.  “Don’t do this to yourself.  Not in front of the kids.”

Tim blinked, rotating slowly as if remembering their presence.  He took in the sight of his terrified tots regarding him with an anxious mix of confusion and concern, as if he were a total stranger.  He gulped in remorse, sinking to his knees as he embraced them.

“I’m sorry, kids.  Sorry for scaring you.  Daddy just… lost his head for a little bit.  I’m all right now.”

He was shuddering – sobbing – even more than they were, and they threw themselves around him in alleviated hugs.

“It’s okay, Daddy.  It’s okay.  It’s with its family now.”

Tim dried his tears as Stephanie joined the circle, holding the current most precious people in his life as close as possible; beaming with blessed fondness as they benevolently surrounded him back.

“Yeah.  …Yeah it is.”

————————–

But you can skyrocket away from me And never come back if you find another galaxy Far from here with more room to fly Just leave me your stardust to remember you by