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iniquitousyearning · 8 months ago

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SLYTHERINSLUT0’S KINKTOBER

october 25th. tom — anal sex / sexual punishment.

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST. | 2024.

summary: basically how i see a tom riddle punishment playing out. biblical tom of sorts. so self assured its impossible to piss him off so you go to lengths some may consider extreme but…eh. he knows you’re his.

warnings: 18+, SMUT MDNI, UNI hogwarts (obvs but just a reminder) reader and tom have an…interesting dynamic, toxic but also not toxic because it works for them, anal sex (obvs), sexual punishment, brief fingering, copious amounts of dirty talk, i once again utilize my favourite place in the school (the library).

"Tom—"

With a hand raised, he cuts you off. "Don't."

You blink. Swallow. Blink again. He's mad—oh, yes, he's mad—more than you've ever seen him and you once watched Abraxas Malfoy knock over his potion during a heavily-weighted exam.

That, in currency to this, is pennies.

You breathe in, try again. "Look, I can explain—"

He doesn't let you. Within a second his wand is out and with a flick of his wrist the room shifts to static—the glimmer from the silencing charm he just cast settles over your corner of the library, and you feel your fingers go numb—

"Why'd you stop?" He cocks his head, brow raised. His jaw is tight, the tension there burning into the space between you. His fingers flex. You can feel how much he's holding back. "If there's an explanation, by all means. I'd love to hear it."

Right—yeah, an explanation. That should help. Certainly, the man staring at you like he has bullets for eyes and knives for fingers will understand—he'll be completely calm once you explain to him you kissed someone else in retribution—because you wanted to get back at him.

"Well, I—" you push up from the desk, desperate to feel bigger, to level with him somehow. Tom thrives in this—having the upper hand, knowing all he has to do is stare at you, all stillness and quiet fury. He knows you hate it, that you'll spiral under it until you break and present him your neck on a silver platter. Until you hand him the knife and beg him to cut. "We had that argument, and I thought—I thought, maybe—you didn't—"

He moves closer. The air thickens. You're too focused on the fire in his eyes to acknowledge the sound of his wand clattering onto the desk—

"You thought?" His voice is something almost bored, like this is a trivial exercise for him—you can barely hear him over the roar of your pulse in your throat.

"—that you didn't want me anymore!"

You force the words out in a desperate rush, and the silence that follows feels like a goddamn canyon—you're just staring at each other, scowling in the wake of what you just said because you both know how utterly foolish it sounds. The only person Tom Riddle has and will ever allow himself to be vulnerable in front of—and you thought he'd leave after a silly argument.

No. You never thought that for a second.

And so, you try to save yourself. "Tom—I-I'm sorry, okay? I'm so sorry, I know I fucked up—but, it's not just me—I mean, you could have communicated better—"

He takes another step toward you, nodding along as if he's humoring you. "Right."

You step back—you don't mean to but the depleted space between you feels dangerous and your body reacts before you can stop it.

"Maybe—maybe we can learn from this? Right? A lesson for—for us both?" You keep talking. You don't know why, but you do. "And, maybe you could, uh, learn to talk about your feelings better?"

You wince as his eyebrows shoot up, mocking you without saying a word. Tom Riddle, talking about his fucking feelings? Right.

"I mean—you're just—" you hesitate because you know you're digging your own grave, yet he's still staring, daring you to finish. "—you're just so hard to read, you know?"

Another bored nod, another step closer. "Of course."

You swallow, stumbling back—of course Tom knows he's hard to read, that's the point. Every word out of your mouth is a wasted effort, a desperate attempt to reason with someone who's beyond it. Your ass collides with the desk behind you, boxing you in—and suddenly, he's there, right in front of you, all of his typical Tom intensity pouring into the limited space between you.

His breath brushes against your cheek, close enough that his lips could meet yours. But you know they won't. He'd never make it that easy. You can't tell if it's fear or something more wicked that twists in your chest. Dread, excitement—God, maybe both—

"You tried to provoke me."

Your throat tightens around a swallow. He isn’t asking.

"Maybe."

He doesn't blink. "You tried to see if I'd care."

You open your mouth, only to close it just as quickly. What can you say that he doesn't already know? You're as transparent as glass to him, and even that is a goddamn understatement. All you offer is a slow nod, unsure but weighted—he wasn't looking for an answer, he was looking for submission.

"And you thought, maybe, that I would come to you. That I would react. That l'd be angry." His fingers brush up your cheek, slipping into your hair with the kind of intimacy that feels out of place given the circumstances. And, inevitably, when the pull comes biting at your scalp, it's a burn you enjoy more than you should. "Were you hoping I'd punish you?"

"Well—I-"

"You know, don't you," he tugs your hair again to quiet you. Every question he's asking is rhetorical. "You know that trying to provoke me is dangerous."

You nod, fast. "I know."

"You know that I don't like to be provoked."

"I know, I know, I-"

"Shh." His lips brush over your neck, just once—a soft, fleeting thing that promises everything and nothing at once. You can't help the way you lean into him. "You're just making this worse for yourself. No more talking."

You choke on your stupid ego, but force a nod. You asked for this. You won't fight him on it. Not here. Not now.

"Good." He hums, and you feel your heart dance, stomach leap at the barest flicker of approval in his tone. His breath skates over your jaw, and you try not to shake. "You want to show me how sorry you are, don't you?"

You nod again.

"Good." He tugs at your bottom lip and something curls at the corners of his own that doesn't quite qualify as a smile. "Turn around."

With your heart on the floor beneath your feet, you nod for a final time before doing as he asked. You find that turning is a difficult task, though not due to resistance—your body just won't cooperate—a mess of weak knees and shallow breaths and tingling skin. You do it, though, with his hand on your hip, guiding you, directing you, pushing you over the desk until you're bent at the waist, positioned just how he wants.

It's merely a moment before you feel him pressed against your back, feel his belt buckle digging into your ass—

"What do you think I should do to you?" His breath grazes the nape of your neck and reflexively, you arch into him—his hands slide up your thighs, hips, finding your waist and the band of your skirt—he tugs at your zipper, you remain quiet. You know he doesn't want you to answer. "I'm sure you had your hopes. Your assumptions."

Tom Riddle, you've determined, is a torturous lover—a slow hand, a tease until you're in tears from the overstimulation. A sort of devotee to fulfilling your needs while simultaneously tempering his own. He's so very restrained, in everything he does—not fervent, not right away, anyway—

"Maybe you hoped I'd degrade you. Remind you of your place." He tugs down the zipper, letting the fabric fall to the ground at your feet—you shudder and pull your lips tight, willing yourself to stay silent as the cool air hits you. Tom's hand roams over one of your asscheeks, pawing lazily before tapping his palm against it. “Maybe you wanted me to make you feel it."

—he only rushes—he's only careless when he's angry.

And god, he's angry now.

"Maybe." You force the reply through the sting he left on your skin. It's past midnight—quiet is everything but you two, and you're almost certain he locked the door behind him on the way in. You let your head bow, eyes fixed on the wood under your palms. "Maybe I do."

"Of course you do. You've never been subtle." His foot nudges yours further apart, his fingers trailing up your thigh, finding the damp ache between your legs. Your breath catches but you hold still, biting your tongue as he teases—digits gliding through your slit, swirling your clit. "I know you thought about it."

"About what?" You try, though the question barely gets out before his other hand smacks the thick of your ass again, harder this time. "Shit—"

"About what I'd do to you." The hand on your clit shifts to smooth over the sting, rubbing slow, while the other works the buckle of his belt. "Tell me what you wanted."

"I—" you pause, steadying, gathering yourself. You know you have to give him something, but it's hard to think when he's like this. "I—I wanted you to be...careless."

"Careless." He says it like he's savouring it, rolling it over his tongue like candy. It's not a word that suits him; you're not convinced he even knows how. "You want me to be rough—to be selfish. Like you were."

The moment his belt is loose you feel those slender fingers dip back into your slit, two of them pushing inside your cunt without warning, stretching you open as his trousers slip down his thighs— he grunts low, a sound that cuts into the quiet as his cock springs free and he presses it against you, unoccupied hand slipping back into your hair, pulling you up until you're flush with him.

"Yes." You're not sure who sounds more hollow for it—your voice for asking, his for granting it. "I want that. I deserve it. Please. Please—"

"Please. It's always please with you," he mocks, the words a hiss that burn your cheeks. "Yet, I don't get to be selfish like you, do I? I still have to show restraint."

"I mean—oh—fu—" you choke as his lips find your neck, muttering something against your skin before you feel the sudden cool slip of a lubing charm coating your asshole and cunt. "Tom-"

"Despite what you might believe, I've never had much in the way of patience," he breathes, a confession almost, something deeper—something that feels like it costs him. "Not when it comes to you."

"Tom—" you fucking gasp his name as he pulls his fingers from your cunt—only to drag them higher until they find your asshole. Despite his haste he's still at ease, massaging, pressing one finger against it until you let him in. He sinks slowly, curling slightly, and your thighs shake—lungs deflate. "Oh—oh, fuck, Tom—it's been—"

"A while, hasn't it?" He finishes, pressing a kiss just beneath your ear, his finger sliding all the way in. "So tight for me. So—tight—"

"Tom—" a repetition of the last one, his name spilling from you like it’s the only goddamn word you know how to say. "Please, Tom. Oh god—"

"Shhh." He shushes, but it's not to quiet you; you know that. He's savouring this. He slips in a second finger, stretching you wider, working you open, and you're biting your lip to keep from crying out. "This isn't about you."

"You—" your voice breaks on another gasp, hands clutching at the desk. "—you think this is punishment."

"Partially." His muses as his fingers scissor, filling you with the most delicious ache. You're so slick, arousal running down your thighs, and that—oh no, that does not escape his notice. "Look at you, dripping for me. And yet,"

"Oh god." The realization crashes over you—it’s punishment as in orgasm denial. "That's—that's not—"

"Not fair?" There's a smirk in his voice, and though he doesn't say it, you hear the word that lingers beneath it: pathetic, pathetic, pathetic. He pulls his fingers out and you whine, feeling empty for half a second before the head of his cock glides against your slit, gathering your juices before finding its way up to the throbbing ring of muscle. "Isn't this what you wanted? For me to be selfish?"

"I just—" words scatter, useless, because you're trembling, breathing hard, and then he's pressing in, slow enough to save you pain but fevered enough to make you feel him. "Oh—oh—"

"Oh fuck." He says it breathless, as if it's an agony to fit himself inside of you. "Oh yes."

And it is an agony—for both of you, though for very different reasons. Tom is huge, and even on a good day, it's a struggle to take him. He's so deep, filling you in ways you'd forgot were possible. You struggle to hold yourself upright—legs visibly shaking, teeth gritting. He sinks all the way in, and in your mind, you can almost see the look on his face, the way his lashes flutter, the way his head tips back—

"Ah—“ he groans, a rough sound that's followed by a huff and a slight roll of his hips, like he's holding back, like he can't bring himself to move just yet. He yanks you up against him by your hair. "That's fucking tight, isn't it? This must be hell for you."

He's not wrong, it is. But it's hellish for Tom too, the type of hell the two of you inflict on eachother that is as fucking addicting as it is anything else—

"Just—" you manage to bite out breathlessly, but it's a struggle to make the words. "Move—"

"Make me," he grits, jerking your head to the side until your foreheads press together. "Convince me to use you. Tell me how badly you want it. How much of a whore you are for it."

Merlin help you, you moan at his words. It's that thing inside you—the needy, desperate part that's dying at his feet. You don't know what it is or why it's there; it just is, and it's greedy. It's not something you'd give into normally—your ego is far too big to give him the satisfaction of begging, not aloud—never in words that he could use against you later—but in these moments, you both learn to make exceptions.

"Dear god, Tom—please, just use me-" you push your hips back against him, one of his hands slide up your stomach, cupping your tits. "Please, l'm—I'm a pathetic, begging whore for you. God, I know you're pissed—I feel it—just take it out on me—l want it—"

He moans—a soft, almost gentle sound—and you know you've struck a nerve, the part of him that's equally as weak in the moment—the part of him that makes it all too easy for things to spiral like this.

"Goddamn you." Something inside him snaps, something that's been frayed, just waiting for a pull—and you've pulled it now, and oh you want, no, you need him to make you pay for it, to make it hurt. "You just—you always-"

He grunts, cutting himself off and in a way, it's almost like he's thanking you because you're giving him an outlet, something to take it out on. You test each other, push and pull and let the other break, because, at the end of the day, it always comes down to this. The two of you. Like this.

A sharp inhale, and he starts to thrust.

"Fuck!" it's all you manage, it's all you can manage, because it—just like that—feels the way you wanted it to feel but it also feels so much more intense, so intense that your brain can't keep up. "Oh god—oh fuck-"

"Fucking hell," he spits, like you're the worst thing in his world and the best thing all at once, and somehow, that makes perfect sense. He lets go of your hair, and you slump forward onto the desk, elbows barely holding you up as his hand smacks your ass, fingers spreading you apart. "So—so tight—“

You're a shuddering mess, helpless to it; all you can do is remember to breathe through it.

"That's it." Another smack to your ass, thrusts quick and deep. "Fuck. The things you drive me to do."

You know him so well—and he knows you just as damn well, and that's the point, isn't it? That's what this is all about. You're the perfect mix of wrong, a match that burns too hot it hurts but the ache makes him feel alive.

"I want to cum—" your neglected clit is begging for it, you’re fucking begging for it. "Tom please—"

At that, he laughs and it's mean and it's condescending and you love—God—how you love it and want it and can't get enough of it. His hips snap forward a little bit rougher and you lose a bit more of your sanity—

"You think you deserve to come, after what you did?" Another smack to your ass.

You don't know how to answer, and he doesn't wait for one anyway. He knows exactly what he’s doing to you—everything is so calculated and calculated and calculated. You've never once seen him falter, and you don't expect to see it now. You don't know if you'd survive it if you did.

"No." He answers for you. "You don't."

His fingers trace around your thigh, grazing your mound and finding your needy clit, your sopping slit, gliding through it—you moan louder than you should as he gathers your slick on his fingers, humming at what he finds there before retreating—bringing them up to your mouth.

"Open."

You open your mouth and he feeds you your need—the result of his selfishness. You love him for what he is and you love him for what he isn’t too. How he tries to be both, only when you ask.

"Taste that?" It's a whisper, something he's telling you.

You sob around his fingers as he fucks your ass deep—he pulls them out to let you respond. You nod. "Yes."

"Taste how much you want this?"

"Yes." A pathetic moan. The perfect response.

"Good girl." He presses the words into your hair, the back of your neck, along your spine. He sucks in a breath as he fucks like he needs it just to speak. "You're going to remember this the next time you think about doing something just to spite me, I hope you know that."

Of course you will. He knows it, you know it—there's no doubt in your mind that you'll remember this the next time you toy with his patience; the next time you give him a reason to discipline you again. And what's worse is: you'll do it anyway.

It's a battle you two will fight for eternity.

But you don't get a chance to respond, not that you'd have one anyways—because his hand is on your throat and his lips are at your ear and he's sucking in air through his teeth and then—

"I'm going to cum." He whispers and you hear the pain in it. "Fuck."

You shiver in reply; a whine of a whimper coming from the back of your throat. “Tom—“

"Shh." He shushes you with his free hand, gripping your jaw as his thrusts turn sloppy, erratic. "Fucking take it.”

God—you’ll take it. Of course you will. You asked for this, drove him to this point. You're both sick, but this is the kind that doesn't have a cure.

One of his hands moves to his own hair, tugging at the back of his head; it's the only hint you've had this whole time of how much he's affected by this, how much it's driven him mad. He's doing his best to keep control, to maintain composure and make sure you feel it—but it's the way his hand squeezes your hip when he lets go of your throat that gives him away.

It gives in to what he's been repressing.

"Ohhh—fuck—yes—" and then you feel it, feel him, hot and sticky and warm, filling your ass and holding you there until he’s finished. His body collapses against the back of yours, hips slow rolling until he's drained—until you’ve taken all of him, all of his anger and frustration and restraint along with it. He’s sweaty, exhausted, spent—forehead pressed to your hair. "You feel that?"

"You know I do." You're not allowed to sound so smug, not while you're in the position you're in, but you are. It’s why he loves you. "That's what you were looking for."

"No, that's what you were looking for." He nips your ear, and you hear the smile in his voice when he bites down on it and murmurs a, "and that's why you're my favourite," into it.

"And you mine, Tommy."

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transurgender · 2 years ago

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good morning (NOT morning) im giving you this with no context, goodnight (it IS night :])

#benjiart #benjiart: ocs #its been like months since ive posted art on here. but look at my stupid little freaks boy #i got. inspired by the fact It Is Now October. and made some witch ocs. and theyve already taken over my brain in the span of 2 days.#i'll post their renders/ refs (for now) tomorrow. all u need to know abt them is they are so fucking stupid #and are constanly at eachothers necks. in both a violence and gay way.#i only have a name for one rn (nolan; who is one being pined over in this pic; not the guy who has Discovered Bisexuality)#the other one. uhm. no fucking clue #rodney . maybe. idk.#someone give me good oc names im blanking on this little freak .#oh i need a tag for this universe since its different from TBO. uh #ocposting #ocs #nolanposting #otherdudeposting #< someone remind me to come back and change that when he has an actual name #ocposting: IDIOT WITCHES #< yeah that'll work. fuck it. thats the name of the spotifty playlist i made for them en e ways #yes they already have a playlist. what do you want from me.#miloposting #< finally got a name for him. 👍#i have never had such difficulty naming an oc before. holy shit

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soaps-mohawk · 9 months ago

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Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 39: Life

Summary: Something begins to throb in your chest as you lay there. Something thrums deep within you, something you haven’t felt in weeks.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 8,194 words

Warnings: Angst, Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, angst, PTSD, nightmares, POV changes, depression and anxiety, illness, language, slightly graphic imagery, very slight violence, rumination, lots of feels, and yes finally some comfort

A/N: Yes, it has finally arrived. The time has come. We are now in the comfort. This very much is a good place to end things for the next month. If you haven't seen my post then I'll say it here, I will be putting the fic on a brief hiatus for the month of October. I have Kyletober planned and trying to do CRCB at the same time will be too much. So this will be the last chapter for a couple weeks while I focus on other things and just give my brain a little break from CRCB. It's been eight months of just pumping out long chapters every week, or almost every week, so I need a little break to focus on other things. I'll still be writing and posting things here (and Ao3 of course) but there won't be another CRCB chapter posted until November.

But anyway, I hope you enjoy this one and the comfort starting and I'm super excited for what's coming next month (can't believe it's almost October)

11/30/24: **This chapter has been edited and rewritten from its original version**

MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->

“I need you to be brave.” Christine says, staring up at him.

His heart thumps in his chest. How bad is it that not only did she summon him down here, but she’s asking him to be brave. He knows you’re sick, that you’ve fallen ill after your moment of anger earlier. She had informed them over dinner as she made some broth that you came down with a fever.

They had all been worried, sharing glances at the news. John looked like a dog that had been scolded. It was his fault, after all.

If anything happens to you, it is his fault.

Johnny swallows the lump in his throat, nodding slowly as he stares down at Christine. “I can be brave.”

Christine stares up at him for a long moment before nodding. She pushes the door open, leading him inside your room. The scent in the air is thick, tainted by the bitter scent of anxiety still lingering in the air, and the sour scent of illness. He misses the fresh scent of strawberries, he has missed it over the last few weeks. Your scent had taken on a bitter edge ever since the cameras were revealed to them. It’s only gotten stronger recently after the events that transpired.

All of their scents have been off lately.

It’s dark in the room aside from the bedside lamp. It casts a soft glow around the room, elongating the shadows in the corners. They loom threateningly, and his fingers twitch to turn on the overhead light.

You don’t like the overhead light. It’s too bright.

You always prefer softer light. Is it an omega thing, or is it just a you thing? He’s not quite sure.

How little they really understand you.

The lamp illuminates a pile of blankets on the bed, stacked one on top of each other to create a lump of soft fabric. You’re underneath that pile, he knows it. You’ve always liked blankets, always carried one with you in the barracks, eternally cold in the harsh world they existed in on base. This many blankets though? It was excessive even for you.

He approaches the bed slowly, scared at what he might find. Images of you laying in a puddle of blood, cold and stiff fills his mind. Images of a skeletal figure reduced to nothing but skin stretched over bones has his heart racing. What will he find on the other side of that pile obscuring you from his vision?

He swallows down his fear, reminding himself that he’s a soldier. He’s seen dead bodies before, he’s killed before. So why is he so scared now?

This isn’t war. It’s you.

He steps up to the side of the bed, looking down on you. You’re shivering, trembling under the blankets. Sweat beads on your forehead, skin dewy and clammy in your fever. You look more alive than the skeletal figure he had pictured in his mind, but you don’t look well.

You look near death.

“I’m worried about her.” Christine says, closing the door behind her. “She needs someone from her pack close. You’re making the most effort right now, and if anyone might get through to her, it’s you. She needs...someone.” Christine sighs. “Someone who can offer what I can’t.”

“She needs a member of her pack.” Johnny says, easily putting together what Christine was saying.

He knows what she’s asking. He’s scared. He’s not sure how you’ll react. The last people you want to see right now is your pack, including him. How will you react to having him so close?

“Exactly.” Christine says, stepping up right next to him.

Her fingers wrap around his wrist, and he lets her guide his hand to your cheek. It’s hot and clammy against his palm, a fire blazing under your skin. You let out a shuddering breath, the air fanning weakly against his wrist. Your head turns just slightly, pressing into his hand. It’s a good sign, despite the delirium you have to be stuck in. What are you imagining is happening right now? What is your brain telling you?

“Touch her, talk to her.” Christine says, releasing his wrist. He keeps his hand there, pressed against your cheek. “We need to try and get her back before this gets worse.”

Before they lose you.

She won’t say it out loud.

She doesn’t need to.

Johnny nods, turning his head to look at Christine over his shoulder. She looks exhausted, and not just because of the late hour. She’s done so much over the past few weeks watching you and caring for you. Maybe it is time one of them tries to step up and help her. You can’t avoid them forever, no matter how much you might feel like trying.

He has to try. For you.

“I know what tae do.” He says, his eyes flickering to the books stacked on your dresser, the ones Simon and John picked up.

Christine squeezes his arm. “I’m just across the living room if you need me.”

“I’ll try not to.” He says.

She stares up at him for a long moment before nodding. She understands. He doesn’t have to say much else. She leaves the door cracked and he doesn’t mind, moving away from you to look through the books on the dresser. A handful of them are new, or at least ones he’s never seen you read before. A couple are ones he knows are in your collection at the barracks. He picks one of those, some fantasy novel he’s seen you read more than once.

He looks between the bed and the chairs. He could pull one over and sit by your side.

No, Christine said it was better to touch you.

Instead he climbs onto the bed, sitting close enough he can feel the heat from your body. He cracks open the book, flipping through to the first page. He clears his throat, staring down at you for a moment before he begins to read.

Rain batters the roof, coming down hard outside. The wind is blowing, whooshing past the house, rattling the shutters. The storm blew in from the sea, dumping rain by dinner and then the wind picked up by the time they were all getting ready to settle in for the night.

It feels fitting, a storm blowing in at a time when a storm is brewing within their pack.

The storm he blew into their pack.

He lays there in bed, listening to it rage outside. It’s quiet in the house, Simon and Johnny already settled in, and so are you downstairs. Kyle is beside him, but not asleep. He’s laying awake again as they have done since their arrival. He can feel the heat of Kyle’s body against his arm as he lays on his back, Kyle on his side facing away from him.

“You just had to do it, didn’t you?” Kyle asks quietly, breaking the silence. “Can’t even go a week without trying to apologize knowing full well she won’t forgive you.”

John stays silent, having expected some kind of reprimanding for his actions. He really was selfish for what he did. Kyle is right. You won’t forgive him, no matter how many times or ways he tries to say sorry.

“You’re just making it worse.” Kyle huffs out. “You’re the last person that should try apologizing right now.”

“You’re right.” He finally says. “It was selfish of me to do that. I just wanted her to know-”

“She knows.” Kyle snaps, cutting him off. “She’s not stupid and oblivious. She knows we’re all feeling guilty, she knows how sorry we all are. She won’t let us apologize until she’s ready. Shows just how little you actually understand her, trying to do that.” Kyle pushes himself up to sit. “She doesn’t want words. She’s had words spewed at her, her whole life telling her what to do, how to feel, how to act. She wants actions. She wants us to prove to her that we do care, that we are sorry, that we’re making an effort to make things up to her. She wants us to prove that we’re putting her first by putting her first.”

John knows he’s right. Words won’t solve a situation like this. None of them know where to start, though. How do you try and make things up to someone when you’re not even sure that person wants you to try?

“She’s sick now, because of what you did.” Kyle continues. “If anything happens to her...” He trails off, shaking his head.

“I’ll let you take the first shot.” John says. “I know. I’ve been a miserable excuse of an alpha. It’s easy when you have the confines of the military to hold everything in place. When those expectations dictate your life and how to run a pack. It’s easy, when you can exist as a pack with those set routines and structures. The facade that makes everything seem like it's working.” He shakes his head. “We never would have worked outside of those confines.”

Kyle’s head turns slightly towards him, but his gaze is still on the far wall. “No, we wouldn’t have. None of us would have chosen this in the first place.”

“Probably not.” John agrees. “Then we got an omega added, an outsider that showed us just how weak we really were.”

“We were crumbling long before that.” Kyle says. “We weren’t ready for an omega, we shouldn’t have ever had an omega.”

“I should never have been head alpha.” John says. “Being an alpha is different from being a captain. It shouldn’t have been me.”

Kyle snorts. “He would have never agreed.”

“That delay might have saved us.”

“Or it would have made things worse.” Kyle says. “Shepherd wanted us to bond with her right away so his control over us would strengthen if he had to use that power. If those bonds weren’t put into place when they were, they might have tried to force it.”

“That would have only destabilized things further.” John says. Kyle isn’t wrong. Who knows what lengths they would have gone to, to ensure what they wanted would happen. “They were watching us from the start. They knew exactly how to play all of us.”

“Simon was right all along in his suspicions.” Kyle says, laying back down on the bed. Their shoulders are touching. It feels nice, having him close again. They’ve been close for the last few days, forced together by their sleeping arrangements, but it feels different now.

“He’ll be a better alpha than I ever could be.” John says quietly, almost speaking to himself.

“I think she will come to forgive you eventually.” Kyle says, turning his head to look at John. “You just have to give her time. A lot of time. You have to figure out how to prove yourself worthy of that forgiveness.”

“I want to take her to the beach.” John says. “Once she’s recovered.”

“If she recovers.” Kyle had pieced together the worry in Christine’s voice combined with her words. They all had.

“She will.” John says, sliding his hand across the sheets. “She’s a tough little thing. She’s not going to give up just like that.”

“I hope you’re right.” Kyle says. He doesn’t pull away as John’s fingers brush his hand.

“I may not have the best track record with being right currently, but I’m confident in her and her strength.” John turns his head to look at Kyle in the darkness. The storm is calming outside, the wind dying down and the rain lightening. “She’s stronger than all of us combined.”

The corners of Kyle’s lips twitch. “You are right about that.”

It smells good.

There’s a rich scent in the air as you begin to wake. It smells like Christmas, like spices and citrus. Warm gingerbread and cider. Freshly squeezed orange juice on Christmas morning just like every year. It had been your favorite, though you never understood the lengths your mother went to, the early morning and the hours spent in the kitchen on Christmas slaving away to make everything perfect. Everyone got something they wanted, something they loved. You never appreciated that effort until now.

Oranges. Spices. Warmth.

You know that scent.

It’s hot in the room, sweat soaking your skin as you lay on your right side. Heat surrounds you like a cocoon, just like the scent. Warm and soft and too much. You try to wiggle out from under the blankets but you can’t move, so instead you shuffle them off. Some of them hit the floor with soft plops, the others just barely hanging on the side of the bed, trapped under your body. You’re still stuck, still hot as you lay there, a comforting weight around you. The scent floods your nose, fills your body with a pleasant feeling as you lay there, breathing through your nose. Oranges, spices, warmth.

Someone is baking a pie.

It smells good. You want to bury yourself in it, press yourself into that scent until it’s the only thing you can smell. It brings you a comfort you didn’t realize you were missing. Something fills your chest, a weight beginning to press down inside of you.

Your hair sticks to your face as you lay there, tempted to get up and see who is baking and why. There’s weight pressing down on you from the outside as well. You can’t move. You’re stuck.

The weight around you moves.

No, it’s not pie.

It’s Johnny.

That’s why you know the scent. That’s why it feels so familiar, so comforting. It’s Johnny. Johnny is pressed up against your back, his arm tossed over your waist. That’s why it’s so hot, his body putting off warmth like a heater.

You should be angry at the breach of your clearly placed barriers. You should be upset that he would come in here and just climb in bed like this. You should be pissed that one of them would try something like this after your outburst yesterday.

You shouldn’t be crying.

Not out of relief.

Oh how you missed this.

Something begins to throb in your chest as you lay there, crying quietly in Johnny’s arms. Something begins to thrum deep within you, something you haven’t felt in weeks. Life? Hope? Happiness?

You should be upset.

You can’t be.

Johnny grunts quietly behind you, his arm leaving your waist as he stretches. He’s awake now, or maybe he hadn’t been at all and had been waiting for some sign of life, some movement from you, something to try and give him a hint at what you must be feeling. He doesn’t say anything, laying still as you sniffle in the silence. No one else is up yet, despite the blue light of dawn coming in through the gap in the curtain.

“Johnny?” You whisper, even the quiet sound hurting your sore throat. You’re thirsty, desperately so, but that’s a problem for later.

“It’s me, kitten.” He says hesitantly, the pet name making a sob tear from your throat.

“Johnny,” You cry, the tears falling in a cascade. You can’t stop them. You’ve lost complete control as you lay there sobbing. “Hold me.”

He doesn’t say anything else, his arms wrapping around you and tugging you close against his chest. He locks you in his embrace, holding you tightly against his chest as you cry. It feels good. Life and energy flows through you again for the first time in weeks. That empty space in your chest begins to fill slowly, warmth blossoming in your body despite the sweat soaking you both. Johnny offers no complaints as he presses his face into your hair.

How you missed this.

How you need this.

You seem more relaxed at dinner. Despite your angry outburst the day before, and your sudden illness, you look significantly less miserable than you did your first attempt at joining them for dinner. The yelling did a number on your throat, but even now it’s nothing compared to that first day. You’re having soup again, and this time there’s a side of mash and peas next to the bowl.

You even walked to the table without the crutch.

Simon sits beside you again, all of them taking their respective seats at the table. They’ve assigned themselves these seats, even when you don’t join them for a meal. You’re at the head of the table as you were the first time, Simon and Chrstine on either side of you. Kyle and Johnny are seated next to them, and John is across the table from you. You’ve been avoiding looking at him. You haven’t even so much as glanced up at him.

Simon is watching you carefully out of the corner of his eye, trying not to make it obvious. If you’ve noticed, you haven’t shown any disapproval. He’s ready in case he has to act fast again, but you are far more steady than you were that first time. There’s no tremble to your hand as you bring the spoon up to your mouth.

The others look happier than before too. Johnny has stopped crying. Not even a sniffle from him ever since this morning when he emerged from your room. None of them had said anything about it, though they have an inkling of what had happened, judging by Christine’s lack of reaction to it. Kyle looks happier too, sitting straighter like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders. It probably has, with the lightening of the mood. Whatever happened with Johnny this morning, it’s made a huge change already.

John has never been much of a religious man, but god bless Johnny for whatever magic he worked this morning.

You don’t even look feverish as you sit there, spooning soup into your mouth. A lingering low-grade fever, Christine had informed them earlier that afternoon, but significantly less concerning than things had been yesterday.

He’s glad to hear it. He’s always glad to hear Christine’s updates on how you’re doing, how well you’re healing, at least physically. The body heals easily. Mentally...there’s still a long way to go. Healing physically will help mentally, but with all the trauma, years and years of trauma, it’s going to take a long time to heal from that.

The clink of your spoon in your bowl draws him from his thoughts and he glances up at you.

“Getting full?” Christine asks as you take a sip of your water, wincing slightly as you swallow it.

“Can I have some tea?” You ask.

“Sure,” Christine says, going to push her chair back, but John is already standing.

“I’ll make some.” He says, not offering any room for argument as he turns his back on the table to head for the kettle.

You’ve been drinking more tea lately, likely to soothe your throat. He never thought he’d see the day, given your determination to stand with Johnny on the side of coffee. It’s a bit late for coffee, but he does know it wouldn’t keep you awake in the slightest. You love your sleep, as most omegas do, and nothing will get in the way of it. Not even some late evening caffeine.

He sets mugs out on a tray, deciding to make tea for everyone. At least that way it’ll make it seem less targeted at you. He’s not doing it to try and impress you or win your affections back. He just wants to help take the load off of Christine’s shoulders. She’s done so much for you, for all of them, already.

He steeps the tea before bringing the mugs to the table along with some milk and sugar. He knows at least Simon and Kyle will drink some, and he will as well. He brings the kettle over, filling the mugs with tea. All of them sit there watching him, waiting tensely for what will happen next. Will you take the mug of tea he offers? Or will you refuse. Even if you threw it in his face, it wouldn’t make him mad. It would be horribly painful, yes, but he would deserve it.

Perhaps him doing this was a mistake.

He stares at the sugar and milk as he grabs one of the mugs. Do you like sugar or milk in your tea? He’s not sure. He doesn’t even know how you take your tea. He knows you like creamer in your coffee. But how do you take your tea?

What a sad excuse of a human being he is.

You don’t look at him as he sets the mug next to your water glass. You’re still eating your soup, your hand trembling just slightly now. Your scent is tainted still, a whiff of it filling his nose. Displeasure, a hint of burning anger.

This was a mistake.

He sets the milk and sugar next to you first, letting you finish making your tea. He won’t push that boundary and risk making it wrong. It would only add fuel to the fire, make it more obvious that he knows and cares so little for you. He doesn’t even know how you take your tea.

He takes his seat again as the others help themselves to the tea, even Johnny taking a mug. Whether he’s doing it because he wants to make the moment feel less awkward, or because he genuinely wants some, John will never know.

He made a mistake in doing that.

Still, despite the awkwardness, it felt good to do that.

Maybe that’s how they get closer to you.

The little things, things that take some of the pressure off Christine. She has to be getting tired, going nonstop all day. Anything they can do to help, they should. Things seemed to go well with Johnny, so maybe the others can have some success in their attempts to gain your favor once more.

John will have to stay away for now. Distance is what you need from him.

That’s alright. He has other things he can do.

He tries to hide the small grin on his face as you pick up the mug, taking a sip of the tea.

They’re fighting.

You stand at the back door watching them throw punches. They’re solid punches, nothing held back, no pulling them. They’re all breathing heavily, two of them watching the other two fight.

Simon’s fist meets Kyle’s shoulder, Kyle’s fist going for Simon’s head but he’s too fast, ducking before he drives his shoulder into Kyle’s stomach. Kyle hits the grass, disappearing from your view.

John steps forward, pulling Simon back and speaking to him, but you can’t hear from this distance.

“Still out there?” Dr. Keller asks, stepping up beside you.

“Yep.” You say, watching as Johnny takes Kyle’s place against Simon.

“John did say it would be good for them.” Dr. Keller says, wincing as Johnny’s fist hits Simon’s ribs.

“They’re gonna start a real fight.” You say, watching as Simon starts to get more aggressive. You can tell because you’ve been in that position before. You’ve seen when that switch starts to flip, when the alpha starts to take over. He was never this aggressive with you, but perhaps even his alpha could be rational given your obvious size and strength difference.

And the fact you’re an omega.

“Well, that’s their problem.” Dr. Keller says. “As long as they keep it out there.”

“They might make you patch them up afterwards.” You say.

She lets out a snort. “There’s ice packs in the freezer and a first aid kit in the bathroom.”

You try to hide your smile as you watch John get in between Johnny and Simon, speaking to Simon again. Maybe it will be good for them to get some of that pent up energy out. They’re all used to being so active and always having something to do. Being stuck inside has to be driving them stir-crazy. Simon has been going on runs in the morning, and you know John has been going on walks every so often.

You’re starting to feel a bit stir-crazy yourself. It’s taking you back to the days shut up in the barracks, unable to go anywhere or do anything, having to entertain yourself for hours while they were gone. At least there you had space and room to move around, even when you were being trailed, one of them constantly following you around. They might not be hovering quite as obviously here, but it still feels suffocating, like you can’t truly have a moment to yourself.

“I want to go for a walk.” You say, shifting on your feet. The likelihood of you going very far is slim, at least right now.

How far you’ve fallen from your running days.

“I suppose you could go for a little walk.” Dr. Keller gives you a sideways glance. “Might be good to help get your strength back. I doubt they’d let us go without one of them, though.”

“Probably not.” You agree, knowing they won’t even let you sit out on the porch without one of them watching. If you left the house without even telling one of them, all hell would break loose and you’d be condemned to your room once more.

The thought makes you wince.

You almost wish you could go out there and throw some punches at one of them. That might make you feel a bit better. Hell, line them all up and you’ll take turns beating the crap out of all of them. Maybe that might heal some of the anger and pain still stuck inside of you.

That’s an idea for a different day, though.

It’s oddly warm out today, or at least that’s what Ashley said. Soon the weather will turn, though, and the cold rain will come. Lots of rain.

Your eyes flick between Ashley and Dr. Keller. The three of you are seated in a circle around a table outside, steaming mugs of tea in front of you. Neither of them are staring at you, instead focused on each other as Ashley speaks.

Dr. Keller has a crush.

It’s not hard to tell. Her eyes are focused on Ashley, a smile tugging at her lips. Her gaze only flicks to you when you shift and move in your seat before she’s staring at Ashley again. You can’t blame her. You can hardly bring yourself to look away from Ashely too.

It makes you almost miss Kyle.

They have the same soft brown eyes and the same bright smile. They’re both perfect, like they were chiseled out of marble and brought to life. They even laugh the same, a genuine chuckle coming right from the chest.

It makes you want to laugh, even if you have no clue what was being said.

How has Kyle been handling this? You’ve hardly paid him any mind. His connection to John puts him too close to the source of your anger and rage and pain. Johnny cries, Simon is a brick wall, John reeks of guilt and misery. Kyle...you don’t know. He’s been a blank spot, a hazy figure in the distance.

It almost makes you feel bad. You’ve completely cut him off, isolated him. Has he cried? Has he been sulking? How miserable does he feel about everything? Does he feel guilty or miserable at all? He has to. They all do.

Good. You think. They deserve it.

“You do get stuck in your head, huh?”

Your gaze snaps up, looking between Dr. Keller and Ashley. They’re both staring at you quietly, a small smile on Ashley’s face. You did get lost in your thoughts again, stuck in your ruminations as you usually do. Lately it hasn’t been a problem, as you’re alone or with Dr. Keller often. You’re supposed to be thinking and processing. It just happens at the worst times.

Simon would hate it still.

“Something specific on your mind?” Dr. Keller asks.

You probably shouldn’t say anything. How would you explain how your mind went from Dr. Keller crushing on Ashley to hoping the guys feel guilty? You’re not even sure you should reveal that you know about Dr. Keller’s crush, especially if she hasn’t said anything yet. You don’t think she has. They’re not...close in the way a couple would be, a distance still between them. Does Ashley feel the same way? It’s hard to tell since you don’t know her quite as well yet.

Maybe that can be your goal, besides healing. Something to focus on, something to distract from the constant emotions and pain. Get Ashley and Dr. Keller together.

They’d be perfect for each other.

“Not really.” You finally say, looking down at the book in your lap. You’re about halfway through it. It’s fine. Nothing to write home about.

“What do you think of the book?” Ashley asks, sensing your end to that discussion. She doesn’t push. You like that about her.

“It’s alright.” You shrug. “Kinda slow.”

“They are spending a lot of time on character development.” Dr. Keller says.

“We should keep a tally of how many times the phrase “his dark eyes” gets mentioned.” Ashley says, making you laugh.

“It’s good to hear you laugh.” Dr. Keller says, smiling at you.

“It...feels good to laugh again.” You say. “It’s nice to have something to laugh about.”

“Well then I’m going to make that my mission.” Ashley says, taking a sip of her tea. “Get you to laugh as much as possible.”

You don’t think you’ll mind that one bit.

“There’s something we need to talk about.”

You don’t turn to look as Dr. Keller sinks into the seat next to you. It’s raining again, the rain pattering against the window as you sit in front of it. They won’t let you go out in the rain.

“Something that is rather important.” She continues. “Something you should know.” She clears her throat, not waiting for a response. She knows she won’t get one. “When you told John that he left you there to be tortured...is that what Graves told you? Did he tell you they left you behind?”

Her words have something sinking in your stomach. Your insides are squirming, your intestines tying themselves in knots. You haven’t even thought about that. You’ve been so caught up in the emotions, swept up in the anger and devastation. The memories of what happened are still blurry, still stuck in the recesses while your body heals.

That pit in your stomach continues to drop as she stares at you, waiting for an answer.

You don’t want to answer.

“Hey,” She says softly, leaning to try and stay in your line of sight as your eyes begin to drop to the side. “We need to talk about this.” There’s a serious look on her face as your eyes slowly lift to stare at her again. “Do you believe they chose to leave you behind with Graves?”

Tears prick behind your eyes as you stare at her. Of course you do. Why wouldn’t they? They’ve left you behind so many times, what’s another? They don’t care that you were being tortured. They never cared that them leaving you before was like torture. Why would they waste the chance to go after Shepherd before he found a place to hide?

The job comes first.

“Yes.” You breathe, a tear sliding down your cheek. You want to say it, let all the thoughts rushing through your mind pour right out of your mouth but the tears choke you, keep you silent.

The serious mask on Dr. Keller’s face melts away to a sympathetic look. It doesn’t surprise you. It’s the look she often wears when she looks at you.

“Oh, honey.” She says, reaching out, but you withdraw yourself further away. “They didn’t leave you behind. They were doing everything they could to try and find where you were. John about blazed a path across the US to find you.”

You don’t want to believe it. It sounds too good to be true. Her words stir the bitter pot in your stomach, the anger at them and at yourself. You let yourself believe that they would care about you, but they led you to believe they cared. They left you so easily and you never said anything to them to try and keep them with you. They left you behind when they knew it was dangerous, and you believed Phil when he told you they had abandoned you.

Why would Phil tell you the truth? He wanted to torture you, wanted to take out his anger on you. It wasn’t your decision, nothing was your decision, but in the end the mark on your shoulder sealed your fate. You’d never belong to him. The more he could tear you and your pack down the better. The more hopeless you felt, the more you hated the members of your pack, the more satisfaction he would get.

He wanted to drive the wedge between your pack, and you fell for it.

Tears glide down your cheeks as you turn to face the window. They mirror the droplets of rain sliding down the glass. Your fingers curl against the fabric of the chair, your breaths starting to come in gasps as reality begins to settle in.

“You’re okay.” Dr. Keller says, kneeling next to the chair. “I was there with them, I saw just how desperate they were. They wouldn’t leave you like that. Trust me.”

Can you trust her? Can you trust any of them? Part of you would like to. The part of you that wants things to go back to the way they were, when things felt fine, when you still believed your pack loved you. Back when you could be delusional and believe something good could come of this entire situation.

Now you’re stuck with a pack that never wanted you. Now you’re stuck with the trauma of the last few weeks, trauma you should have never faced in the first place. Not if your pack truly cared about you. It was always a risk, but you always believed they would take care of you, they would keep you safe.

Now look at you.

A sob tears from your lips as you sit there, the thoughts quickly growing to be too much. Dr. Keller reaches for you but you pull away, pushing yourself up to stand. You move towards the bed, grabbing one of the plush pillows. You bring it to your face, letting out a long, muffled scream.

The scream dies in your throat as you jolt awake in bed. The book that had been in your hands when you fell asleep drops to the floor with a quiet thud as you jerk up into a seated position. You’re breathing heavily, your breaths coming in ragged gasps as you try and calm your racing heart. It’s beating hard like it might beat right out of your chest. You’re shaking, your hands clutching at the baggy shirt you’re wearing like you’re trying to cling to some hope that it was all a dream, that you’re awake now and this is real life.

Sweat beads on your forehead as you sit there, shaking in the darkness. You need someone. The shadows are closing in around you, your nightlight unable to keep them completely away. You need someone to fight them back. You need someone to reassure you that it was all just a dream, someone that can wipe the tears streaming down your cheeks and whisper softly to you that it’s all okay. That it’s all over.

You need Kyle.

Where is Kyle? How do you get to him without waking the others? You could go upstairs but what if they think you’re an intruder? You don’t even know which room Kyle is in. You wish you had a phone. You wish you could call him. You wish you could just telepathically reach out and tell him you need him and only him.

You’ll wake them all anyway trying to find him.

You suck a breath in, your hands still shaking as they cling to your shirt. You have to do it. It’s the only way to get them all down here, to get Kyle down here.

You take a couple deep breaths before you scream.

Within seconds the house is alive, footsteps racing across the living room towards your room as others thud from above.

The overhead light stings your eyes, forcing them closed. It’s too bright, intrusive even with your eyes pinched closed. You can still see it behind your eyelids, harsh and too artificial. Just a price you have to pay to get what you need.

Dr. Keller’s hands are soft as they peel your hands off your shirt, your fingers trembling with nothing to hold on to. They open and close, seeking out something to grip, something to give you an anchor to reality. You’re still panicking, your breaths shaky as you shit there, trembling in fear.

“You’re alright,” She tries to soothe you, brushing your sweaty hair back. “It was just a dream.”

You wish it was.

“Kyle.” The name comes out as barely a whisper, stuttering out of your trembling lips.

“What was that, sweetie?” Dr. Keller asks, leaning in closer.

“Kyle.” You whisper louder now, the name shaky in the tense silence of the room.

“Kyle,” Dr. Keller repeats, standing up straight.

Quiet, hesitant footsteps approach the bed. Your eyes are still pinched closed against the harsh overhead light. You can’t bring yourself to be brave enough to open them, to face that harsh light. It might reveal the truth, that it was all just a dream, that this is still just a dream.

It might not be Kyle approaching the bed at all.

You can’t know. You don’t want to know. You’re afraid to open your eyes.

There’s a click as the lamp is turned on. You still can’t bring yourself to open your eyes. It’s supposed to be comforting, the soft light, but it could be used against you, giving you a false sense of hope and security.

You flinch as the overhead light is turned on, still too afraid to open your eyes. Your hands have closed around the blanket pooled at your waist, gripping it so tightly your fingers are aching. It’s real. You’re touching it, you can feel the texture of it in your hands. It’s real.

It’s real.

Your breaths are shaky as you breathe in and out, trying to catch a scent. Any scent. Something to tell you that you’re really awake, that it really is Kyle standing next to the bed.

“I’m here.” A soft voice says, something hovering in the air next to you.

Kyle.

You know that voice. You’d know it anywhere.

You finally crack your eyes open, tears brimming as you turn your head to look up. Kyle is standing there awkwardly next to the bed, his hand raised as if he was reaching out to comfort you, but thought better of it. You’re glad he did. You might have spiraled into another panic if he’d touched you before you knew it was him.

You stare at his hand for a moment before you peel one of your hands away from the blanket. Your hand is shaky as you lift it, reaching out towards his own trembling fingers.

His fingers are warm and rough, just as you remember as they close around yours. You’re still shaking, a cold sweat forming on your skin as fear trickles down your spine.

What if this is a dream? What if this isn’t real?

“I’m here.” He says, rubbing his thumb across your knuckles.

You want to believe him. You really do.

You pull his hand closer, pressing your cheek against it. His skin is warm against your cheek, and like Johnny, he makes no complaints about your sweat smearing on his skin. You’ve been that close to them before, sweat mixing together, slicking skin. How far things have fallen since then.

Your tears drip onto his skin as you hold him there, just breathing him in for a moment. He smells like the sea, but with that soft, light scent underneath. You missed that scent, more than you realize you did.

You let out a quiet sound as you rub your cheek against his hand, almost like you’re trying to embed his scent under your skin.

He doesn’t say anything as you lean against his hand, tears still streaming down your face. The lamp is pushing some of the darkness away, but it’s not enough. It’s never enough. You can still feel the eyes from the dark corners of the room, the shadowy figures just out of view threatening to reach out and tear you away.

A shudder runs down your spine, your fingers squeezing around Kyle’s in what has to be a painful grip.

“I’m here.” He says again, pulling you from the dark thoughts plaguing your mind. He’d know if someone was here. He’d know if anything threatening was nearby.

It’s his job.

The job.

The thing that’s kept you so separated from them, kept you at a distance. The thing that put your life in danger, that exposed them all as liars. The thing that’s left you an empty shell.

Maybe having him down here was a mistake.

But the shadows...

You tug on his hand, pulling him closer to the bed. He sinks down on the edge carefully, still a bit hesitant. You don’t blame him. It’s not like you’ve been the most welcoming of them. For good reason.

You need him right now. That need for safety and security far outweighs the conflicting emotions battling in your brain right now.

“Stay.” You say, the word tumbling out from your trembling lips.

“You’re sure?” He asks, his thumb still stroking your knuckles. You’re not sure if he even knows he’s doing it.

You nod, tugging him closer as you scoot over in bed. He lets you guide him, laying on top of the covers.

You try not to think about it too much.

It’s nice having him close. The shadows don’t seem quite as dark, the threats in them silent now that he’s here. He’ll keep you safe. He’ll protect you from the silent threats. That’s why you want him. That’s his role to play in all of this. They all have roles, they all have their places in the pack. They all have a part to play, not just for you but for each other.

They’ve been struggling.

They’re struggling because you’re struggling.

The silence is loud as you lay there listening to the hum of electricity. You’re not quite sure what to say, how to break the silence. What is there to say that you haven’t already conveyed by your silence? What is there to say beyond what you’ve conveyed in your anger? They all heard your outburst, they all know the source of your anger and what they did to cause it.

What’s left to say when you have nothing tying you together anymore except a claim and a half-broken bond? What is there to say when saying the wrong thing might fray that bond even more than it already has been?

“I’m sorry.” Kyle says, finally breaking the tense silence.

Of course he’d start with that.

You let out a huff, turning on your side to face away from him. “I know you all are. You don’t have to keep saying it.”

He lets out a sigh. He knows it. He’s not apologizing to you, for you. “Nothing can change what we did and we know that. We just...want you to know that we’ll do whatever it takes to help you and support you. We don’t want to push that boundary too far, but we’re all here if you need us.”

You let out a hum. You already know that too. That’s why Johnny came so willingly, that’s why he stayed. That’s why they all tiptoe around you and stare at you like you’re a wild animal that may strike at any moment.

Part of you wishes they wouldn’t.

Part of you wants to go back to the way things were. Part of you wants to pretend that everything is normal again, that you love them and they love you just as much. You want to go back to that comfortable, seamless flow of one around the other, the way they all moved in sync, aware of each other without even needing to look. You want to insert yourself into that flow again and let them guide you along with them. You want to trust them blindly again and know they’d catch you if you fall.

They proved they won’t though. They proved you can’t trust them to catch you. You’re on your own again, forced to catch yourself, forced to save yourself. You have to make that rope to catch yourself with.

Yet, a deeper part of you yearns for that connection. Your omega screams for it, for your alpha, for your pack. You want them back with you, you want the bonds to heal and to be stronger than they were before. You want them to do as they said and prove to you that they’ve changed, that they're putting you first.

The omega should be first. The omega should be the center. The omega should be the sun they gravitate towards, revolve around.

That’s what the book said. That book that’s sitting on your desk in the barracks. That book you read over and over, convincing yourself that it was true and they were a good pack like that book said.

They’re not.

We all make mistakes.

They’ve never had an omega before. How are they supposed to know how to have an omega in their pack if they’ve never had one before? None of them came from big packs. John is the only one who’s ever even dated an omega before. They’re just as new at this as you are.

You probably know more than them.

You spent years learning how to be an omega in a pack. You read the books and wrote the essays and did the research. You read that book.

Simon read that book too.

Yet he did nothing.

“Why did you want me?” Kyle asks softly, pulling you from your ruminations.

You turn your head to look at him, staring into those soft brown eyes. Brown eyes you’ve missed. Tears trail down your cheeks as you stare at him, wetting the paths of the ones that had slowed to a stop in your rumination.

Why did you want him and not Johnny?

Johnny was the one that came for you, that comforted you, that got you through your fever. Johnny was the one you asked to hold you, to give you that support you’ve been so desperately clawing for.

So why did you ask for Kyle?

You turn onto your back again so you’re laying side by side, your shoulder brushing his. He’s warm, and you just want to nuzzle into him and never let him go again.

Another tear slides down your face as you stare at him, at that concerned look on his face. “I need you to tell me it’s going to be okay.”

That concern morphs into understanding as he shifts slightly, reaching out for you. You let him, you let his thumb brush the tear sliding down your cheek away. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, just staring at you as you lay there in the warm light of the lamp. The shadows don’t seem so close now, so threatening with him here. The things that lay in the darkness waiting for you to sleep so they can seep into your mind and stir up the horrible memories lying there in wait are at bay for now, fought off just simply by his existence in this room.

His thumb continues to brush your cheek, your skin tingling along the path it follows. “It’s going to be okay.” He says softly, quietly.

You’re not sure if he’s convincing you of that or himself, or perhaps both. You don’t know what he’s feeling, what he’s been feeling. You’ve been ignoring him, pushing him away out of fear that if you looked too closely, you’d break down. That bond will never break between the two of you, held tight with steel simply because of that claim your alpha and his alpha has on the both of you. No matter how much you hate John, that bond can’t be broken. It can’t be cut. It can’t go away. It can’t be denied. Not completely.

A small smile tugs at Kyle’s lips, a reassuring smile. His words are stronger this time, spoken with more conviction and surety, like he’s speaking it into existence, manifesting it for the future when things perhaps can be different.

When things are better.

“It’s going to be okay.” He says, cupping your cheek, staring right into your eyes as he speaks. “We’re going to be okay.”

NEXT ->

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#call of duty #call of duty fic #poly 141 x reader #task force 141 x reader #tf 141 x reader #Johnny mactavish x reader #soap x reader #Kyle Garrick x reader #gaz x reader #John price x reader #captain price x reader #Simon Riley x reader #Ghost x reader #a/b/o #alpha/beta/omega #omegaverse

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gghostwriter · 9 months ago

Text

Have Your Cake

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: Spencer notices a change in you that he tries to address Trope: Comfort; Established relationship w.c: 1.8k Trigger warnings: tackles eating disorder and body dysmorphia a/n: this is a really hard topic I personally felt the need to write about (in a way to comfort myself.) Its very personal as I used my past eating disorder here so if its something you’re not comfortable with, please go skip ahead to another fic. Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated! 💗 masterlist

Spencer wrapped the front ends of his coat tighter on his slender body. It did little to no good fending off the cool seasonal air of an October night. His scuffled loafers squeaking from his shuffling feet.

The line at your favorite bakery was unsurprisingly long on a Tuesday evening. Every night, the shop sells their remaining pastries at a discount To lure innocent commuters, tired from a long day of pushing papers. He usually wasn’t one to give in to the notion of ‘treating yourself’—unless counting out his big spendings on first editions written in its original language.

He gave the cashier a slight smile before listing off his purchase, one slice of their decadent strawberry shortcake and another of their vanilla bean sponge cake—both your favorites. And both an integral part of his perfectly thought of scheme to solve a riddle.

Your mystery.

In simple layman’s terms, they were bribery of some sort.

“Thank you,” he muttered under his breath, side stepping his way out from the throng of customers holding their own trays of pastries and back into the cold October air.

He blamed himself for not noticing the change in patterns early on. His attention otherwise preoccupied by the trauma from his time in prison and the stares that vary from judgement to pity that come from officers outside of the BAU.

No longer was he the shining, new prodigy once hailed to be, now he was just damaged goods. His downfall from grace was an adjustment.

His mind was another matter, all together—could no longer detect subtle shifts in behavior as fast as he used to.

Yes, there was really no one else to blame but himself.

As his long strides covered the way home, the moon shining down on the empty streets, Spencer thought back to the moment when he finally noticed you eating less and less.

———

You pulled down the cuffs of Spencer’s Caltech sweater, leaving only the tips of your fingers peeking through. Everything about it made you self-conscious. How it drapes down your shoulders differently from before. How it wraps around your body, sending shivers down your spine. And how it leaves the lower half of your plush thighs exposed for anyone to see—anyone to judge.

You hated it.

You hated how hyper aware a single comment from a distant relative made you feel.

A voice from a distance called out your name causing you to look around the aisles of grocery and come face to face with an aunt, twice removed from your father’s side.

“It is you!” She leaned in to kiss your cheek. Her choice of perfume, a sickly sweet artificial scent of oranges, wafting on your nose.

It made you want to gag.

A fake smile donned your face. “Oh, hi Auntie. What a surprise to see you back in Virginia.”

“Oh, I just flew in for my husband’s sister’s birthday. You know how we are, always booked and busy with events,” she waved her hand, the ostentatious diamond ring on her finger catching the light. “I haven’t seen you since you graduated college. You look so different now—more and more like your mother.”

“Thanks, I always did look like her,” you awkwardly laughed.

Her eyes traveled down to your feet and back up again, a tight grin on her face. It made her look vicious, condescending, causing you to catch your breath as she uttered the words that would repeat in your head like a commercial slogan you can’t get away from.

“But you were much prettier when you were thinner—” her eyebrow raised, cataloguing the items in your cart. “Might want to cut down on the carbs a little bit, sweetie.”

She poked a wound inside of you that never seemed to fully heal.

You thought you were better, all those years of talking to your therapist and changing your relationship with food for the better made you believe those dark days were behind you. But those spitting phrases veiled as words of care from a family member amplified the doubts once buried in the recesses of your mind.

“I’ll keep that in mind. It was great seeing you, Auntie.”

The jiggling of keys brought you back to the present.

“Love, I’m home!”

You called back from the kitchen, finishing up plating tonight’s dinner—a fresh serving of Chicken Alfredo to share. “In here, Spence!”

With a saccharine smile on his tired but beautiful face, he wrapped his arms around your shoulder for a loving hug. His pillowy lips leaving trails of kisses from your temples, to your nose, to your cheeks, and finally landing on your awaiting lips.

You giggled at his antics. “I missed you today.”

“I missed you too,” another peck on the lips. “Dinner looks amazing. Thank you for cooking.”

“It’s no problem at all, you know how much I like to cook for you.”

He brought up a mystery package to showcase, eyes tracking every minuscule change on your face. “And I brought us some dessert! Your favorites from the bakery.”

The smile on your face threatened to drop. “That’s—that’s great!”

———

You felt Spencer’s eyes on you all throughout dinner. One of the disadvantages of dating a man who earns his living by understanding human behavior and its changes—triggers, as he would like to call it, is never having the leisure of keeping a secret.

He means well, you‘d like to believe so, but that didn’t change the fact he knew something was bothering you.

It made you feel like a riddle he wanted to solve. It made you want to scream and cry.

The only reprieve you could get was within the little confines of your shared bathroom, water beating down your back muffling the sobs that escaped from your tightly pressed lips.

Everything felt too much.

The devil voices in your head listing off the calories each spoonful contains. The mathematical equation of how long you’d need to exercise to lose every unnecessary bite eaten over dinner. And the facade of keeping everything together—everything perfect.

You picked off the sides of your nails, already raw and starting to bleed.

Maybe you shouldn’t eat breakfast and lunch tomorrow. Maybe you should walk the 15 minute commute from here to the office. It would take 30 minutes but that’s additional exerc—

“Love, is everything alright?” Spencer asked behind the locked bathroom door.

You turned, turning off the shower, before hurriedly toweling off the droplets all over your hair and body. “Yes, I’m—I’m almost done!”

Swiveling around the dry area, you realized you forgot to bring in a change of clothes beyond a clean pair of underwear.

You sighed to yourself as you wrapped the towel around your chest. Still feeling uncomfortable and oddly naked even then.

“Spence, there’s still some hot water left—are you okay?” You ask, having found him sitting on the edge of the bed with a distinct frown on his face.

He stood up. Hands on your waist, shuffling both your bodies closer to one corner of bedroom.“It’s just—you know how much I deeply care for you, right?”

You slowly answered. “Yes, of course. I deeply care for you too.”

“So I have to ask, are you alright? Really alright?”

“Wha—what do you mean? Of course, I am—I’m completely fine,” you vehemently denied. The lump on your throat making you sound hysterical, even in your ears. If you couldn’t fool yourself, what chances were there that Spencer was fooled—none.

“I’ve noticed you’ve been eating smaller portions lately and you didn’t even take a bite of the cakes I brought home. You’ve also been going to the gym daily, instead of your usual five times a week. And you’ve started wearing my clothes more—not that it’s a problem. I love seeing you in my clothes but you’ve started to prefer baggy silhouettes rather than your usuals. It’s like you’re hiding your body. Are you sure you’re alright? You can tell me anything, I won’t judge.”

It was the soft tone in his voice mixed with his doe, teary eyes that caused you to break under pressure. Your shoulders shook as sobs that you’ve kept bottled up rose to the surface. It was a wave of emotions that battered through your dam of facade.

“I hate how I look—I hate that I gained weight,” you cried out. “I hate how a relative pointed it out and how her words won’t leave my mind. I hate it, Spence. I loathe it all—the voices in my head whispering how I should keep track of every meal I eat in a notebook like I did before. Telling me to never go beyond a 800 calories per day, to workout two hours a day twice! It’s just—” you took a deep breath, vision blurring from tears. “—so exhausting and please, make it stop.”

Spencer hugged you tight to his chest, as if wanting to merge you two as one to take away all your pain and sorrow. Your hands creasing his white button down with a grip so tight.

For a second, it felt liberating to let it all out. But the fleeting emotion had passed, leaving you with only shame from your admittance.

“I’m so sorry you feel that way,” he detangled himself, enough to stare into your eyes. “Love, can I show you something?”

You nodded. He slowly turned you around, back against his chest, to face the full length mirror tucked in the corner. His eyes never leaving yours as his calloused fingers reached up to the tucked ends of the towel wrapped around your body. He tilted his head, asking for your permission to which you slowly nodded.

Your naked body was in full view. Your nails digging onto your palm as you catalogued every minuscule flaw there is—the additional flesh around your stomach and sides and your hips no longer as thin as they were before.

“Do you know what I see?” He softly asked.

You bit your lip before shutting your eyes close, unable to take what was right in front of you. “Me and how I gained weight?”

He placed a kiss on your temple. “No. I see a beautiful adult woman who has curves in all the right places—”

He laid a kiss on your cheek. “I see the love of my life in her full loving glory—”

He kissed the side of your neck. “I see my future wife who loves herself and all the changes that aging and our slowing metabolism entails—”

He placed one last kiss on your shoulder. “—I see you, and I love every piece of you. And I hope you love every part as much as I do.”

Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated!

#spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #spencer reid comfort #dr spencer reid #spencer reid #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds imagine

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doyoulikethissong-poll · 22 days ago

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Pink Floyd - Another Brick in the Wall (Part 2) 1979

"Another Brick in the Wall" is a three-part composition on Pink Floyd's 1979 rock opera album The Wall, written by the bassist, Roger Waters. They are essentially one verse each, although "Part 2" sees its own verse sung twice: once by Floyd members, and the second time by the guest choir along with Waters and Gilmour. During "Part 1", the protagonist, Pink, begins building a metaphorical wall around himself following the death of his father. In "Part 2", traumas involving his overprotective mother and abusive schoolteachers become bricks in the wall. Following a violent breakdown in "Part 3", Pink dismisses everyone he knows as "just bricks in the wall." Waters wrote "Part 2" as a protest against rigid schooling, particularly boarding schools. "Another Brick in the Wall" appears in the film based on the album. In the "Part 2" sequence, children enter a school and march in unison through a meat grinder, becoming putty-faced clones, before rioting and burning down the school. At the suggestion of the producer Bob Ezrin, Pink Floyd added elements of disco, which was popular at the time.

"Part 2" sold more than four million copies worldwide and topped singles charts in 14 countries, including the UK and the US. The song won Waters the 1983 British Academy Award for Best Original Song for its appearance in the Wall film. It was nominated for a Grammy Award and was ranked number 384 on Rolling Stone's list of "The 500 Greatest Songs of All Time". The single, as well as the album The Wall, were banned in South Africa in 1980 after it was adopted by supporters of a nationwide school boycott protesting instituted racial inequities in education under apartheid.

American alternative rock supergroup Class of '99's only known recordings were cover versions of "(Part 2)" and "(Part 1)", recorded in 1998 for the soundtrack to Robert Rodriguez's science-fiction horror film The Faculty. These recordings were Alice in Chains singer Layne Staley's final studio appearance prior to his death by drug overdose in April 2002. The rockband Blurred Vision released a cover of "(Part 2)" dubbed "Hey Ayatollah Leave Those Kids Alone". Filmmaker Babak Payami produced a music video, which quickly went viral on Youtube. The remake was also publicly endorsed by Roger Waters. In October 2022 in reaction to the Great wave of Iranian protests of Autumn 2022 Blurred Vision published an updated clip, featuring scenes from these protests with women taking off their obligatory headscarfs.

"Another Brick in the Wall (Part 2)" received a total of 90,6% yes votes!

youtube

#dylts #dylts poll #finished #high yes #low no #70s #o1 #o1 sweep #o1 ultrasweep #o234 #lo23 #lo24 #lo34 #lo2 #lo4 #pink floyd #english

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raekensluver · 8 months ago

Text

ᴅᴀʏ 𝟷𝟺 — ᴅᴇsᴘᴇʀᴀᴛɪᴏɴ

october 27th | fred weasley x fem!reader

contains: nsfw 18+, no use of y/n, fingering, begging, multiple orgasms, fred's a little out of character, porn without plot.

word count: 1.1k

kinktober masterlist | main masterlist

"fred, please," you gasped, your voice breathless and whiny. "i need you."

fred's eyes darkened with desire as he looked down at you, your body trembling beneath his touch. his hand trailed down your side, leaving a fiery path in its wake. "what do you need, love?" he murmured, his voice low and gruff.

you couldn't form coherent words, only whimpers and pleas. i need you to… make me cum," you finally managed, your cheeks flushing red with embarrassment and want.

fred's grin grew wolfish as he took in the sight of you. "you're so eager," he said, his eyes gleaming with mischief. he leaned down to kiss your neck, his teeth grazing your skin just hard enough to make you gasp. "what's got you so worked up?"

you arched into his touch, your nails digging into his back. "you," you moaned, your voice thick with need. "always you."

fred chuckled against your skin, his breath warm and tickling. he traced his lips along your collarbone, leaving a trail of kisses that made your heart race even faster. "you know i'll give you what you want," he whispered, his hand sliding up to cup your breast. his thumb flicked over your nipple, making you moan and squirm.

his other hand traveled down between your thighs, his fingers finding their way to your soaking wet entrance. he teased the sensitive skin around it, watching the way your eyes rolled back with every touch. "so wet," he murmured, his voice filled with satisfaction. "you really do want it, don't you?"

you nodded frantically, your hips bucking up to meet his hand. "yes," you whined, your voice barely above a whisper. "please, fred."

his fingers slid inside of you with ease, and you felt your muscles clench around them as if trying to hold on. your nails scraped down his back, leaving red marks as you bit your bottom lip to keep from screaming. "that's it," he encouraged, his own breathing growing heavier. "let me hear how much you want me."

you couldn't help the whines that escaped your throat, each one sounding more pitchy than the last. your hips rolled in time with his strokes, and you could feel your climax building, like a storm waiting to break. your eyes remained locked on his, the brown of his irises seemingly burning into yours as he watched your reactions with hungry intensity.

"more," you begged, your voice hoarse and needy. fred's grin grew wider as he added another finger, curling them inside you in a way that sent shockwaves of pleasure through your body. you felt yourself tighten around him, and he responded by pumping them in and out in a steady rhythm that had you on the edge.

his thumb found your clit and began to rub slow circles, his touch feather-light yet so intense it was almost painful. your hips bucked upwards, trying to get more friction, more everything. "right there," you whispered, your eyes squeezed shut in ecstasy. fred's chuckle was the only response, his movements never faltering, his fingers never leaving your most sensitive spots.

suddenly, you felt the pressure building, your orgasm rising like a tidal wave. "i'm gonna…" you moaned, your voice trailing off as you tried to hold onto the sensation. fred's grip on your hip tightened, his other hand squeezing your breast as he whispered, "let go, love. i've got you."

with a keening cry, you did. your body shuddered and arched off the bed, your muscles spasming around his fingers as wave after wave of pleasure crashed over you. fred didn't stop, his movements relentless, pushing you further into the abyss of pleasure until you were a trembling, boneless mess beneath him.

"please," you gasped, your voice a needy whine. "please, fred, i can't…" but you could, and you did. again and again, your orgasms rolling into one endless crescendo of ecstasy. his name was a chant on your lips, a prayer to the gods of desire that he never stop.

his fingers were relentless, driving into you, curling and stroking until you thought you would lose your mind. your nails dug into his shoulders, your legs wrapped tightly around his waist, trying to hold on to him as if he were a lifeline in a storm. your eyes squeezed shut, you felt the room spin, and all that existed was the heat of his body, the pressure of his touch.

"more," you begged, your voice barely audible, your throat raw from the constant stream of pleas. "please, fred, more." your desperation was palpable, a living entity in the room that seemed to feed off the tension coiled within you.

without a word, fred's fingers curled inside you, finding that spot that made your toes curl and your back arch off the bed. his thumb pressed harder on your clit, rubbing in slow, deliberate circles that had your entire body tightening like a coil ready to spring. "yes," you hissed, your eyes flying open to meet his, the pupils blown wide with pleasure. "right there," you whispered, your voice a pleading mantra.

his free hand slid up your body to cradle your face, his thumb brushing the wetness from your cheek. "you're so beautiful when you cum," he murmured, his voice filled with awe. "so fucking beautiful." his words were a gentle caress against the chaos of sensations overwhelming you.

you couldn't help but whimper at the praise, your chest heaving with the effort of breathing. your eyes searched his, looking for a sign that he was as lost in this as you were. his gaze was dark and intense, his pupils blown wide with need. "please," you begged, your voice hoarse from the screams you hadn't realized you'd been letting out.

fred leaned down, capturing your mouth in a bruising kiss, his tongue delving deep, mimicking the rhythm of his fingers inside you. you moaned into his mouth, your tongue dancing with his as you felt yourself building towards another peak. your hips rocked up to meet his hand, desperation fueling your movements.

his thumb moved faster on your clit, the pressure increasing until you felt yourself teetering on the edge of oblivion once more. you clutched at his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin, your breath coming in ragged gasps. "i'm close," you murmured against his lips, your voice barely recognizable.

his response was to plunge his fingers deeper, his thumb never ceasing its merciless onslaught. your muscles tightened around him, your body coiling tighter and tighter until suddenly, you shattered. your back bowed off the bed and your legs spasmed as you broke apart from him. the orgasm was a white-hot burst of pleasure that seemed to go on forever, consuming every inch of you, leaving you boneless and trembling.

when the waves of pleasure finally subsided, you lay there, panting and weak, your eyes half-closed and your body slack. fred's hand was still between your legs, his fingers gently stroking your sensitive flesh, his thumb resting lightly on your clit, sending little aftershocks of pleasure through you. he kissed you deeply, his tongue dancing with yours, his breath mingling with your own.

kintober taglist: @multi-fandom-imagine, @imamexican, @majaduzejaja, @moony-artemis, @emma-e-a, @agoodgirlsguidetomakingmencry @indigoangel77, @froyofreya, @weirdothatwritess @dale-kobbles-wife @mattheoriddles-slutt @aduh0308

#fred weasley #fred weasley smut #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x fem!reader #fred weasley x female reader #fred weasley x you #james phelps #james phelps smut #mara's kinktober '24

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theteablogger · 4 months ago

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You may have already noted this, but Andy's claims on twitter about being able to understand what his sparrow is saying (and thus sparrow language in general) seem to be ramping up in unbelievability- apparently yesterday the bird was able to communicate that it didn't want its conversation with other sparrows recorded and shared. Andy makes mention of several of his followers who have apparently been having FaceTime calls with the bird. There's at least 5-6 of Andy's followers who consistently comment on the bird updates and show no credulity, expressing how much they want to be able to communicate with the bird like Andy does. It's probably not the biggest deal, but the whole thing has just been giving me an odd vibe. Feels like Andy once again making friends/followers by demonstrating abilities and knowledge no one else has.

Yes, his allegedly deep connection with sparrows has been getting weird for quite a while. He says he can understand some of their language, enough to relay things that the flock outside his house is talking about and things that Nuggie communicates to him. On top of that, Andy has written about things like Nuggie watching movies and musicals and following every emotional beat, to the point of showing the characters his malformed feet to offer encouragement when they're lacking confidence. Andy is anthropomorphizing the hell out of that little bird. Meanwhile, his followers praise him for knowing sparrows better than ornithologists do.

I've lived with a parrot before, for many years, and I bonded very closely with him. I agree that birds are much smarter and more emotionally complex than most people realize. But they're not humans. Their thoughts and feelings are not exactly like ours and we have no way to know exactly what's going on in their heads. Projecting onto them can lead to misunderstandings of their behavior and needs. Andy seems to be taking good care of Nuggie, from what I can tell--bearing in mind that we only have his word for it--but that doesn't mean he's right about everything.

Here's the thread you mentioned:

Here's Andy in November, writing about Nuggie's "phone flock":

Here's a thread from October, featuring Andy's musings on sparrow language. Friendly reminder that he is neither an ornithologist nor a linguist.

Note that at the end, he specifies that he's not Dr. Doolittle and doesn't speak or 100% understand sparrows' language...but he's still claiming a level of understanding that no one else has.

And here's Andy in August, wishing that he could communicate effectively with Nuggie and then having an actual conversation with him:

Those are some awfully complex ideas for a member of a non-human species to understand and respond to appropriately.

I'm not trying to suggest that Andy is forming another cult based around his bird, but like you said, Anon, it's notable that he is once again positioning himself as someone who has a special ability that no one else has. He's also repeating an old pattern in making himself the sole conduit to communicate with someone who holds a great deal of emotional significance for people. Back in the day, it was any of 160+ "others", and later, the DAYDverse/Harry Potter characters; now, it's a rescued sparrow with a disability, whom a lot of people apparently find inspiring.

#craftycatdad #andythanfiction #thanfiction #andrew blake #andy blake #the bird whisperer

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withleeknow · 8 months ago

Text

october 23rd.

pairing: minho x reader genre/warnings: established relationship, fluff, slice of life; one ass grab, unedited bc i am a danger to society word count: 1k note: i whipped this up pretty spontaneously and i actually kinda loathe it lol but i still wanted to post smth bc it’s my anniversary of joining the fandom 🥺 also a little early bday post for mimo. the bunny in question is leebit but i couldn’t drop any names bc this is not idol specific lol. anywhomst happy jen(o)versary

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

navigation / masterlist / ko-fi

Minho comes into your shared apartment, shrugging off his coat and taking off his shoes with minimal noise. It’s not that late — just a quarter past midnight — and you’re not a light sleeper by any means, but still.

He had told you not to wait up for him, that his work dinner might end late and he knew you had a long day. Minho patters on socked feet further into your home, expecting you to be in bed already sleeping, surrounded by your loyal trio of cats, and yet, it’s not the bedroom where he finds you.

Yes, you’re sleeping, but you’re on the couch, in front of the TV with Netflix’s question “Are you still watching?” written over a paused scene of the K-drama you’re both currently obsessed with. There’s a stuffed bunny in your arms, held tightly against your chest like it’s your most prized possession. Looks like you’ve been napping for a while now.

The white bunny is dressed in a navy hoodie, his eyes full of mischief that’s only emphasized by a toothy smile that he sports. It’s the plushie that Minho got for you during your vacation trip to Osaka last year, when you happened to spot the little fur ball in the window of a toy store and said it looked like your boyfriend. It’s become a great companion for you ever since you brought it home, something for you to hold onto whenever you miss your love.

Minho is a little surprised. You don’t usually force yourself to stay up for you, especially when you’re tired.

He doesn’t disturb you right away though. Instead, he heads toward the bathroom to change and freshen up for bed. You would probably kill him if he touched you in his outside clothes anyway.

When he returns some fifteen minutes later, he switches off the TV, tugs the bunny by its ears to free it from your embrace and chucks the thing haphazardly to the carpeted floor. It’s your prized possession, not his. Besides, you don’t need your little replacement Minho anymore now that he’s home.

When he scoops you in his arms, you stir awake, adorably confused as he carries you to the bedroom.

“Where’s my bunny?” Half a question, half a yawn.

“Hello to you too,” he mutters, laying you under the covers with narrowed eyes though he still leans in to press a greeting peck to the corner of your mouth. “I guess I don’t even matter as much as your little toy. Not even a ‘How are you?’”

“Okay, love of my entire life.” You roll your eyes with affection, pulling him down to kiss him properly. You can still taste it, the white wine that he must’ve had all night. “How are you? How was the dinner, big baby?”

“Boring. Unbearable. Should’ve just stayed home with you,” Minho laments, crawling into the space next to you, settling into your arms as you hug him close. This is what you should be doing all the time. With him, not some lame rabbit. “Why did you wait up? I told you you didn’t have to.”

You card your fingers through his soft hair, playing with the strands that curl at the nape of his neck. “Our anniversary’s tomorrow. Or I guess it’s today already. Just wanted to see you before the morning.”

“Would it make a difference?”

“I don’t know. I just wanted to see you.”

Your boyfriend detaches from you for a second to hold himself up on one elbow. He just stares at you for a brief moment, makes you blush under the scrutiny of his gaze. His big eyes, usually keen and sharp, always soften to a dizzying degree when they look at you.

Then Minho is leaning close to slant his mouth over yours again. “You’re cheesy today,” he comments, his tender smile still pressed against your lips. "Happy anniversary."

You only hum in response. One of his hands slides down your body to rest on your ass, giving it a little affectionate squeeze, the moment still entirely innocent despite his sneaky fingers.

You kiss for a while, lazily moving together in tandem, gentle hands holding onto the other person like a lifeline. In a way, you suppose you are. You’re each other’s lifelines, each other’s lighthouses.

When you pull away, it’s to let out a yawn that you can’t hold in anymore. “Happy anniversary”, you finally say back, sleepily. “Can you go get my bunny now? Did you leave him on the floor again?”

Minho rolls his eyes, yet it’s playful and completely endeared. “Your bunny again. That thing is on the floor where it belongs. You replaced me. Didn’t you use to call me your bunny?”

“Don’t do that to him,” you scold softly. “He’s our son. Have you seen the resemblance? You look like you literally birthed him.”

“Oh my god, why would you compare me to that thing like that?” Before you know it, Minho’s rolling over, resting half of his body on top of yours like a weighted blanket to pin you down, to get you complacent before you nag him any further about a toy bunny that he only sometimes gets jealous of. “You’re delirious. Please go to sleep.”

The next morning, you wake up to an empty bed, the warmth that you usually feel beside you gradually waning by the second. Minho’s gone, but greeting you in his place is a white bunny with a mischievous smile and a twinkle in his big eyes — truly a perfect replica of the man. The same bunny that he always makes a show of hating so much.

The sun is out to play, hanging high up in the sky, slithering through the cracks between the curtains to caress your hair. It feels like it’s gonna be a beautiful day; you’ve got your bunny, the sun, and if you focus hard enough, you’ll hear the sounds of pots and pans out there in the kitchen, Minho’s soft voice humming a tune you’re too familiar with, and the smell of fresh coffee and pancakes wafting all around.

#stray kids fic #stray kids imagines #stray kids x reader #skz fic #skz imagines #skz x reader #skz x you #lee know fluff #lee know scenarios #lee know x reader #lee know imagines #lee know x you #lee minho x reader #lee minho x you #stray kids #lee know #lee minho

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tiramisuc0ffee · 11 months ago

Text

The Ghost of You.

☆~~~~☆~~~~☆

pairing: Gojo Satoru x f!reader

Summary: Mechmaru manages to succeed in informing the higher-ups of Jujutsu Tech about the patchwork curse's plan to seal the strongest sorcerer, Gojo Satoru. With this, the higher-ups begin formulating a plan on how to secure their victory and take advantage of the information bestowed onto them. However, one thing Gojo could not have thought to be suggested was, you, who supposedly died over a decade ago.

warnings/tags: Takes place before the Shibuya incident arc. Brief mention of events that took place in JJK0. Mentions of death. There is angst but also fluff! Soft sex, Satoru really loves you :(( Friends to lovers(?) SMUT. MDNI.

word count: 10k+ (I NEED HELP)

Bonus Prequels: i. Warm Afternoons ii. Cold Nights

☆~~~~☆~~~~☆

"A sorcerer that's able to amplify the cursed techniques of others? Something like that is possible?"

Itadori Yuji's eyebrows furrowed as he voiced his question, contemplating the words that Principal Yaga had just spoken to the assembled group of Jujutsu students and sorcerers.

The atmosphere in the meeting room was tense and undeniably suffocating. It had been a matter of hours since Mechumaru's warning had been delivered. A plan to seal away the strongest sorcerer, Gojo Satoru, into the prison realm, and to bring complete and utter chaos to Shibuya and its civilians on October 31st.

Those gathered in the room were fully aware of how crucial this advantage was and how important it was to utilize it. However, there was also a mutual understanding that the perpetrators had to be aware of their own disadvantage, and would have to find some way to compensate for their slip up.

This brought an endless amount of "what ifs" into question.

"Yes. Someone like that exists with such a technique. The ability to not only limitlessly amplify their own raw cursed energy but to amplify the cursed energy and the techniques used by anyone they come into contact with" Yaga responds to Itadori's question.

"What if we just simply don't send Gojo-Sensei into Shibuya?" Itadori then says with such carelessness, as if it's the most obvious answer in the world. "If that person can amplify their energy limitlessly, don't we basically have our own super soldier who can overpower anyone alone?"

It is then Megumi who cuts in with a calm rebuttal, his eyes narrowing slightly. "It's not about having unlimited cursed energy, Itadori. There are inherent limitations to such abilities. Even for someone who can amplify cursed energy, there's a threshold to how much they can sustain. Using cursed energy at such heightened levels consecutively poses significant risks and exacts a toll on the user."

Yaga sends a slight nod in Megumi's direction, confirming the information he shared with Itadori. "It is also unlikely our perpetrators will reveal themselves unless Satoru is present. Rushing in prematurely not only risks escalating the danger but also endangers innocent civilians, who could become casualties as a means to negotiate Satoru's presence."

A beat of silence fills the air.

"We, however, are getting ahead of ourselves," Yaga then continued, redirecting the focus "We have yet to establish contact with this sorcerer".

Gojo had been uncharacteristically silent amidst this discussion despite it heavily revolving around him. Between the relentless back and forth of his peers and students who each were chiming in with their own individual questions, wonders, and suggestions - he sat in his chair, arms crossed, leaned back, and sporting an expression that no one other than Shoko Ieiri could understand.

Her tired eyes fell onto the snow-haired man, noticing his stiffness and unusual quietness. She too understood where this conversation was headed and what words were about to be announced.

"Some of you already know who I am talking about. Yes. (L/N), (Y/N). A past student here at Jujutsu Tech, who was once presumed dead, has been rumored to be alive," Yaga finally discloses, his tone laced with a certain firmness. "And over the course of several years, we have finally managed to narrow down her general whereabouts".

Satoru felt his jaw clench ever so slightly. Shoko notices.

"If we wish to minimize casualties and maximize our strength- It is crucial that we locate her and attempt to persuade her to join our cause" Yaga continues with determination.

Chatter began to fill the room as Yaga took a momentary pause, his gaze shifting onto Satoru as if to gauge his reaction. The topic at hand brought forth several mixed reactions. Rumors in the form of hushed words floated around the room, some true some false as some even questioned who you were and how you met your demise.

But all Satoru could hear was your name. Repeated. Over and over.

...You... were alive...

"However," Yaga broke the silence once more, his voice cutting through the room and his gaze remaining on the blindfolded man, "we can't just send anyone to convince her. We suspect there is a veil with special conditions where she resides."

Satoru's teeth grits and his fingers dig into his sleeves ever so slightly.

"Only Special Graded Sorcerers can enter and leave the veil as they please. Though, this won't affect the plan I originally wanted to propose."

"There is only one person we can send in after her."

"Satoru."

---

It was a tranquil scene. A vast expanse of green and rolling hills for the eye to see. An empty clearing surrounded by trees. The grass swayed gently with the wind, creating this ocean-like rhythm to it. Leaves danced through the air, being carried along effortlessly and brushing past Satoru's figure.

And of course, at the utmost center, a pitch-black dome stood in contrast to its surroundings. A veil.

This was the alleged location of where you resided.

The meeting concluded with Yaga requesting that everyone but him and Satoru leave the room. As individuals shuffled towards the exit, Satoru's gaze met Shoko's briefly as she sent a small sympathetic nod in his direction. She knew better than to try and console him or give him a mess of strung-together comforting words.

His lips thinned in response, not giving any further acknowledgment to her gesture. They both knew he wasn't one to show his underlying emotions to anyone.

However, he found it surprisingly difficult to suppress his personal feelings as Yaga disclosed your potential coordinates to him. Normally, he was able to compartmentalize these sorts of things in his brain without worry. Dethatching his emotions from the work he had to do because, at the end of the day, these were the things that simply needed to be done.

"I understand how you may feel, Satoru. But I know you understand the importance of her recruitment and why you have to be the one that goes after her"

It just had to be done. There was no negotiating that.

He allowed a faux wide smile to take over his features as his eyes stared at Yaga through his blindfold.

"Leave it to me."

But deep down, he wasn't all that shocked that he had been bothered by all of this.

This was you we were talking about after all.

Satoru couldn't help but chuckle to himself quietly, he thought about how this is exactly the kind of location a sorcerer such as yourself would choose to hide. For a moment he wondered what took Yaga and the others so long to narrow down your whereabouts.

But a frown tugged at his lips. It's not like he was any better.

He began to walk towards the center of the clearing, heading straight towards the veil before him, his footsteps being muffled by the soft grass underfoot.

Everything up until this point had just been speculation. Right now everything was nothing more than mere rumors. Whispered theories. Red strings on a corkboard. There hadn't been any concrete evidence, no sightings in public, no security footage, no candid photographs that proved you still existed in today's society.

But as he approached the outer rim of the veil, his eyes boring into the deep pool of black- It dawned on him.

He picked up the lingering traces of cursed energy.

And without another thought, he walks through the veil with ease.

---

"You're wasting your time on training? Come watch a movie with me, I haven't seen you all dayyyyy!!"

Satoru's whiney voice echoed throughout the open space of the gym from the moment he entered and spotted your figure. Your back is turned to him as you swing at a punching bag in front of you.

It was both of your second year at Jujutsu High. And as per usual, Satoru was putting all his energy into annoying you rather than into anything productive. Despite your irritation, there was no mistaking the undeniable bond that you and he shared. You and Satoru were attached at the hip. Wherever you were, Satoru was there. And wherever Satoru was, you were right there at his side rolling your eyes at something he said.

He kept his gaze on your form, watching as you paused briefly before sending him a sour look. He let out a small snicker in response as he couldn't help but find your annoyance amusing.

"Yes, Satoru. I am training. Some of us take pride in putting in the hard work." You say with a pointed voice before continuing to throw punches, practically sensing the shit-eating grin that had been developing across his face.

He purses his lips, he didn't necessarily disagree with your mindset per se, but he always found it humorous to get a small rise out of you- that and he would rather die than ever utter the words "I agree" to you. You'd never let him live it down.

"Like you need to do that," He says with a careless shrug. "You're strong as is." He beams in your direction as he starts walking towards you, getting close enough to be able to watch as your face contorts into one of confusion before giving your shoulders a gentle roll. You continue to throw punches.

He huffs when he doesn't get a single word out of you, his smile only faltering for half a second when he finally gets close enough to you. He carefully studied your expression. The way you were so focused and determined, the way your eyes held that look of concentration whenever you were focused and putting your mind to something, he loved it. Even though he thought that you'd always been a bit of a pushover, he couldn't deny your dedication was admirable.

"Can you back up, you're in my space." you then say, more of a demand than an ask as you recognized how close he was getting to you.

He ignores your quip, not moving an inch, "C'mon short-stack, people like us don't have to worry about tedious things such as training." He said in turn, sending a knowing look your way. You knew that he believed what he was saying too, which was irritating. He fully knew the strength behind both yours and his techniques. The baseline of power for the two of you was lightyears ahead of many measly sorcerers.

"You're so full of yourself" You scoffed, pausing once more, letting your arms drop to your sides and finally turning to face him fully. "All you do is go on about how you're the strongest. Now please, back up Satoru," you said with a harsh glare before poking his chest with your pointer finger.

He didn't move an inch, infinity not even needed for him to continue to stand tall above you, his grin stretching out to a full-on smile.

You didn't know it, but he had just won. At least, he felt like he did.

He's gotten your full attention.

"Ooh, I like it when you get all snappy and bossy, it’s a good look on you." He looks down at you with smugness as his glasses slip down the bridge of his nose ever so slightly revealing those deep blues of his "And so what if I'm cocky? You act like I can't back it up." he said, getting in your face, grin continuing to grow.

You shot him a look of disgust, letting out a fake gag. "You're so cringy when you try to act cool to me," you said to him, letting your face continue to distort with pseudo-nausea.

He feels his heart drop to his stomach before he lets out an exasperated cry. "What do you mean cringy??", he says incredulously as his smug demeanor washes away and his ego takes a small blow.

His expression has you laughing, and he watches on as your head swings down and you drift away from his gaze, clearly showing your annoyance has melted.

The same could have been said for his heart.

He then watched as you let out a soft sigh before undoing the bandages you've wrapped around your knuckles slowly. You lift your head once more and turn to face him before gently nudging his side.

"You're insufferable... So what are we doing?" you say, flashing him the smallest of smiles, finally giving in to the request that he gave when he first entered the gym.

He let out a small cheer as you'd relent, momentarily swinging his arm around your shoulders and then grimacing when realizing you were sweaty. He'd make some sort of a remark which in turn earned him a firm punch to his arm.

He laughed watching your cheeks heat with embarrassment before whisking you away to get caught up in whatever nonsense his mind concocted for the day.

Satoru had a soft spot for you. Anyone with a brain could understand that if they had ever seen you two together.

There had always been a loneliness he shouldered in life, one that was a side effect of being the strongest. It was... a weird sort of isolation. Being above everyone else. Watching below as everyone fought to reach the summit. But- not ever stopping to realize the sharpness of the cold air and deafening silence that accompanied it.

It was loneliness that only the strongest could have understood.

A loneliness that you and Suguru understood.

You all shared some level of a similar burden, understanding how many people depended on you each waking day. The roles in which you all played, often being on the frontlines and confronting the possibility of the erasure of mankind every day. It was a pressure no one else could truly and utterly comprehend and face.

However, things were just a little more different with you.

While his friendship with Suguru provided great understanding, respect, admiration, and care-

What the two of you had always felt as if it ran so much deeper than that. There was what he considered to be a frightening amount of vulnerability that came with your connection.

A mix of private conversations. Unspoken words. Gentle touches. Knowing looks... Tears that he would normally never let anyone see.

There was love.

A love that surpassed the means of friendship.

It was unspoken of course. And he constantly used to wonder if it was mutually understood. As if you two knew what you meant to each other without having to say it. That each action, each second spent together, every vulnerable moment served as a confirmation of the ways you two depended on each other.

But after the death of the Star Plasma Vessel and soon the betrayal and departure of Suguru. You began to slowly fade away. It wasn't evident at first. Not at all. His mind was far too deep in sorrow and mourning to the point of being desensitized.

But, gradually, Satoru noticed how your face, your voice, your whispered conversations, gentle touches, knowing looks, all those things that were once a constant... slowly started to disappear from his life.

And then the announcement of your death came.

After being sent out on your own for a mission to defeat a First Grade curse, you never returned.

You were overpowered. Killed and eaten. There were very few remains that were recovered. Only your cursed weapon shattered, and tears of your uniform were found. Not even a trace of a corpse, even when the curse had been exorcised.

That was what he was told.

He didn't believe it at first. How could you have lost? To something he knew you were levels above? He spent days, texting your number only to get no answers, calling to be sent straight to voicemail. Returning to that damn worn down office building where you supposedly died, searching each floor, calling your name.

At least with Suguru, he knew exactly what happened. Even if it was by his hand.

But there was never any ease, never any reassurance when it came to what happened to you. Somehow the factor of that unknown and not bearing witness made it harder for him to comprehend it all.

It was a newfound revelation that shattered something within him that day.

He was alone. Truly and utterly alone once again.

And the summit felt as if it started to freeze over him.

---

A quaint house stood tall and nestled amidst the center of the veil, a single-story abode framed by a winding path that beckoned him forward. As Satoru approached, his gaze wandered over the meticulously tended garden, rows of vibrant vegetables somehow thriving within the sealed-off area. Each step along the gravel path stirred soft crunches of pebbles, a rhythmic accompaniment to his thoughts.

He ascended the weathered steps leading to a porch, their edges softened by what seemed like years of use. The wooden planks creaked subtly under his weight as his eyes traced the length of the porch. Potted plants brimmed with colorful blooms, their fragrance mingling with the earthy scent of the garden.

Reaching the front door, he paused briefly, hand hovering over the worn brass knob before he grasped it firmly and turned. The latch clicked softly as the door swung open and a hint of surprise sparks within him as he registers that the door was not locked.

His eyes peer into the home only for a mere couple of seconds. The interior is dim, but he can make out several pieces of furniture, decor, and appliances.

It was clear that this house was actively lived in.

However, his mind doesn't give him the room or time to even try and analyze or more so criticize the decor anymore as his eyes quickly take note of two things.

A cup of coffee steaming on the countertop near the kitchen.

And the back door is ever so slightly ajar.

Whoever lived here- was here recently.

Satoru's focus is all but shattered when the loud, whiny, sound of creaking wood fills his ears and immediately his head snaps in the direction of where the noise had come from. Now leaning away from the front door and letting the hand that once grasped the doorknob fall to his side, his eyes settle onto the only other structure in the vicinity.

A barn.

He pursed his lips, his brain processing the information and the infinite amount of possibilities at a million miles per second. It humored him that whoever this was had essentially cornered themselves and did nothing but give away their element of surprise by carelessly making such a racket.

His eyes then narrowed, and his feet carried him towards the wooden structure.

But given the conditions of the veil and the possibility that this could be you. Clearly whoever or whatever this was, was skilled and the noise made was nothing but bait. And by entering the barn, he would essentially be walking into the palm of their hand.

A smile stretched across his lips. That didn't matter though. As if anyone could lay a finger on him.

He nudges the barn door open with his foot with little to no care, the door replicating that same creak he had heard earlier. The vacant space was pitch black, only now the faintest bit of light leaking through from the now opened barn door.

Without an ounce of hesitation, he entered.

His eyes scan across the room meticulously, trailing up the wooden pillars that were lined and spaced incrementally inside the vast space. His eyes shift along the high beams and a smirk takes over his lips as he registers the faint feeling of cursed energy.

Bingo.

"I know you're in here." He said in a sugary sweet voice, his movements slow as he picked up a pebble amongst the dirt and debris that was scattered across the wooden flooring He fiddled with it between his long digits, the pads of his fingers smoothing along the rugged edges.

"If you show yourself now, I promise to play nic-"

Squeeeee

Another creak breaks the silence and not missing a single beat his eyes snap in its direction, charging the stone with cursed energy before throttling it at the source of the sound. The stone zips through the air, cutting through the air at such an intense velocity that upon making an impact with the roof of the barn- the wood relents, breaking under the sheer force, causing a gentle stream of light to now beam through the hole he created.

The barn falls into silence once more.

He sighs, raising an eyebrow. "Dead already?" he wondered out loud, a cocky laugh escaping his throat as he intently eyes the area surrounding the "mark" he's left on the infrastructure, admiring his handy work.

He is completely prepared for what happens next.

A shadowy figure zips through the air, and his eyes catch the glint of metal that reflects in the light as the attacker dives straight toward him holding some form of cursed weapon.

Satoru raises a brow expectantly, his grin remaining on his lips as he merely steps out of the way as the figure collides with the ground below, the sound of wood breaking filling the air for a second time as the blade embeds itself through the floorboards.

His eyes observed the figure cautiously, watching as it slowly rose to its feet, not bothering to fetch the weapon that was now a good foot into the ground. He smiles smugly as the figure slowly steps into the light.

"That would've worked- if it wasn't me" he quipped with a carefree laugh.

"You're just as pompous as I remembered"

It was one of those rare occasions where Satoru finds himself at a loss for words. His features are completely wiped of any smirk or cockiness and his brain all but freezes, cutting off any further taunting remarks that otherwise would have slipped off his tongue effortlessly.

It was you.

He'd be stupid to not recognize that voice from miles and miles away. It was you. Standing right before him, dawning nothing more than a pair of sweats and a tee. You had grown. You had changed. No longer sporting the same hairstyle you did back in your Second year or standing with that little bit of awkwardness that you seemed to carry with you naturally at the time. There was a new sense of confidence that you now carried with you, self-assured.

He found his footing, forcing a smile onto his lips.

"Had to keep things familiar for you, otherwise how would you recognize me?"

You let out a scoff and a wave of nostalgia washed over his senses as he watched your face- which was now fully in view- soften as you gave him a gentle smile.

But as he stared at your face he realized something was bubbling beneath his demeanor.

Anger. Hurt. Betrayal. Confusion.

No longer were there rumors, theories, or flimsy, stupid red strings.

You were alive. You were here.

And you had lied to him.

Insults started to bubble in his throat as his collected demeanor began to wash away.

The things he wanted to spit in your direction. How cowardly you were to run away in the manner that you did. Scream at you for abandoning him. Ask you, demand you, for an explanation for how you could have left him with such ease. How could you do that to him? He was counting on you. He thought you understood each other, ready to shoulder the burden of loneliness and strength together.

How could you let him brace the cold and deafening silence on his own?

"Satoru... it's nice to see you again"

And just like that it all melted away. As if the sound of your voice saying his name had been some Pavlovian experiment, he finds himself wrapping his arms around you and pulling you towards his chest.

Those emotions could be put on hold for now he thought to himself as pure relief washed over his being. He held you with such an intensity that a part of him now wondered if this was a dream that he soon would wake from. And he waited for the moment you would slip away from his arms once more and for him to find himself stirring from the depths of slumber, alone in his bed.

It was then he felt your arms wrap around his torso and his bottom lip began to quiver before he clenched his jaw, biting down on his lip, grinding his teeth into the flesh ever so slightly just to still himself. He battled with himself internally, trying to find his composure, hoping that he would come up with something, anything to say. Just one more cocky remark to allow the mask to slip back on. Anything to just prevent all these suppressed emotions from spilling out messily.

But old habits die hard. And the simple comfort that came from being at your side once more was just far too overwhelming. A tear slips from his eye, as he buries his face into the soft strands of your hair.

Just for a moment... the summit began to feel warmer and the sound of gentle conversation began to float through the air.

---

"Well, I'm assuming you're not here for a quick check-in..."

The soft whistle of a kettle fills the air as you speak, the clattering of ceramics soon follows as you reach for two mugs that had been stored in your cupboard.

Satoru is watching you intently, taking in your every move, holding onto every word you speak.

He can tell you're purposefully avoiding his gaze.

The two of you had stayed in the barn for several minutes, holding onto each other in silence. You had wanted to say something but when the faintest sob left Satoru's lips, you knew better than to say anything more.

As you felt him begin to still and his breathing becoming slightly less ragged, you invited him back into your home, a place that would be more suited for the two of you to chat.

Upon entering, you let out a soft whine, complaining for a moment that your coffee had now gone cold and you would have to make a new one. You sent him a soft smile before offering him a drink as you headed into your kitchen space.

The air was uncomfortably stiff from that point on, several beats of silence filling the air as he felt his discomfort grow. This was incredibly awkward. Of course, it was... as if the circumstances surrounding the two of you were normal in the slightest.

He let your words hang in the air for a moment as he sat silently in thought, his eyes wandering around this place that you called home. He took note of the several knick-knacks that decorated the place, his eyes landed on a guitar that hung on the wall and then a wooden trinket that sat on top of the fireplace that appeared to be home-made and he mused at the thought of you taking up carpentry and music in your free time.

He's broken from his thoughts as he sees you lean down in front of him, gently placing a mug for him on the coffee table, raising your brow expectantly, waiting for some sort of acknowledgment to your words from earlier.

He curtly sent you a nod of gratitude, leaning up from the plush couch he had situated himself on, fingers wrapping around the handle of the mug, bringing it to his lips. He took a sip of the coffee, and the taste of cream and sugar immediately coated his tongue. He felt his heartstrings tug as he realized you still remembered how he liked his coffee.

He fought off a smile, knowing that now wasn't the time for fondness.

He watches as you take a seat on a chair that sits on the opposing side of the coffee table and he sighs before speaking,

"To put it simply, you are needed back at Jujutsu Tech."

"...Why?"

Your response is immediate, without any trace of hesitation. He looks at your expression, your eyebrows slightly furrowed and a frown tugging at the corners of your lips. And for the first time in a long while, a hint of nervousness sparks within his gut.

Convincing you was not going to be as easy as he thought it would have been.

"War is on the horizon... A group of cursed spirits are planning some sort of attack in Shibuya... and I am the main target. Yaga was the one who suggested that we find you. He had a team searching for you over the past decade... since you..." His voice trailed off, and you shifted your gaze away from his. A thick blanket of silence filled the room once again. He takes another sip of coffee, and he notices how his foot begins to tap restlessly.

"...They believe that if you are present, our chances of securing a causality-free victory is more likely" he continues, regaining his composure and dancing around the elephant in the room with such carelessness. "There will be several special-grade curses present, so we are preparing for the absolute worst..." Satoru says as he continues to watch you closely, trying to gauge your reaction. Your eyes were now screwed shut, your free hand, rubbing circles into the temple of your head as if you had a migraine. Your silence was more than unnerving.

"I can't, Satoru."

Your words are curt, you provide no further explanation, no reasoning. He frowns deeply, 'You can't?' What was that supposed to mean? Were you unable to use your cursed technique anymore? That couldn't be true- he could still see and sense the intense amount of cursed energy that radiated from your being. You were more than capable. So what the hell did you mean?

"...I left that lifestyle behind me years ago... you know this"

In his mind, he had pictured you running back into his arms as soon as he saw you. He pictured tears and an apology- A promise that you would never leave again as you held onto him tightly. Promises that you would return to his side without a second thought.

But this hesitation. This unwillingness. He felt so stupid upon being faced with it, his ego took a blow, his heart tearing a little bit as he began to question the foundation of the dynamic he had with you. Wondering if he truly wasn't enough of a reason for you to return to the way things were. But at the same token, he knew you and your stubbornness, the ways you stood your ground when making a decision, and your dedication to commit to them without faltering.

And there it was, in your words, the acknowledgment of your decisions. Confirmation of your actions being given as guilt rooted deeply into each word you spoke and swirling around in your eyes as you still refused to meet his gaze.

"Why did you do it?" he then dares to ask, the tone in Satoru's voice was unreadable, it almost didn't sound like him, the words coming out as a whisper yet carrying such a heavy weight with every syllable that rolled off his tongue.

This conversation was inevitable, you knew this. Even if you were trying to steer away from this topic, you knew that from the moment you saw him enter the veil, it would wound up here in one way or another.

But you didn't want to face this reality, "I don't understand what you're saying" you then say, stupidly letting out such a poorly constructed lie. Your eyes flickered to his face for a mere second and the furrow of his eyebrows told you just how much he didn't like that answer.

"Fuck don't make me say it," he muttered between gritted teeth, "Why did you fake your death? Why did you disappear without a trace?" his voice was slightly raised but still firm and contained. He could feel his grasp on his emotions slipping quickly as his grip on the mug tightened, his foot tapping much faster than it had been originally.

A subtle tinge of pain ached within his being as he finally directly acknowledged your deceit. As if beforehand your actions had been nothing more than meaningless flimsy words, his words spoke the truth into existence, forcing him to face it directly and fully. This was no longer a weight on his mind but a hard-hitting reality that he now had to navigate.

You give him a humorless laugh, a small smile that doesn't even begin to meet your eyes, "Do you really think the higher-ups would allow something like that? For a Special Grade Sorcerer that was tied so closely to you, the beholder of the Six Eyes and Limitless Technique to just step down and walk away?"

"That's not what I mean- " Satoru interjects, his eyes narrowing beneath his blindfold, "How could you? How could you just walk away from it all like everything that happened was nothing to you?". There was a bitterness in his voice that he did not attempt to conceal, his words cutting deep, outright challenging every aspect of your motives.

And you knew right then and there that there was no more running away from this. He deserved an explanation, you knew that. If there was anything you could do right now, it was to give him the truth. You let out a soft sigh, your eyes still refusing to meet his as you set your mug down on the coffee table that separated the two of you. He watches as you lean back into the chair, a distant look in your eyes as you begin to fidget with your fingers.

"It started after I heard about what happened to Amanai from you..." your voice came out as a murmur as you began to speak. A hint of surprise washed over his face before his lips thinned tightly as you brought up the name of the departed girl.

"I remember watching the ways it changed you and Suguru... You began to work tirelessly to surpass everyone around you while Suguru began to look worse for wear." he could see a sadness swirling in your eyes as you recalled those distant memories.

"It pained me to know how much that event shook you both to the core... and I wasn't there for any of it, so how could I comfort you both? Then... Haibara died..." Your voice begins to shake, your eyes seemingly fixed on the wall to your left, your fingers picking at the skin around your nails.

"Then Suguru defected... and that was when you broke."

Those last words hung in the air heavily and he watched as you took a deep breath, through your nose and past your trembling lips. You attempted to gather yourself, doing everything you could to prevent yourself from breaking, wondering how these memories still brought upon so much anguish after a decade.

"So much happened so quickly... and I remember that night... you cried in a way I had never seen you cry before... Another one of our friends gone..." Your voice had lost all its strength by this point, dropping to nothing more than a sorrowful whisper.

"I wondered how many more people would I lose? How many more days until one of us becomes a casualty once more? Would it have been Nanami next? Shoko?... You?" He felt a twinge of hurt as you spoke. A part of him almost felt insulted that you thought he would die, but the better part of him knew you meant no ill will. He wanted to stop you there and reassure you there was no way in hell he would have let anything happen to him, but before he could begin to interject, you continued to speak.

"I started to wonder if it ever came to a point where I would have to choose between the success of some mission or your well-being, could I ever rationalize it in my head? Would I be able to make that choice? ...Would you be able to make that choice?" Your fidgeting grew more restless as the skin around your nail broke, drawing a slight amount of blood.

"...and I hate how this sounds, but we made each other weak, Satoru. The target that was placed on my back for being so close to you was evident, and I thought I could shoulder that. But... seeing you after Suguru left, I realized I would become a weight that would hold you back—an additional variable to worry about. I couldn't stomach the thought of it all."

You sighed for the nth time.

"I knew I was uncertain about my capabilities when it came to making decisions involving you... and I knew I couldn't stay and watch as the people I loved turned into statistics. So I made my bed and laid in it."

A bitter chuckle then leaves your lips, "But I'm not so stupid to think that I have free will in this world. A special-grade sorcerer just out there in the world, their powers not being monitored? As if I would have been allowed that freedom. And I knew if you somehow caught word of my plans... you would try to convince me otherwise. I knew you would find a way to pull me back, and I couldn't let you do that."

"So I left on my own terms... removing myself from the picture in the cleanest way I could..."

The two of you fell into another silence as he took in the last of your words. After all these years, he finally received an explanation for your sudden departure. The picture was now complete, and he knew every detail of what happened. And frankly, he wasn't sure how to take any of it. A part of him felt stumped, wondering how much of the blame he should shoulder despite you not placing any on him. You laid it out pretty clearly that this was a conclusion you reached on your own. But the fact that you felt you couldn't confide in him, hurt deeply.

Then there was the way you spoke about yourself, acting as if you were nothing more than a mere inconvenience in his life - oh, did that spark a rage in him... As if he hadn't thought about you in the highest regard.

His next words seemed to slip past his lips without much thought and were solely fueled by emotion. "So you left me... You made everyone—made me believe that you were gone? You forced me to cope with the hole you left... Taking away the last thing I cared about?" He gritted through his teeth, as hurt and anger coursed through his veins, any sense of composure now far gone.

"A setback? Another variable to worry about? Do you hear the shit you're saying?" Your eyes snapped to his face, finally looking at him, surprise written across your face at the aggression that laced his words as he crassly set his mug down with a hefty thump.

"If there was anyone—anyone I could have depended on, it was you," he spat, hastily tugging his blindfold down his face, letting it hang around his neck.

And for the first time in a decade, you're staring him eye to eye.

Brilliant blues swirled around in angry, hurtful waves as they stared straight through you, analyzing every part of your being to a tee.

"Fucking hell- Of course, I worried about you. Anyone with a working pair of eyes and a brain could see what you meant to me. But I knew you - I knew your strength, I knew the risks that came with being so close to you, I knew they were something that just needed to be taken in stride. Every day, there was a risk. Of course, I knew that."

You watched as he took his bottom lip between his teeth, he was growing restless. You knew there was never going to be a positive reaction to what you had done. He would have to have been insane to see anything good about you pretending to have gotten killed.

But you didn't expect him to break like this.

"But- I had enough faith in you to believe you knew what decisions to make. I had faith that you would trust me just as much as I trusted you; depend on me as I depended on you." His words lose their anger, as sadness now coats them. His voice is fragile, filled with hurt.

"We propelled each other forward. Is that not how it was?"

You didn't know when it started, but tears were now falling from both of you as you fell into silence, staring at each other wordlessly.

Almost 12 years of bottled-up emotions caused him to fall apart before your very eyes. You had felt confident with the decision you made back then, certain that it was the right thing you needed to do for yourself and him. But maybe living with the decision had only been so easy because not once did you have to face the consequences and the effects they left behind.

But there it was, the consequences of your actions, manifested in the form of Satoru Gojo, the face of strength and confidence in the Jujutsu world, shattered. Crumbling to pieces right before your eyes.

And god, it was always so hard to see him hurting so intensely.

Your legs seemed to move on their own as they carried you without a thought, and you found yourself leaving the chair you had been sitting in and taking a seat on the couch next to him.

You leaned your head against his shoulder quietly.

And not missing a beat, he pulls you into him without a second thought, and the two of you are holding each other again, tears slipping from your eyes. Your resolve is crumbling; you can feel it. Knowing that the part of you that rejected Jutujsu sorcery and the life that came with it was beckoning you once again.

It always did. You knew it always did.

As empty as the thought left you, this was something your body was made for. This was your unfair calling and a role that you had no choice but to play along with. You may not have been asked to be given such a powerful technique, but you were. And even though you held the power to save so many, you selfishly decided to turn away so you didn't have to witness the loss of the ones you loved.

"Please" you hear Satoru whisper to you, breaking you out of your thoughts as he holds you firmly against him.

"You can come back. Higher-ups be damned- I won't let them lay a finger on you. I don't care about how long it's been... just come back." he was begging you. A desperation in his broken voice that told you that there was no more pride in him left to spare. This was the bottom of the barrel and what remained of him, was raw, emotional, and shattered.

He didn't know if he had it in himself to leave this place without you at his side. Let you slip between his fingers once more and let you vanish into the background again. Knowing damn well you're smart enough to move your location since you've been found. He finally had you once more, and he wasn't going to take this opportunity for granted.

Your resolve is fading away and you can't help but feel a hint of nostalgia. This is why all these years ago you knew you couldn't face him. Just as you admitted, you were weak to him, uncertain of your abilities to make decisions whenever it came to Satoru.

And right now, you couldn't help but take him in. The tenderness in which he held you, the scent that lingered around him, his heart beating so heavily you could feel it against your chest. There was only one word that floated around your head,

Home.

How long had it been since you felt like this? How long had it been since you felt the touch of anyone? You silently begged yourself to not let the fact you were undeniably touch-starved be any part of the reason why you would relent.

But this wasn't just anyone you were speaking about here. You knew this.

You'd be lying to say that your world didn't become duller after you departed from Satoru's side. The first few months of being away from him were excruciating and you lived in hefty guilt. The routine you once built together was no more. There was no one to push you out of bed in the morning, no one to drag you away from your responsibilities to goof off, no conversations until 4 a.m. in the morning, talking until your brain couldn't form coherent thoughts. No one to hold you through the nights that were just a little too hard to deal with. No one to understand your entire being in the way he did.

You truly and utterly missed him, even after all these years.

You breathe out a deep sigh the last bit of restraint evaporating,

"Okay. Fuck... okay, Satoru. I'll go with you".

You refused to be alone anymore.

Satoru felt his world come to a stop as the words slipped from your lips. His heart came to a halt in his chest as he soon took your face in his hands wordlessly, staring into your eyes.

And the summit grew warm as a fire was lit, and there he saw your smiling face illuminated by the flames.

He was unsure of what fueled his next action- perhaps it was the intensity of all the emotions both you and him had released, maybe it was the high he was riding from the sheer fact that you were officially back in his life once more... or the unspoken love he kept within for the past few years.

It could have been for a million reasons, but none of that mattered as his lips met yours in a gentle, loving, kiss, and his thumbs ran over the expanse of your cheeks.

Your heart flipped within the confines of your ribcage as he kissed you with such attentiveness, all of your sanity far out the window as your eyes fluttered shut and you kissed him back with an equal amount of tenderness.

He parted his lips from yours for a brief moment, "Twelve years I've waited just to do this..." He murmurs before pulling you into another searing kiss, one of his hands moving to the back of your neck before combing his fingers through your hair.

Your mind felt cloudy as he all but confessed the undying love he'd had for you for over a decade. You wanted to tease him, you truly did, but as you felt his fingers playing with your hair, you found yourself melting into his touch, any snarky remarks threatening to spill out, dying in your throat.

He suddenly flips you over, letting you fall onto your back as he hovers above you. A soft squeak squeezes its way past your lips and he lets out a breathy laugh, unable to stop himself from gushing over every little thing you did.

"God you're so ridiculously perfect..." Satoru whispers to you affectionately, his head dipping down to press a kiss to your cheek, loving the way the skin tinted with a rosy red.

"...You always have been," he continues, leaving several kisses pressed against your jaw.

"...My perfect girl" his lips trail along your neck where he gently nips and sucks and you feel lightheaded at his words. Never mind the red and purple marks he was leaving along your flushed skin, the way he praised your entire being, kissing you, touching you with such softness rendered you entirely speechless and helpless in his hands.

Satoru felt himself become overwhelmed with desperation. He just needed to be as close to you as possible, he needed to make up for all the time the two of you spent apart. He needed to remind you of just how deep his love and care ran for you. And he knew no amount of words would express that, so he needed to at least try and show you.

"Bed.. 'Toru, my bed" you breathlessly murmured to him, sensing his neediness as he began to press his body into yours and his lips searched for every bit of exposed skin you had to offer.

He lets out a low hum and pulls away from your neck, pressing one last kiss to a fresh hickey, "Where?" he says, lips continuing to graze your skin as he speaks.

"Down the hall on the right," you replied, your voice nothing more than a whisper and ears burning. In a flash, he's scooping you up in his arms and making hasty steps toward your bedroom as you let out a soft laugh, amused with how easily he picks you up. He nudges the partially opened door with his hip and gently tosses you onto the bed, watching as you bounce in place before he joins you, crawling onto the bed and hovering over you once more and kissing you once again.

It's messy and wet, his tongue darting out to coat your bottom lip before nibbling on the plump flesh and tugging. One of his large hands trails down to the hem of your shirt, and he gently pulls on the material, silently asking you for permission. With no hesitation, you raise your hands above your head giving him the green light he needed as he parts his lips from yours and makes quick work of removing the article, tossing it somewhere in your room.

His eyes trail over your exposed torso, tracing over every single curve, and Christ, you weren't even wearing a bra.

"Fuck you've grown up nicely, hm?" His voice says lowly as his hands run along the curve of your waist before gently cupping your breast, giving it a firm squeeze.

Your face turns a deep red as you bite back a moan from his touches, "Don't say that Satoru! You sound like such a creep-" You hiss through gritted teeth as he continues his onslaught, massaging the flesh in his palm before giving your perked nipple a small pinch.

"Sorry princess..." He says with a snicker, "...It's true though..." he grins at you pressing his lips to yours once more in a quick peck before sitting up to slip off his own shirt and discarding the blindfold that still hung around his neck.

His sculpted body was a sight to behold. It's not like you haven't seen Satoru shirtless before, there have been many incidents during your days at Jujutsu Tech, going to the beach, catching him right after he stepped out of the shower, or waking up next to him in your dorm and receiving a poor excuse from him that it was simply too hot while he was trying to sleep.

But after several years, you can see the effects of what you assumed was nothing less than endless hours of intense training written all across his body with every swell of muscle your eyes traced along, broad shoulders chiseled abs, and a waist so sinfully cinched, anyone would be envious.

When the hell did he become so hot?

Satoru genuinely felt himself grow warm under your gaze, the way you stared at his body so shamelessly made the tips of his ears turn pink. A smirk tugged at his lips as he debated calling you out for practically drooling at the sight of him. But as your small hand reached out and ran your fingers along the expanse of his abdomen, he couldn't hold himself back anymore.

He couldn't tease you now, he didn't have it in him. Not when you were laying there looking so damn pretty, clearly needing him just as much as he needed you. As he began to make quick work of removing your sweatpants, he made a silent vow to himself that next time it wouldn't be so rushed like this, next time he would take his damn sweet time, drawing every second out and showing you everything he could do to you.

Discarding your sweat pants, his eyes practically honed in on the blatant wet patch soaking your cotton panties. "Fucking hell, you're driving me crazy sweetheart..." He growled, removing his pants, and flinging it to who knows where. He positioned himself between your legs, hooking his thumbs underneath the waistband of your underwear pulling it down your legs at an agonizingly slow pace, and marveling at the strings of arousal that hung between your wet cunt and panties.

It was embarrassing how soaked you were, he barely had done anything to you and you were already a mess. Being touch-starved was becoming a prevalent fact and you just silently hoped he wouldn't put 2 and 2 together. Not that any of what you thought mattered because as soon as your panties were completely off, Satoru was diving into your cunt and eating you out with such eagerness you thought you were about to die and go to heaven.

His tongue worked skillfully along your slit, occasionally bringing your clit between his lips and sucking and lapping at the sensitive nub. "Satoru- oh my god-" you stuttered out, your thighs threatening to clamp around his head if not for his large warm palms keeping them spread. He let out a slight hum as you said his name and the vibrations have you seeing stars.

Were you really about to finish after two minutes of foreplay?

You got your answer fairly quickly as Satoru suddenly removed his mouth from you, denying you any further pleasure. You begin to protest but as he leaves a soft kiss on your inner thigh, your voice dies in your throat. "I'm sorry my pretty girl... Can't wait much longer" he says, his voice low and gravelly as he sits up, tugging down his boxers and positioning himself once more between your legs and caging you between his muscular arms.

"Need you finish while I'm inside that pretty cunt, okay?" he murmurs, licking off the last bit of your slick that lingered on his lips. Your eyes trailed down his torso, admiring the feint white happy trail before fixating right on his dick. He was so big, so lengthy and thick, with an angry red tip that leaked with pre-cum. Your mouth watered slightly-

Of course, he had a huge dick... cause why wouldn't he?

"You ready, sweetheart?" Satoru whispered to you, pulling you from your thoughts as the head of his cock nudged at your entrance which has you gasping. You meet his eyes, seeing the tenderness those deep blues held and you smile, nodding your head softly.

Slowly, he pushes himself into you, watching your face contort as you adjust to his size. "Doing so well, pretty girl... you're taking me so well..." he cooed, leaning down to press soft kisses to your face as you struggled to keep your breathing under control. The stretch was ridiculous, and your hands found purchase on his shoulders, holding on to him tightly as your nails dug into his perfect milky skin.

"Almost there, my perfect girl..." he whispered just before bottoming out. He cursed at how tightly you were gripping him, plush walls sucking him in so intensely he had no idea if he'd ever be able to leave - not that he wanted to, of course.

A breathy sigh of your name left his lips as he gave a testing roll of his hips, gauging your reaction.

And when the prettiest moan leaves your lips, he can't help but gush, his hips beginning to move in slow, measured thrusts and he buries his face in your neck, firmly pressing his body against yours.

He could feel your heart pounding against his chest, every sinful and beautiful noise you made flooded his ears and he groaned softly. Breathless sighs of his name left your lips as the sound of skin smacking against skin filled the air with every thrust he made, fucking himself deeper into your sopping cunt.

He knew he was done for.

You were so perfect. You always were so damn perfect. Everything that he could have ever wanted. He always felt that you were his other half. From the moment you entered his life, he swore you were a splash of color in what he felt was a previously black-and-white world. The way you understood him in ways that he thought no one ever would. The way you always matched him on his childish, snarky remarks and teasing. The way you would put up with him, even on the days he knew he was being difficult.

Life with you meant reassurance and laughter, it meant being seen for something more than this power of his. Life with you meant never having to feel alone, it meant having a constant to push him through the toughest of times. It meant having a space where he could let the mask slip off, a place where he didn't have to be 'The Strongest', but simply Satoru,

Your Satoru.

And fuck, the pain he felt the day you left. The pain he felt for weeks... for months. Having to adjust to a world with you was agony.

But now that you were here, spread before him, your pretty eyes shut and those delicate lashes brushing on your cheeks, lips parted and moaning his name like a mantra- and he knew he could never get enough of you. He would never be able to get enough of you.

Never again was he going to let you get away. You were officially stuck with him until the end of time.

"Ah- 'Toru, m'getting close-!" you cried out, your hands running all along the expanse of his back, nails now breaking the skin and leaving red angry marks in their wake as his thrusts began to increase in pace and becoming sloppy.

"Me too princess, don't hold back, want you to cum for me, make a mess for me like the perfect girl I know you are" he groaned out, words spilling endlessly from his lips as began to nip at your neck once more, leaving far too many marks that made you question if your neck would be entirely purple by the end of this.

But as he hits a spot so deep inside you, your back arcs and your vision fades to white and you come undone. Legs trembling around him and hands scrambling to find something anything to hold onto as your orgasm ripples through you with such an intensity you thought you were going to blackout.

Satoru isn't too far behind as his pace quickens even more, heavy and hard thrusts pounding against your worn-out pussy and overstimulating you right before he pulls out releasing thick and long ropes of cum between your squished torsos.

He lets out a hefty sigh before his body goes limp, and he lets his full weight press into you. You let out a soft laugh, also out of breath as your hands make their way into his hair, toying with his snowy locks.

"…I missed you so damn much" his voice is delicate as he speaks shifting himself so that he can look at your face. You can't stop the smile that stretches across your face as you cup his cheek and press a kiss to his forehead.

"I missed you too… But I'm here now, and I promise you I'm not going anywhere," you whispered back to him. Letting the world slow down for just a moment more as you laid with him, enjoying that this was all life had to be right now.

You were launched right back into the world of jujutsu sorcery. You knew once you left your home and stepped out of that veil with Satoru, a whole load of ugliness was to come your way.

But at least, for right now... just in this moment. You can bask in the fact that you were reunited with the man who had always owned your heart.

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A/N: I FINALLY FINISHED IT YIPPIE I wanted to get this done a while ago but my friends surprised me with a vacation and I haven't been able to write anything until recently haha

I actually do have plans to write 2 blurbs about this fic in order to give more insight to Satoru's and the reader's relationship that I wasn't able to fit into this one less I wanted to overflood this piece with several flashbacks >_>

So expect some little pieces soonnn one will be very fluffy and just a little moment between Satoru and the Reader during their days at Jujutsu Tech after they finished a mission and the other will take place after Suguru defected (SO ANGST AHAHHAH)

Anyways, I hope you guys enjoyed reading, it's been years since I've written any fanfiction so bare with me if there were any mistakes LOL

Tags: @hyori2 @kalulakunundrum

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#gojo #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jjk gojo #jujutsu kaisen #gojou satoru x reader #satoru gojo #satoru gojo x reader #jjk x reader #jjk #I NEED THIS MAN

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